Coming Up Murder Page 6

  Lenny held open the door to Harriman Hall for me. I couldn’t think of any grievances I had with faculty members. Sure, Jane could be difficult, but she wouldn’t threaten me, and I couldn’t think of anyone else with a reason to be annoyed with me, except maybe Giles, when I was behind on my grading.

  I followed Lenny up the steps. The building was deserted, and I was glad we had a quiet place to talk. When we arrived at the English Department on the second floor, however, I heard Giles talking in his office, probably to Felix and Andy. He had left the garden with them. Lenny and I ducked into his office, where he’d recently upgraded his coffee pot to a Keurig. The machine was silver, shiny, and out of place among so much wood, including bookshelves, a desk, and a chair. Baseball memorabilia dotted the space and vintage Beatles’ posters covered the open walls. Lenny was a Beatles fanatic and played the guitar well enough to procure gigs with the university and local bands. Although messy, the room was comfortable. Like my space, only bigger. I was jealous of all the room he had.

  I sank into a chair as my cellphone dinged. I checked the screen. “It’s a campus alert. They’re canceling classes.”

  Lenny inserted a K-Cup. “What about the Shakespeare Festival?”

  I scrolled through the message. “It says all extracurricular activities will continue as scheduled.”

  “Even Hamlet?”

  “It says all,” I repeated. “Scholars have flown in for the conference, and I’m sure they can’t reschedule events they’ve already sold tickets for. Which reminds me, Tanner played the lead in Hamlet. Do you think his understudy could have killed him for his part?”

  He handed me a Dodgers cup. “Really?”

  “Think about it. The crime scene was perfectly staged: a garden, a body, poison oozing out of the dead person’s ear. Someone in the theater must be responsible.”

  He turned back to the Keurig to make himself a cup. “Tanner’s no king, and Copper Bluff isn’t even close to Denmark.”

  I waved away the sticking points. “King Hamlet said his brother Claudius killed him to usurp the throne. Maybe someone is usurping Tanner’s part.”

  “Or Tanner’s girlfriend,” said Lenny. “Claudius also married King Hamlet’s widow.”

  I paused, the cup at my lips. “I hadn’t thought of that. Tanner’s girlfriend lives right down the street from me. It will be easy to ask around.”

  Lenny grabbed his cup and sat down in his desk chair. “Before you go asking anything, can we wait for the police to call it murder? It might have been a tragic accident.”

  “It’s tragic, but it’s no accident. There are too many coincidences: the sonnet, the garden, the flowers.” I crossed my legs. “In my Crimes and Passions course, one of the givens is that the first twenty-four hours are the most crucial in an investigation.”

  “Then the police will be busy,” said Lenny. “You’ve got your publishing contract to worry about. Did you send it to Gene like Claudia suggested?”

  I shook my head, finishing a sip of coffee. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I signed it and sent it back.”

  “What about the revisions clause? I thought you were worried about that.”

  “Not to brag, but on the phone the publisher seemed pleased with the work,” I said. “She didn’t mention any revisions.”

  “First, that was definitely bragging, and second, the publisher isn’t the editor.” Lenny took a drink of his coffee. “He could ask for all kinds of changes.”

  “It isn’t a scholarly journal, Lenny. They publish mostly fiction. I’m sure any changes will be minimal.”

  Lenny raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  I stood and looked out the window. The crowd was clearing, but small groups of students and faculty still dotted the quad. Shakespeare’s Garden was outlined in yellow tape. “See there? Crime scene tape. They don’t use that unless it’s a crime.”

  “Where did you read that?” said Lenny, standing and glancing over my shoulder. “Murder on the Orient Express?”

  “Don’t be silly.” I spun around, meeting up with his broad chest. “That murder took place on a train ….” My words trailed off into the atmosphere, a space that didn’t include a blond-haired, good-smelling guy with navy-blue eyes staring back at me.

  He tucked a curl behind my ear, the one that always came loose from whatever accessory I pinned it into. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Classes are canceled, and I’m hungry.”

