Consider the Crows (26 page)

Susan grabbed the edge of the door before it could close. One of the girls looked at her and elbowed her friend.

“I'm looking for Mayor Bakover,” Susan said. “Do you know where I can find him?”

“I don't know, but if you go that way,” the girl gestured over her shoulder at the flight of steps leading down, “be careful of the goats. One of them bites.”

They scooted off barely able to keep upright for their laughter. Susan went into the entryway and the wind whipped the door shut behind her. The flight of steps that went up had a door at the top, propped open, and she could see people milling around, hear the loud buzz of conversation. All ordinary. A corridor to the left led off to the coatroom; no activity there.

She trotted down the stairs and went into the large room crowded with people. Here too, nothing seemed out of the way; the room had been partitioned into booths along the walls and in the center with aisles through them for the people to pass by and peruse the goods. After the gloom of outside, it seemed brightly lit from the overhead lights, and some participants had added lights of their own to better display their wares. The place smelled of perfume and wet wool and baked goods and popcorn.

Mrs. Mayor stood surrounded by a group of indignant and gesturing ladies and she zeroed in on Susan at the same time Susan spotted her. Without a word, Mrs. Mayor cruised through the ladies like an icebreaker. She wore gray today, skirt and sweater and the ever-present strand of pearls, every hair as perfect as the last time Susan saw her.

“I just told you, didn't I? I told you, there would be trouble. Having those kids involved! This is what comes of it. Martin is looking for you upstairs.”

“What's the problem?”

“Those kids! The very idea! Never have we had anything like this. It'll probably get in the paper.”

“Kids.” With a sinking feeling, Susan looked at several four- or five-year-olds playing tag around the legs of the adults, and knew they weren't the kids under discussion.

“Are you trying to be smart with me, young lady?” Mrs. Mayor gave her a withering look that had probably been in her family for generations.

“I don't understand what you're upset about.”

“Upset?” If anybody as refined as Mrs. Mayor could be said to screech, this was it. “Booth twenty-seven. Those college kids. Just you go and see what they're doing. I want them out of here. I want them arrested. You just come with me. I'll just show you—”

Before she could steam off with Susan in tow, a timid soul with gray hair trapped in a bun scurried up. “Oh dear, Rita. The popcorn machine seems to be jammed again and all those youngsters are waiting. Really they're getting very impatient. And I must say, I can't blame them.”

“Oh, my heavens, do I have to do everything? Don't fuss, Dora. I'm coming.” Mrs. Mayor shook her finger at Susan. “You just go and take care of it. I'll let Martin know you're here.”

What the hell could “those college kids” be doing? Selling kisses? Auctioning their underwear? So far, panic hadn't set in. Outside of the clutch of irate ladies around Mrs. Mayor, nobody seemed unduly bothered. She noticed Henry Royce, the
Hampstead Herald's
editor, wandering around with what passed for a smile on his jowly face. He stopped to talk with his lanky, shaggy-haired photographer.

Susan meandered past booths of pottery, knitted baby sweaters, cookies, cakes and jars of pickles, and found booth twenty-seven way in the back. Whatever was going on, they were getting a lot of attention. Two goats, one with horns, were tethered to each side of the booth by a short rope. They had lettered signs hanging around their necks, but she couldn't read them; one sign had twisted to the side, and Nick Salvatierra was standing in the way of the other. She noticed everybody but one little girl was giving the goats a lot of space.

This what the fuss was about? Get rid of the goats; livestock shouldn't be around all this food. Across the aisle, the lady in the booth displaying bouquets of paper flowers was looking at all the activity around booth twenty-seven with, Susan thought, a certain amount of envy.

The little girl, about four years old, clutching a bag of popcorn, stood staring solemnly at the goat with horns, now and again munching a kernel of corn. The photographer snapped her picture. The goat snaked out its head, snatched the popcorn and ate it, bag and all. The little girl just watched with grave interest.

