More Bitter Than Death (13 page)

“Not too bad, I’m just trying to avoid someone. But I think he’s found another target.”

“Who’s that?”

“Tall guy, skinny, gormless, some kind of archaeologist wannabe. Boring, boring, and if I include his breath, boringer still. As in, it would bore a hole through you.” I looked around apprehensively, trying to find him.

Laurel did the same, much less obviously than I. “Sounds scary. Oh, I got him. Someone needs a visit from the Fab Five, don’t they? He’s looking over here.”

“Just don’t make eye contact. Pretend we’re talking.”

“We are talk—ooph!” Laurel lurched again, and this time lost most of her drink. “Jay! God damn it! Now you are officially an asshole!” she called to Jay’s retreating back. “Walking around with that freaking phone! If you can’t handle your liquor, do it in your room where you won’t spoil it for the rest of us, you useless sot.”

But by the time she’d got to the word
phone
, Laurel’s anger had dissipated, and she was on autopilot. “I thought he was supposed to be getting his act together,” she said to me. “Business has been picking up after a dry spell, or so I heard.”

“Beats me. I haven’t had a chance to catch up with him about work. But I’m glad to hear it.”

By now Scott had made his way to the front to make a few
announcements, but he was accompanied by a couple of uniformed officers. At the same time, my friend Widmark had suddenly found a need to depart, rapidly. Again, he snaked through the crowd, and something about the way he moved struck me as oddly familiar, and not at all in character with what I’d observed of him at lunch. I couldn’t place it, so by the time he left, I turned to hear the official announcement. People began to quiet and turn toward the front of the room.

“Ordinarily now’s the time when we’d move into the ballroom for a brief business meeting. I’ve met with the board and we’ve decided that we need to make an announcement while I’ve…we’ve still got you all here.”

Someone whooped, to a small pocket of laughter—someone who didn’t know, apparently—but Scott wasn’t smiling. “I’m afraid it’s bad news. We learned this morning that our guest of honor, Julius Garrison, passed away during the night.”

Dead silence was followed by a murmur of distress, which quickly grew. I frowned. Surely, this shouldn’t be so great a shock to everyone? He was about six hundred years old, and as he said himself, they don’t start giving you lifetime achievement awards unless they think you’re going to kick off soon. A surprise, certainly, but an anticipated fact of life as well.

“We are still looking into the details and trying to fix the time of his death. If everyone who saw him last night will come forward so that we can get a statement, well, I’m sure that his family will be very glad to hear whatever we can put together of his last evening. After all, he was among those he loved best.”

Oh, please, Scott. That’s a bit much.

“Hear, hear,” someone called out. It was echoed strongly across the room, riding the budding crest of whispered exchanges.

I looked around, puzzled. This was not what I was expecting.

“So, I don’t know, maybe we can all lift our glasses and say goodbye to a fine scholar, a righteous man, and a hell of an archaeologist. To Julius Garrison.”

“Julius Garrison!” came the overwhelming reply.

I turned around to see what was going on, still frowning, then sipped automatically.

“Em, you okay?” Laurel asked. She was sipping from her glass, drinking the toast herself.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just not…” I shrugged. “Toasts? This is Garrison we’re talking about, right? Am I losing my mind, or what?”

Laurel looked around then shrugged. “A lot of people thought he was really important.”

“Yeah, sure, but this?” All around us people were somber, some looked shocked, and a few had handkerchiefs out, visibly upset. “What’s with all the crocodile tears?”

“Maybe not crocodilian, Em. Lots of people liked him.”

“Lots of people were
afraid
of him. He messed with people, bad. And, ‘righteous man’? I don’t know what Scott is thinking.” I couldn’t stop shaking my head. “Doesn’t sound like the man I knew.”

She sipped her drink. “Emma, I doubt very much that these people knew him the way you did.”

I turned on her. “And what does that mean?”

“Just what I said. I think that—”

At that moment, an uproar broke out near the door. A crackle of radio static and words that were loud but barely audible broke over the muted hubbub like an unwelcome drunk at a wake: shots had been fired outside.

People turned toward the noise and the announcement, and then turned toward me. I looked behind me, only to see everyone looking in my direction as well. A uniformed officer and a man in a red parka—Detective Church—spoke to some folks, the only one I could make out was Noreen—and they all pointed toward me. I turned around again, but this time it
was unmistakable: The police were coming for me. I was still surprised when they stopped a few feet away from me.

“Emma Fielding? We’d like you to step outside with us for a few moments.”

“Why, what—?”

Detective Church said, “We have a few questions about where you were last night.”

The words carried across the now-silent ballroom, filling my ears until there was nothing else in my head. Numbly, I followed the cops out of the room, feeling every set of eyes in the place on me.

“C
AN YOU TELL ME WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT
?” I asked Church. We were walking across the lobby now, and though he was perhaps an inch shorter than I, close to five-eight, he matched my stride. “Have you found out anything new? Officer Walton said he’d give me a call—”

“Did he?” This was with humor. “Actually we’ve got a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not, but I’m pretty sure that I told you everything that I saw when I was out on the stairs—”

He stopped. “Why
were
you out on the stairs?”