  “It would hardly be appropriate.” My voice was a whisper. “To eat at a time like this.”

  Lenny was just about to argue in favor of its appropriateness when a knock interrupted him. He took a step back before saying, “Come in.”

  Andy opened the door. His collar was unbuttoned, giving him a more relaxed appearance. He still seemed uptight. “Jim Giles is looking for you, Emmeline. He told me to check for you here on my way out.”

  “Of course,” I said, my words coming out as a squeak. I cleared my throat before adding, “Where are you headed?”

  He smoothed an unruly spear of black hair. “Felix and I are going to breakfast before the first panel. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “See?” Lenny whispered. “I told you it was appropriate.”

  I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. “You were on yesterday’s panel with Tanner. You seemed … surprised when he came out with his theory about Shakespeare.”

  “Not really,” he said. “Tanner had told me what he was presenting when I ran into him at your little library on Wednesday. I admit I was shocked to see so many sonnets in the submission box. How do you get students to participate?”

  Two words: extra credit. But I didn’t tell him that. The word little was stuck in my craw. “We have a thriving liberal arts culture.” That much was true. Our art, drama, and literature events were well-attended. “I didn’t realize you talked to Tanner at the library.”

  Andy checked his Apple watch. Maybe he was getting bored with our conversation. “Not for very long. He was on his way to the theater.”

  “Was Felix with you?” asked Lenny.

  Andy gave Lenny a once over, perhaps judging his informal attire. “Jim Giles told us about the contest. Remember, Emmeline? Felix wanted us to participate.”

  “So why did Felix feign outrage at the panel?” asked Lenny. “You both knew what was coming, yet you called him out in front of his peers and colleagues.”

  Andy’s brow furrowed. Like his hair, his eyebrows were thick and black. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

  I tried to diffuse the situation. “I’m sorry, Andy. We don’t mean to bombard you with questions. One of our star English students has just been found dead in Shakespeare’s Garden. We’re trying to wrap our brains around that.”

  “I apologize, too,” said Andy. “Felix and I were at separate tables in the library, writing our sonnets. We were there maybe ten minutes when I saw Tanner. Recognizing my old classmate, I said hello. He was the same actor I knew, playing the part of a scholar who’d just hit academic gold. He told me enough to intrigue me. He didn’t reveal his bombshell.”

  Tanner was the consummate actor, a man with many personas on hand to dazzle audiences at a moment’s notice. Though I didn’t know him personally, he always left me slightly mesmerized, and I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one. It would make sense that he wanted to keep his big disclosure secret until the panel, his fifteen minutes of fame, as it were.

  “And what did you think of his theory, once you heard it?” asked Lenny.

  Andy looked from Lenny to me. “Personally? I thought it was kind of cool. Academically? I thought it was suicide, a surefire way not to get a job after graduation. That’s why Felix was disgusted, not because of the theory itself. He was gobsmacked that Reed would approve the dissertation.”

  I gave him props for fitting gobsmacked into a conversation. I’d been trying for years. Still, it was hard to believe Felix had Tanner’s best interest at heart when he called him out during his pre
sentation. Reed Williams was a dedicated teacher. He wouldn’t have chaired Tanner’s dissertation committee if he’d thought Tanner’s thesis was smoke and mirrors. Besides, plenty of scholars’ dissertations never saw the light of day. Mine was still lying in the drawer, collecting dust, except for a few chapters I’d published in scholarly journals.

  Andy patted the door frame. “I have to go. Felix is waiting for me. Don’t forget about Giles.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “See you later.”

  He gave Lenny a nod and left.

  “I wonder what Giles wants?” I said. “I’ll let you know.”

  “So, no breakfast?” said Lenny.

  “I’m afraid not,” I said.

  “Then dessert.” He brushed my lips with his.

  “Lenny!” I said. “The door’s open.”

  “I know,” he said with a grin. “I just like seeing you blush.”

  I tossed him a look over my shoulder, irritated by the girlish response. He could already read my mind. Did he really need to read my emotions, too? I marched down the hall with the heat still in my cheeks. Trying to get my head back in the game, I gave it a little shake before I knocked on Giles’s door.