Only college kids were gathered around the booth; laughing and joking, shoving each other and pointing. Julie Kalazar wasn't there, but the three R's stood behind an array of jewelry spread out on the table; more jewelry hung on the makeshift walls at the sides and back. On one end of the table were decorated boxes like the ones the teenagers had. The jewelry glittered and glistened in the light; earrings and brooches, all made with round flat discs an inch and a half in diameter, covered with sequins and beads and small stones; bright glittery greens, reds, blues, gold and silver; some with small jaunty feathers. They were attached to three-by-five cards.

“The cops,” Nick said with a sardonic smile, and stuck his fingers in the back pockets of his jeans. “Link arms. We shall overcome. Go limp when they drag us away.”

“Oh, chill out, Nick.” Renée shot him an irritated look and pushed thick curls of red hair away from her face. She wore earrings of bright emerald green that flashed when she moved, and had a feathered brooch of blue and green stones pinned to her black jumpsuit.

“Ask why she's here,” he said. “I'll lay you odds it's not to buy jewelry.”

“I've had a complaint.”

“Imagine that. And here we're being all law-abiding.”

“Nick—” Renée said.

He shifted and crossed his arms.

“I don't see why,” Renée said to Susan.

Robin, fiddling with the end of her long blond pigtail, had on red earrings with gold stars and quarter moons, a red brooch on her gold sweater.

Roz, with a look of wary defiance on her face, stuck out her chin, making her earrings, silver sequins with long strands of gold beads, dance and tinkle. They looked very fetching with her long slender neck and short-cropped dark hair. She too had a brooch pinned to her overlarge white sweater. “We refuse to leave,” she stated.

“You can't make us,” Renée said. “We followed all the rules. We made all this.” She gestured in a circle around the display. “By hand.”

Roz gave a snort of laughter. Renée looked at her, then back at Susan. “We paid the entry fee. And we're donating all the money. We're not selling any of this.” She patted the stack of AIDS information pamphlets. “Just giving it away, if anybody asks. We're not pushing it. It's just sitting here.”

“What are you doing?” An indignant mother grabbed the little girl's arm and yanked her away; the little girl stared back over her shoulder with a bemused expression.

“The goats?” Susan thought they must have stayed up all night, every night, getting all this stuff made.

“Here.” Renée handed her a card with a brooch of iridescent blues and greens.
COMING AFFAIRS
was printed on the card.

“Watch it,” Nick said. “You'll get run in for bribing a cop.”

“Light off, Nick.” Renée glared at him and he grinned and backed away. The goat nipped at him and he jumped smartly to one side.

Susan read the hand-lettered sign hanging around the goat's neck.
Do you really love me, Billy?
She looked at Nick, looked at the three R's, then sidestepped two paces to read the sign on the horned goat.
I kid you not.
Laughter fizzed in her throat. Now, she was getting an inkling of why Mrs. Mayor was so incensed.

“There you are!” Mayor Bakover bore down on them, face red enough to suggest an impending stroke. “I was waiting for you upstairs. We cannot have this!” He banged his cane against the wooden floor with a resounding thump. “What kind of example is this? There are children here!”

“Yeah,” Nick muttered. “Better they should get AIDS.”

The mayor turned on him with a furious scowl, then swept the three R's with the same look. “I've informed them they are to leave. They have refused. Get them out of here. And remove all this—” Words failed him.

“We won't go!”

“We're entitled…”

“You can't…”

“What laws have we broken?”

“Living in a police state.”

Before the situation could get any hotter, Nanny goat took the matter out of Susan's hands. Nanny calmly ate her tether and trotted off to greener pastures. On the way, she paused to sample some silk-screened fabrics. The woman at the booth shrieked and made shooing motions. Nanny moseyed along to the pies and settled in. A crowd packed around, hooting and yelling.

The mayor spun on his heel to see what all the commotion was about and the end of his cane struck Billy on the rear. Billy, bucking and lunging, pulled down one side of the flimsy partition. It crashed over on the three R's. Earrings and brooches scattered. Billy took off. Nick grabbed at him and got bitten for his troubles. Billy, kicking and bucking, overturned the pie table and careened into a row of jams and jellies. Jars tumbled and shattered. Like a rodeo cowboy, Susan tackled Nanny, who was headed determinedly for a blueberry pie. Nanny twisted her head and bleated indignantly in Susan's face. A flashbulb exploded.

