Passport to Murder Page 6
“A very reasonable hotel, please,” said André. “I secured one at deep discount for our stay in Paris.”
Arnold Frasier was sitting in a chair nearby. “We’re staying in Minneapolis?”
“Who is?” Judith Spade chimed in.
“We will have to,” said André, “unless you want to stay at the airport.”
“There’s a plane that leaves for Amsterdam at ten o’clock,” said Olivia. She was scrolling through flight schedules on her phone.
The faculty looked at her, perplexed. She obviously didn’t understand the severity of the situation.
“That’s less than five hours from now,” said André.
“So?” said Olivia.
André started to speak but then, sputtering, stopped.
I broke in, “Molly Jaspers is dead, and we are at police headquarters. There is no telling what the future holds. André and I will find a hotel that can accommodate the group tonight. One thing is certain: we can’t split up now.”
This last statement put an end to discussion for a moment, and I returned to the Internet. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find available rooms. Every hotel near the airport was booked.
“How are you faring?” asked André. “Any luck?”
“Not yet,” I said. Perhaps our bad luck wasn’t surprising, considering the tragedy that had befallen us already. I suspected a gray cloud with our names on it would be trailing us for the remainder of the trip.
“It’s Saturday night,” Officer Anderson said. “You’re going to have a hard time finding a half-dozen rooms anywhere during March Madness.”
“We’ll just have to broaden our search.” I deleted my search restrictions and googled all hotels in the Minneapolis area, finding a hotel downtown that had four suites available. I gave the information to André.
“But they do not offer a shuttle,” said André, “and there will be three to a room. The travel fee included double occupancy.”
“I know, but nothing else is available. Besides, they’re suites. We can make it work. We can take a couple of van cabs from the airport.”
André shook his head, clearly displeased with the selection, but quickly reserved the rooms. As he finished, Bennett returned from the interrogation room with Ernest. Bennett appeared to have aged ten years since I’d seen him last. I could swear that the gray part in his hair had grown an inch wider. I told him about the difficulty finding rooms and the makeshift accommodations for the night.
He slumped into a nearby chair. “Thank you, Emmeline, but I won’t be staying. I need to call Molly’s mom and dad, her brother, the school…. What am I going to say? What can I possibly say?”
“I’m so sorry, Bennett.” I had no other words for him.
He turned to Ernest. “How do I get Molly… transported back to Copper Bluff?”
“In cases like these, we have to perform an autopsy, for insurance and legal purposes. To determine negligence. I’m afraid you might as well stay with the group, Mr. Jaspers. Molly’s body won’t be released any time soon. And it’s not good for you to be alone right now.”
Bennett began to cry. Nick awkwardly patted his shoulder.
Ernest nodded in my direction. “Miss? Could you come with me?”
I stood and followed him out of the room. “Was your mother a big fan of Ernest Hemingway?”
He turned around. Now I knew what people meant by smiling eyes; they were blue and crinkled happily near the rims of his round, wire-rimmed glasses. “No. She was a big fan of church. My sister’s name is Charity.”
We entered a small concrete room with a table and three chairs. Jack Wood was already seated. “And your name?” Ernest asked as he retrieved his notebook from his jacket pocket.
“Emmeline Prather.”
“Prather,” he said as he wrote it down. “Sounds Puritan.”
I waved off the comment. “You’re thinking of Mather. Cotton Mather. But my great-great-aunt was accused of being a witch.”
He and Jack Wood looked up from their papers.
I shrugged. “Don’t worry. I didn’t inherit her abilities, if she had them, as far as I know.”
“And your address and phone number,” said Jack.
I rattled off both.
“Thank you, Ms. Prather… I mean, Dr. Prather. Or do you prefer Professor?” asked Ernest, fumbling with his pencil.
“You can call me Emmeline,” I said with a smile.
“And you can call me Ernie,” he said.
If only anyone could call him that, I was sure he’d appreciate it. As it was, though, he had the yoke of sainthood hanging about him. He couldn’t shake a name that meant “sincere conviction” for all the joys of Christendom.
Jack put down his pen. “Let’s return to the airplane. You were seated near Mrs. Jaspers. How did Mrs. Jaspers seem to you? Did you notice anything unusual about her actions?”
I shook my head. “Not until it was too late. At first, it appeared she was in a lively debate with Nick Dramsdor. I believe they’re good friends. But when her movements became erratic, I knew something was wrong. She collapsed in her seat, and Bennett found an EpiPen and rammed it into her thigh. She never regained consciousness.”
Ernest wrote hastily in the notebook while Jack considered my answers carefully.
“Were you aware that Molly Jaspers was allergic to peanuts?” Jack asked. From his pallor and bloodshot eyes, I could just imagine the toll his work had taken.
I nodded and recounted Bennett’s anger at the flight attendant when she passed out the in-flight snack.
“And did you take the peanuts when offered?” asked Jack. Ernest looked up from his notebook.
I felt my face flush. “Yes, but I wasn’t seated next to Molly. I never even left my seat. I hate flying.”
Ernest nodded sympathetically. “We’re not saying you did anything to Molly Jaspers, Professor. These are just routine questions we need to ask when somebody dies.”