  “Come in,” said Giles.

  “Andy said you wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes, come in and shut the door.”

  This was new. Was I in trouble? I shut the door behind me and took a seat in the armless chair next to his desk. With all the windows, his office was probably the brightest room on the second floor right now, but his expression was dark, troubled. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, there is,” said Giles. “And you’re just the person to help.” He tapped his fingers together. “It’s … personal.”

  This was new. I’d never seen Giles upset before, but upset was the way I’d describe him. More than upset. The furrowed brow, the narrowed eyes, the clenched jaw …. Though I could hardly believe it, Giles was angry. Gone were the three perpetual creases on his forehead and inquisitive tilt to his head. What I observed was pure ire. “I understand,” I said, though I really didn’t.

  “I’m not talking as your boss now,” said Giles. “I’m talking as your friend.”

  I nodded, touched that he thought of me as a friend. I thought of him as a friend, but I was less reserved. I was too young to be anything but forthright.

  “What I want to say is, I’m very upset about Tanner’s death,” said Giles. “He was my advisee for the past two years. To think that he won’t graduate or teach or any of those things we’d talked about—it’s inconceivable.” He clenched his fists.

  “I’m so sorry, Giles. I felt the same when Austin Oliver died, and I’d only known him a semester.” My second year on campus, one of my students had died, and I’d helped solve his murder. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  “That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” said Giles. “I knew you’d understand needing to do something about it. The questions surrounding his death must not go unanswered. He was just a boy.” Giles’s voice cracked.

  The depth of his emotion pierced my heart. It was hard to see him hurting this way.

  “Felix and Andy … what do they know of it?” He paused, perhaps recalling an unsatisfactory conversation. “But you, you understand.”

  “Of course I do,” I said. “I want to help in any way I can.”

  “I know that you do,” said Giles. “And I also know you have ways of getting information.”

  Was I hearing right? Was Giles asking me to investigate?

  “You don’t have to tell me those ways,” Giles rushed to say. “But I trust you will put them to good use in Tanner’s case?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  Giles sighed, and his whole body seemed to relax. “Thank you, Emmeline. Justice should feel so lucky to have you on her side.”

  Chapter Nine

  I crossed the campus with a new determination in my step. Over the years, Giles had done me plenty of favors. He’d swapped my classrooms, given me a job editing the Copper Bluff Review, and added my Crimes and Passions course to the curriculum. Now he was upset and asking me, unofficially, to investigate Tanner’s death. You’d better believe I was going to do my best. Lenny’s voice popped into my head, reminding me it hadn’t been declared a murder yet. I glanced at Shakespeare’s Garden. There were still a few police officers milling about, but neither Beamer nor Sophie were in sight. I kept walking. No matter. I would talk to them soon enough about the cause of death.

  Out of habit, I stood at the crosswalk, listening to the song of a spring robin. Not a single car passed. The campus was as quiet as during spring break. Like pebbles in a pond, students had scattered in different directions, retreating to their places of refuge. On my street, a few students gathered at the old two-story, and I crossed the road quickly to catch them before they ducked inside. I recognized Tanner’s girlfriend, Mia, by her floppy blonde bun. She’d thrown on a light trench coat, which looked odd with her sweatpants, but I imagined fashion was the last thing on her mind. Two girls sat next to her on the steps, presumably her roommates. Like her, they were probably graduate students, as was Alice Hudson, who stood by her side. I recognized Alice from the English Department. She was studying Teaching English as a Second Language, a program that was currently missing a director. Though I didn’t know her well, I’d talked to her a few times. She was smart, dedicated, and had an interesting scar on her cheek shaped like a star. She planned to teach English to students in China after graduation. I didn’t realize she lived in the rental. I was glad to have a connection with the group.

  “Hey, Alice,” I called from the sidewalk. “How are you holding up?”

  She attempted a smile. “Fine.”