Oh shit, Susan thought, I'm going to see my picture in the paper.

*   *   *

It wasn't until hours later that she had a chance to look closely at the jewelry the three R's had made. The flat round discs beneath all the sequins and stones and feathers of Coming Affairs were condoms. The bejeweled boxes held undecorated condoms, lubricant, and instructions for the use thereof.

20

C
ARENA LAY IN
bed trying to gather the necessary energy to get up. It was after ten. With the curtains closed, the room was dim. Another dreary day. She'd been staring at the ceiling for over two hours. Saturday, errands to do. And she needed to go in to her office. In her unorganized haste to see David McKinnon, she'd left her briefcase with the papers that needed grading. Always papers to grade. Talking with McKinnon maybe hadn't been such a good idea. Doesn't matter; he can't repeat anything I told him. Oh Lord, I'm tired. Maybe I should just stay in bed all day.

That way I'll never get any coffee. Caffeine, a little impetus stirring through my bloodstream.

A wet nose poked her arm, sympathetic brown eyes peered at her.

“You'd like something to eat, I suppose?” Lexi brushed her tail back and forth on the carpet.

With a weary sigh, Carena dragged herself out of bed, slipped on a fuzzy blue robe, jammed her feet into warm slippers and plodded to the kitchen. She dumped the last of the dry food in the dog bowl, put water on to heat and checked the refrigerator. Just enough milk for her coffee. Add a trip to the market to her list.

After a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, the last of the bread too, she showered and dressed in dark-green pants and bulky white sweater, took her tweed coat from the closet and dug car keys from her purse.

*   *   *

The sky was gray and the campus hills white with snow, the bare-limbed trees had snow-covered branches. Gloved hands in her pockets, Carena trudged along a path crisscrossed with footprints. Off to the right on an intersecting path, a kid in sweat pants and Emerson sweatshirt jogged toward her, then stopped short. Nick Salvatierra. Before she could get a hand from her pocket to wave, he angled off uphill at a fast lope.

At the fork, she veered left toward the math building and set a brisk uphill pace that had her breathing heavily. A student in blue down jacket with the hood up, hurrying along a side path, almost bumped into her. For a moment, Carena didn't recognize Julie Kalazar, thin drawn face dead white, eyes red and puffy.

“Julie?”

“I have to find Nick.” She looked two beats away from collapsing into a sodden huddle of weeping. Roughly, she rubbed a hand across her cheek and mouth as though she had brushed against spider webs. “I need to find him.”

“I saw him a minute or two ago.”

“Where?”

“Going that way.” Carena pointed.

“Excuse me,” Julie said in her well-brought-up young lady's voice, “I have to go,” and darted off, then turned. “He didn't kill her,” she said with great conviction, and nipped away.

Carena watched Julie scoot down the slope. Julie was afraid Nick had killed Lynnelle?

Shaking her head, Carena headed for Adams Hall and let herself in. The hallways were dim and her footsteps had a hollow ring as she climbed the stairs. The emptiness and the gloom stirred hairs on the back of her neck. At her office, she unlocked the door, went inside and locked the door again before flicking on the light.

Her briefcase sat on the desk and she checked through quickly to see that it contained everything she needed. As she went back down the stairs, her footsteps echoed and she stopped twice to make sure the sounds were not made by someone following her.

Safely outside, she felt extremely foolish. The clouds were denser and the air colder. She shivered in the wind and by the time she got to the parking lot, she thought her nose must be frozen. A car pulled in ahead and Edie Vogel got out.

“Hello, Edie,” she said, coming up behind her.

Edie whirled and gasped, her face going pale.

Good heavens, what do I look like that everybody turns pale when they see me. “How's your cold?”

“Oh, Dr. Egersund. It's better.”

She didn't look better, she looked feverish with a blotch of red on each cheek and headachy with pinched muscles around her eyes. Her coat was open over a gray plaid skirt and red sweater. Carena wanted to tell her to button the coat before she got pneumonia. “Working on Saturday?”

“They want me to let them in her office,” Edie said.