I looked to Jack for confirmation, but his serious gaze gave me little comfort.
“Ms. Prather, could you tell me a little bit about your group’s trip to Paris? Bennett Jaspers said you were in charge of the expedition,” said Jack.
I shook my head. “I’m not officially in charge. André Duman is. But I’m assistant faculty coordinator. His travel expenses and mine are covered by the grant he secured.”
“About Mr. Duman, Bennett said that he and Molly had an argument right before the flight. He said you were there and could confirm that.”
The mood in the room instantly changed, and I could feel my heart rate increase. I no longer saw Jack Wood’s solemn attitude as an occupational habit but something else. Was André a suspect?
“Yes, I was there,” I said carefully. “It wasn’t really an argument, though. Molly was very… opinionated.”
“And what was Mr. Duman’s opinion of Molly?” continued Jack.
“He… I don’t think he knew her that well,” I said.
Jack crossed his arms. “Bennett Jaspers said Molly thought Mr. Duman was a tyrannical Frenchman, so I know that they knew each other in some capacity.”
“I guess I can’t say how well they knew each other, but I can say their argument wasn’t that big a deal. Academics are used to having differing opinions.” I needed to take the focus off André’s quarrel with Molly. Faculty and students alike would have overheard the squabble and soon would be confirming Bennett’s account. Was there some other person who could interest the police? Then it came to me. “Someone at the bar was acting very peculiar.”
“Who?” asked Ernest.
I leaned forward. “I don’t know her name, but there was a lady with red hair who asked a girl in our group about Molly Jaspers. She mistook me for Molly. It could have been due to my curly hair,” I said, pointing to my head. “She stared at me for quite some time, and I was disturbed when I noticed she was boarding our flight to Paris.”
“Was she seated near Dr. Jaspers?” asked Ernest.
Ernest nodded and scribbled something in his notebook. He began to comment, but Jack cut him off. “Thank you for the information, Ms. Prather. That will be all for now. We have a lot of people to get through tonight. We may have further questions for you after cause of death is determined.”
“Wasn’t it… peanuts that caused Molly’s death?” I asked.
“We can’t assume that,” said Jack. “Only a medical examiner can determine cause of death.”
I felt like I was missing something.
“You know, Professor….” Ernest recreated the EpiPen scenario using his pencil. Then he shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Of course,” I said. “If it was anaphylaxis, the EpiPen should have stopped the attack. Why didn’t it?”
The question wouldn’t be answered any time soon.
Chapter Six
Minneapolis is a nice city, and our hotel, built in 1925, was in the heart of it. Although old, the hotel had style and space. The rambling brown and white structure took up an entire city block with its attached bar and restaurant. As I stepped under the scalloped awning that read NORMANDY INN, I was glad we had settled on this hotel, despite having to sleep three to a room. Although we were a ways from the airport, the location was desirable and the price affordable. Plus, from the look of the granite front desk, some of the hotel had been remodeled with modern conveniences and would provide a comfortable night’s sleep after our harrowing ordeal.
The lobby held two seating areas, one with a grand fireplace and one with plush leather chairs. The walls were decorated with quaint photos and clocks and memorabilia, and with the hotel’s beamed ceilings and heavy woodwork, it was as if we had stepped back in time. The group, looking collectively defeated from the experience at the airport, congregated around the entrance for instructions from André.
“It has not been an easy day, and I know some of you suffer deeply. On the ride here, the good doctor Judith Spade was so kind as to connect me with the Student Counseling Center on campus.”
He motioned toward Judith, who nodded.
He continued, “They provide support in situations like ours and will arrange for a special 1-800 number for us to use. When it becomes active, I will text all of you with the number. Your calls will be kept completely confidential, so take advantage of the service as you sort through your feelings about Professor Jaspers’ death. Are there any questions about the number or how to use it?”
The group remained silent.
He cleared his throat. “I have paired you up just as we planned to do in France. With a few changes,” he added, glancing at Bennett.
Bennett’s voice was haggard. “I appreciate your leadership, André, but I could use a little time alone to sort this out. To make some calls. I don’t feel right staying here with all that’s happened.”
“I understand,” André said, “but I don’t know where else you can stay unless you know someone in town. All the other hotels we contacted were fully booked.”
Bennett didn’t look convinced.
“The police officers said you shouldn’t be alone right now,” I said, “and I have to agree with them. We all could use the company.”
Glancing around the group, I realized that we looked exhausted from the long day. Perhaps Bennett realized it too.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. You lost a good friend and colleague today.”
André pulled out a folded piece of paper from his blazer pocket. “We will respect your privacy as much as we can, won’t we?” The group nodded, and André unfolded the list. “I have tried to accommodate everyone in the best way possible. All the suites have two beds and a pullout. Nick, Bennett, and Jace will room together. Arnold, Aaron, and I go in another room. Em, Kat, and Amanda, you are together. That leaves Judith, Meg, and Olivia. Have I excluded anyone?”
We looked at one another expectantly.
“Okay, then. We continue.” André led the charge to the front desk, where a young man in a black polo shirt texted on his cellphone. He pushed the phone beneath the counter before looking up.