  Alice also had a distinctive hair color, almost cranberry in the sunlight. It was one of the things that made her memorable. I’d love to try the color myself.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” I directed the comment toward Mia, Tanner’s girlfriend. “I’m Emmeline Prather, by the way. I teach in the English Department. I live down the street.” I pointed in the direction of my yellow bungalow.

  “Sorry,” said Alice. “I should have introduced you.”

  “Thank you.” Mia’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I saw Tanner at the conference yesterday,” I continued. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone. He was so full of life.”

  The girls said nothing. Either they were too shocked to talk or didn’t know what to say. “I’m kicking myself for not going to last night’s opening of Hamlet. I suppose you were there?”

  “All of us,” said a blonde girl next to Mia. Even sitting down, the girl looked tall. Her shoulders were broad, and I guessed she played sports. I thought I recognized her as a volleyball player from the Campus Views newspaper.

  “Are you ….” The name was on the tip of my tongue.

  “Hailey Richardson,” she said.

  “Right, the volleyball player,” I said. “How was the performance?”

  “Amazing,” said the other girl seated next to Mia. Her hair was pulled into a low, wheat-colored ponytail, blonde but more natural-looking than Mia’s. She looked short sitting next to Hailey but might have played sports herself. She had on a shirt with our girls’ softball team logo on it.

  “I wish I could’ve seen it,” I said.

  “It was his best performance,” said Hailey, “and I’ve seen lots of them.”

  “Do you work in the theater?” I asked.

  “I graduate with my MFA in Directing this spring.” Hailey pointed toward the softball player. “Mackenzie is in Music, and Mia is in Art. We all live in the Fine Arts Building, everyone except Alice.” She gave Alice a grin. “She’s usually in the Ed building.”

  So they had ample opportunity to observe Tanner’s behavior. “Tanner seemed okay last night?” I asked. “He wasn’t sick or ….”

  Mia shook her head. “He was fine—better than fine. Like Mackenzie said, he was phenomena
l as Hamlet. Everybody thought so. We went to Harry’s afterwards to celebrate. He ate a slider ….” Her voice trailed off as she recalled the night.

  “He loved those,” said Mackenzie.

  “The guy could eat anything and not gain a pound,” said Hailey. The girls shared a small laugh.

  “Did he drink anything?” I asked. “Alcohol?”

  “The police asked me that too, but Tanner didn’t drink,” said Mia. “He smoked a little weed once in a while—”

  “Mia,” Mackenzie whispered.

  “What?” Mia said. “It’s legal almost everywhere.”

  I held up my hand. “It’s okay. I know a lot of students do it.” Or they wrote about the legalization of marijuana in their papers for no reason. I tended to believe the former.

  “He was high-strung,” Mia explained. “Lots of artists are. He needed something to take the edge off, and like I said, he didn’t drink.”

  A car drove by, and I waited for it to pass before I continued. “Was he edgy last night?” Without asking the question outright, I wanted to know if he’d toked.

  The girls were reluctant to answer, shuffling about and exchanging quick glances. I felt a lie coming my way.

  “It was opening night,” Hailey said. “Everyone was edgy. I was nervous for the guy.”

  I took that to mean yes. The play went smoothly; he hadn’t flubbed his lines. If opening night hadn’t bothered him, what had? Had someone threatened to kill him?

  A blast of wind cut through the group, and Mia shivered.

  “We should get inside,” said Alice. “The sun’s going under.”

  The girls stood.

  “If there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to stop by,” I said. “I’m just a block away.”

  “That’s really nice of you, Professor Prather,” said Alice. “Thanks for visiting.”

  As I continued toward my house, I created a hasty timeline in my head. On campus, plays began at seven and ended around ten. The group went out to Harry’s after the performance. By eight o’clock this morning, Tanner was dead. I kicked a stray branch out of the way. Between ten p.m. and eight a.m., something went very wrong. I might be able to find out what happened at the pub from someone who worked there. Lenny and I would be going out for breakfast after all. I checked my watch. It was almost eleven. Okay, maybe lunch.