Failure is Fatal (23 page)

“How would I know who she knew?”

“Was she assigned to you to do work-study this fall?”

“Not really.”

“Not really? She either was or she wasn't.”

“She was, but turned down the assignment because her hours didn't fit with mine or something like that. You'd have to check the details with our secretary, Kay.” He began to nervously tap his pipe against the side of the ashtray on his desk, then extract his pipe tool from the ashtray and scrape and tamp the bowl.

“Dear brother, working late aren't you? And a guest, the lovely Dr. Murphy, isn't it?” The other brother Chaffee appeared in the open door of the office, a broad smile on his face. “I heard you had a little accident.”

“Where did you hear that?” I said.

“Oh, word gets around, you know. Now where was it?” He placed his finger to his full lips and drew his eyebrows together as if in thought. “From you, dear brother?”

A “dear brother” was surely not the description I would have applied to the relationship between Melvin and Lionel. Lionel's use of the phrase was rendered with sweet sarcasm, and Melvin received the appellation with an indignant jolt each time it was used.

“You didn't hear it from me, Lionel. What are you doing here? I thought you were going to spend the weekend in Syracuse.”

“Plans have been changed. I tried to call you at home. I was hoping we might have dinner together. Care to join us, Dr. Murphy, or do you need to get home and ice that ankle or take some pills or something?” said Lionel.

Melvin appeared about to swallow his pipe at hearing his brother's invitation to me. I knew it wasn't a real invitation, but since it was given, I hesitated as if thinking it over, then said, “What a tempting offer. Why don't we all pile in my car and we can head down the hill for pizza or something? Oh, no, wait a minute. I forgot. I have a prior engagement with Detective Pasquis. We're finally getting somewhere on this case, you know. I wish I could tell you more, but it's hush-hush. Police business.”

I left the brothers Chaffee counting their blessings that I turned down Lionel's offer. More importantly, I hoped that I left them worrying about what progress Der and I were making on the case. Their role in this whole affair wasn't clear to me, but I was convinced they were somehow involved.

As I headed past the parking lot toward the administration building and my meeting with Cathy, I noticed that a fourth car, an older, somewhat beaten up Honda two-door sedan joined the Kia, the Miata and my SUV in the lot. I surmised the Honda had to be Lionel's since it wasn't there when I arrived earlier. As I walked by it, I noticed a number of college parking permit stickers on the side window, one from Shelby Junior College, where I remembered Lionel was presently teaching, and another one, obviously older, more faded. Someone tried to scrape it off and was only partially successful. I leaned in closer to the car to get a better view. The dim light from the street lamp allowed me to make out the words “faculty” and “Bar” followed by a “t” and then “Col.” I leaned in even closer, cupping one hand around the side of my face to see better the inside of the back seat. It was filled with books; most of them I could see were texts in the area of literature. I caught the names Byron and Shelley in the titles of several.

A hand settled on my shoulder and squeezed softly, then more insistently and moved closer to my neck. I jumped at the contact and turned. Lionel Chaffee was looking down at me, his hand now holding the back of my head, almost as if in a lover's embrace.

“Can I help you?” He smoothed my hair and pulled me toward him with gentle though insistent pressure on my upper back. I thought for a minute that he was going to kiss me. With his lips almost touching mine, he whispered, “Laura, Laura, don't you ever learn? Melvin said you were a nosy little snoop. You really must try and stay out of our lives. It's not healthy to spend so much time poking into other people's affairs.” With that, he pushed me firmly away from him so that I almost lost my balance. I steadied myself on the hood of his car as he opened the driver's side door and prepared to leave. He started the engine, never taking his eyes off me, and ran a long, pointed tongue over his full lips. It reminded me of the snake in the fraternity house. I walked around the car to the driver's side and tapped on the window. He rolled it down and looked up at me.

“I suspect,” I said, hoping that the shaking of my body didn't extend to my voice, “that I'm just too damn old for you.” His eyes moved slowly down my body and then up again. He laughed, but I could see that his eyes were cold.

“You're very smart, aren't you, Laura? Too smart for my brother, but I doubt you can deal with me.” He shifted into gear, and I watched him drive out of the parking lot. I walked over to my car on trembling legs, leaned against the hood until I was certain I could move without falling, and wobbled into administration.

Cathy looked up from her desk when I appeared in the door to her office.

“You look like someone or something scared you half to death. You're white as a sheet,” she said, rising from her chair in concern.

“Right the first time,” I said. I sank gratefully into the chair she pulled up for me. “I had a bit of a round around with Melvin Chaffee's brother.” In the bright lights of Cathy's office, it seemed silly to make too much of my encounter with Lionel. He was as theatrical as a teenager. “I guess we don't see eye-to-eye on some issues. No big deal. He's just a bit overbearing.”

Cathy, a tall, robustly healthy woman in her late forties, turned her pale blue eyes on me with concern. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“Yeah, fine. I just hope I didn't keep you waiting here for me while I visited Melvin Chaffee in his lair.” I gestured across to the building housing the English Department.

Cathy gave forth a hearty laugh. “How right you are about that one. I guess his brother is much the same, yes?”

“Just as sleazy, but a bit scarier in approach. So, I'm wondering, can you let me look at the file on Marie Becca?”

“Marie Becca, the woman who was killed about a month or so ago? Helping Detective Pasquis on this one too, are you?” Cathy extracted a key from her desk drawer, exited the office, and returned a few minutes later with a folder. “Here you go. Anything special you're looking for?”

“I'd like to see her transcript from Barnett College, not so much for grades and courses, but for the names of the professors she had there.”

“Sorry, that won't be on the transcript record. You'd have to track that down through Barnett's Registrar,” Cathy said.