“Good evening,” said André. “I reserved some rooms earlier tonight.”
“Your name?” said the front desk clerk.
“My name is André Duman, but there are twelve occupants.” Andre took his credit card out of his wallet and passed it across the counter.
“We can’t get everyone on the same floor. Is that okay?”
André nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“We will get you as close together as possible, though.” The clerk looked into his computer screen as if it explained the mystery of the Great Sphinx, typing and clicking at regular intervals. As he searched for rooms, he described the hotel’s amenities: bar, grill, pool, and workout facility. He even ticked off all the nearby attractions until he realized by the dazed look in our eyes that we probably weren’t here on vacation. Finally he opened his drawer and retrieved the magnetic card keys, tucking them individually into their respective miniature envelopes. He wrote the room numbers on the front. “Floors two and three.”
“Thank you, and thank you for the information.” André turned to the group, who huddled behind him, and passed out the cards. I took the envelope for Amanda, Kat, and me.
When André finished passing out the last envelope, he composed himself, taking a quick breath. “It’s only one night, friends. We must remain together. I know most of you ate at the airport, but if you become hungry, we have the restaurant right here. As the gentleman said, the grill is open until midnight, and you are welcome to order room service if you’d rather stay in. Just be reasonable if you do so. Nothing over twenty dollars. There is also a convenience store not far from here that I saw on the drive in. Any questions?”
Nobody said anything.
“We will meet back here, in the lobby, at nine in the morning to discuss our plans.”
The way the boys were eagerly eyeing the door of the hotel told me that the last thing they planned on doing was sticking together. It was spring break, after all, and it appeared even the death of a professor hadn’t completely dampened their spirits. Though as for that, people grieve in all sorts of different ways. Meg and Olivia, for instance, were whispering before we reached the elevator. The death made them especially talkative. I was just thankful André had put me with Kat and Amanda, who were respectfully subdued, acting in a manner I thought appropriate to the situation. He probably knew that if anyone could handle hyper Olivia and Meg, it was Judith Spade.
“We are on floors two and three, according to the desk clerk,” said André as we squeezed into the elevator. Bennett pushed buttons 2 and 3, and the elevator lurched upward. The movement sent the girls into another burst of chatter.
The door opened on the second floor, and Bennett, Nick, Jace, Judith, Olivia, and Meg got out. Aaron was about to follow until André said, “We’re on the third floor, Aaron.”
“Call me,” said Aaron to Jace before the door closed.
The door opened again to the third floor. We walked down the long hall with our luggage. Our room was right next to André, Arnold, and Aaron’s.
“This is us,” I said, “305.”
“And we are 307,” said André. He hesitated at his door.
“You did a very good job back there,” I reassured him.
“With Judith’s help,” he said. “In the taxi, she told me whom to call.”
I brushed off his uncertainty. “She’s been here a long time; she knows how to handle these situations. Plus, she’s a medical doctor. She deals with death all the time.” Amanda and Kat waited at the door, and I quickly scanned a room key. “We’d better get settled.”
“Yes, we will talk after I call the airlines,” said André. “They gave me a special telephone number.”
“Let me know what you find out,” I said and ducked into the room behind Amanda and Kat.
The large suite had two double beds, with a nightst
and in between, and a sitting area with a sleeper sofa, round table, and two chairs. Although we were in the older part of the hotel, the room was nicely renovated with a slim TV and refrigerator. If we purchased beverages at the vending machine, we would have a place to keep them cold. I was more interested in the fully stocked tray of coffees and teas. It was a welcome sight for a coffee addict like me, and I’d put it to good use in the morning.
I switched on the light near the sleeper sofa, and Amanda turned on the ornate table lamp on the nightstand. With a few clicks, our empty suite became cozy and comfortable.
Amanda sat next to Kat on the bed closest to the window, and Kat gave her shoulders a squeeze. Kat was such a caring friend. She was easy to get along with, and even if I weren’t her professor, I would have enjoyed her company. I was glad she was there to comfort Amanda because I didn’t know her well. She had never been my student.
“Are you feeling better?” Kat said.
Amanda nodded. “A little.”
“Did you guys need something to eat?” I heaved my luggage atop the worn luggage rack near the door.
“No,” said Kat. “We grabbed yogurt and fruit at the airport.”
“So, you’re not hungry?”
Kat shrugged off her hoodie and shook out her hair. “Not yet.”
“I’m getting a little hungry,” I said, sitting down on the other bed.
Kat faced me, cross-legged. She pulled her dark hair forward, revealing emerald streaks I hadn’t noticed before. “What’s going to happen now, Professor Prather? The cops at the airport were so serious, like maybe we couldn’t leave. I felt like I was under arrest.”
I sighed. “I wish I knew, but to be honest, I don’t have any more idea than you what will happen tomorrow. I think the officers were just being judicious because of the severity of the case. After all, someone died, and they have to figure out how.”
Amanda looked pale. I didn’t know if it was her pink Oxford shirt or the conversation that caused her complexion to turn. “Do you think she had a heart attack?” asked Amanda.