Or through my friend at Barnett.

“How about courses she might have signed up for here, but then dropped?”

Cathy hit a few keys on her computer. “This is Marie's record here. Looks like she was block registered for Am Lit 215, but dropped it immediately after the first class meeting. Not so unusual. We give transfers and freshman an automatic block of courses when they come here based upon their stated area of interest and any past courses they've completed.”

“Let me guess.” I laid the folder on Cathy's desk. “Am Lit was being taught by Dr. Melvin Chaffee.”

“Right. You already knew what you wanted me to find out for you?” She looked puzzled.

“No. I had a hunch and you just confirmed it. Thanks a million. I'd better get going and get this foot iced.” I pulled up my pants leg to look at my ankle and sighed.

“Wow!” Look at that rainbow of colors and the size. You should be on crutches.” Cathy arose from her chair and came around the desk. “Need help to get to your car?”

“No, really. I'm fine.” I hobbled down the hall and out the door, pain coursing from my ankle to my knee and back down again. The steps that led out of the building now looked as long as the metro entrances in Washington, DC, and I'd be damned if I'd get down on my butt to get down them. I grasped the handrail with both hands and crab walked down. The short walk to the SUV seemed more like a wilderness hike.
That damn doctor.
He was right. I really should have stayed off this foot, but how could I find out anything really useful using only a phone?

I vowed to myself on the way home that I would stay off the foot tomorrow and give it a day to heal. But that was it. I needed to be on the move and soon. The brothers Chaffee shouldn't be allowed to rest. They needed a push, and who better to give it to them than me? A voice in the back of my mind suggested that all this information might prove valuable to Der, and that he might lean a little on Lionel and Melvin. But that meant I had to tell him I took the SUV into town. I'd just sit on the information for a while. I didn't feel like having Der yell at me tonight.

When Der arrived later to cook dinner, I was asleep on the couch, my leg propped up on pillows. An ice pack, now melted, was on the floor. He tried to remove the ice pack without waking me, but I awoke just as he was returning it to the freezer. I must have been exhausted not to hear him arrive.

“I'm proud of you, Murphy. For once you did the best thing for yourself. Got some sleep and took care of that foot. Stay put. I'll start in on dinner. I'll bet that foot feels a whole lot better for your staying off it today.”

You have no idea. No idea.

“Hmmm?” He poked his head around the corner of the kitchen to look at me.

“No. I'm fine. I'll just stay here and rest a little more. Nothing like a little rest to make a new woman of me.”

*

I awoke early the next morning, resigned to keeping my vow to stay at the house and off my feet. By late afternoon I completed the first draft of my work and decided to leave it for a day before I did a rewrite. Too bad this intellectual work only occupied one's brain and didn't allow for a lot of movement or interaction with others. I'd rather be in the classroom or with my friends or working with Der on a case. Or with Guy. I picked up the phone on my desk and punched in Guy's number. His daughter answered and said Guy was out with her brother playing soccer. I left a message with her and hung up.

I needed the phone book, but it was in my bedroom and I didn't feel like navigating those steps again. I hit the phone's On button, punched the digits for directory assistance, and even let them automatically connect me to Kay, the secretary for the English Department. She told me Lottie had been in touch and that she was willing to talk to me about Marie Becca. We arranged to meet at the Student Center for lunch the next day.

Sam began to bark at the kitchen door, and by the time I limped there, she was standing on her hind feet, her forepaws up on the panes of glass in the door. In the late afternoon light I saw a figure moving up the walkway. I flipped on the outside light, grabbing Sam's collar, my hand on the doorknob.

“Laura,” called a familiar voice from the other side of the door. “It's me, Emily.”

The voice was familiar to Sam also, since Emily visited us once before. Sam's barking gave way to tail wags and whines to get out. Or to please let Emily in.

“Hi!” I opened the door, and we hugged each other while Sam danced around the two of us.

“Oh, Sam,” Emily said, “you haven't changed a bit since I last saw you. Except you're a bit bigger.”

I reached out to take her coat and hung it on the hook by the door. Emily shook a few flakes of snow out of her dark brown hair and bent over to remove her boots. She stood up, scrutinizing me with those penetrating green eyes of hers and shaking her head as her gaze came to rest on my injured ankle.

“I was visiting my mother in Albany today and thought I'd take the scenic route back home and stop by to see how you're doing. How's the foot?”

“Oh, it's getting much better. Coffee?”

“Sure, if you've got some made. Don't go to any trouble. Stay off that foot.”

“You know, that could be my new name, “Stay-off-that-foot Murphy.”

Settled in front of the fire, Emily set her cup on the side table and sighed. “Wish I had this setting, Laura. Home on a lake, set in the woods, wood-burning stove. Wonderful.” She shook herself and sat forward. “I have some information for you about Marie Becca.”

“I may already know part of what you're going to tell me.” I told Emily about the letters from Marie to Ryan Cleates and of my suspicion that Marie left Barnett College because of someone there. “I think that someone was Lionel Chaffee. Does that fit with what you've found out?”

“Does it! I wish I had known about this earlier, but it was all hushed up. You know how these things go. People just disappear to take a ‘better position elsewhere.' And nobody except a very few at the college know what really happened. Dr. Chaffee was a member of our English Department for a number of years. I heard some rumors about him off and on. Some women came to me with complaints that he was saying inappropriate things in the classroom. I sent them to Student Affairs, which handles sexual harassment complaints. One of them came back to me several weeks later really furious. The people in Student Affairs told her to go to the Counseling Center! Can you believe that? I encouraged her to go back and file a formal complaint of sexual harassment. I never heard from her again. I suspect that several women did file formal complaints though. Most don't, you know.”