“I told you. I was looking for Dr. Tomberg.”

“Actually, I meant last night.”

“Like I told Officer Walton. I was taking a walk. I needed some air.”

He flipped through a notebook. “So you did. And earlier today? You seemed interested in what was going on. You seemed really curious about the deceased.”

“Well, yeah.” Then it occurred to me that my interest might not be as self-explanatory as it seemed to me. The
tone of his voice was deceptively neutral. “You’re right. I was curious. It’s just…it’s just…”

I realized that I was about to say the words out loud for the first time, and I was a little reluctant, as if saying them would seal my fate forever. “I’m thinking that maybe…I’m going to look into forensics, maybe forensic anthropology. I mean, I’m an archaeologist now, and I’ve become…I’ve seen…” I took a deep breath. “I’ve been considering getting training so I could work with the state police crime lab, or coroner, or something like that. Stuart Feldman—he’s with the Massachusetts State Police Crime Lab? He’s been trying to get me to look into it.”

Detective Church nodded slowly, like this seemed logical to him. “Lot of people here are archaeologists. They don’t seem like they are all rushing down the stairs to see a corpse. A corpse that looks like it died by accident.”

If was an accident, then why the continued police presence here? Why is everyone rushing around like it wasn’t an accident? I was at least smart enough to keep all this to myself. “Like I said, I knew the deceased. So I had a couple of reasons.”

“Plenty of people here knew him, from what I can see. How did you?”

“I knew him through my grandfather. He used to come visit our sites, years ago.”

“Seen him much since then?” Again came the ready smile, the one that made me want to answer him just as smartly as I could. I realized he had a talent for getting people to talk.

“No, not much. Occasionally, at professional things like this.”

“So he wasn’t really an old friend of the family?”

“Well, he was, but—”

“A lot of folks saw the two of you alone, yesterday. Arguing, it looked like.”

“What? They couldn’t have—” The bus had been up by the road, and you couldn’t really see down to the site so well—could you? Well, yes, you could, now that the house was gone.

Church smiled encouragingly. “Out on the field trip? The tour of the site?”

“Oh…butweweren’t…arguing. He was just…telling me some things about Oscar. Oscar was my grandfather.”

“People said you looked flustered. Was that ‘friendly’?”

“I, well, not—” I could feel myself getting confused, my thoughts tripping over themselves before they could make it to my tongue.

Suddenly Duncan was there. “She knew him about as well as I did, Mark. Which is to say, a little professionally, a little socially.”

If I thought Church was smiling before, when he saw Duncan his face lit up with genuine pleasure. “Mr. Thayer! Excellent to see you.”

Church shook hands with Duncan, the kind with claps on the back that speaks of more than passing acquaintance.

“Mr. Church. You’re looking very fit.”

This banter sounded like it dated back a long ways. I was so taken aback that Duncan had inserted himself into the situation, at once sticking up for me and doing the old-boy glad-hand stuff, that I was momentarily speechless. Rage, confusion, and envy—how come a jerk like Duncan got to be at ease, got to slide through this kind of situation as if he’d been born to it? Of course he had been born to it: We were in his territory, it was no surprise that he should know people—male authority figures—and be at home with them. He
was
at home. I bit my tongue and waited for things to play out before I added anything. Like kerosene to a fire.

“And you know Miss—er…” he flipped through his notebook. Somehow I knew he didn’t need to.

“I’ve known Dr. Emma Fielding for years,” Duncan said. “Since college. Best kind of people.”

I hated that he was sticking up for me. I couldn’t stand that he used my title. I didn’t want to be beholden to him for any reason, and I didn’t want him bruiting about our past—why couldn’t he let it lie decently buried? I hated that he was helping me. And I knew he knew it.

“Well, we’re just asking her about her interest in the deceased. Why she was out trying to get a look at the body.”

He beamed expansively. “Then I’m sure she’ll give you all the help you need. I’ll be seeing you.”

Church put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Look, Dunk, we need to talk to everyone who might have seen Mr. Garrison before he died. So I’ll be seeing you a lot sooner than we might otherwise.”

“No problem.” Duncan shook his head. “It’s been too long. Time gets away from you, Mark.”

“Sure does.”

Duncan was all business again. “When would be convenient? Just say the word, man.”

Officer Church settled back comfortably. “I’ll give you a call when we’re ready for you.”

“Great. Here’s my room number. If you need anything, any help with anything, let me know. I’ll do what I can to see you get everything you need.”

The way he said it was as though he was modestly understating his importance, while letting it be known just how big a fish he was. As if the cops would need his help with anything. I looked at Church quickly, but was disappointed.

He nodded, pleased. “Thanks, Dunk, I appreciate it.”

The two men shook hands again, and Duncan touched me on the shoulder as if to reassure me or to assert some sort of proprietary rights. I managed to nod, not bite his finger. What was all this about? He knew how I hated to have other people help me.

Whatever it was, Officer Church’s demeanor toward me changed significantly, though I could tell he went to pains to disguise it. He relaxed more, was more sure of what he was going to get now that I had been validated by Duncan. A pause in his gum chewing, and I realized that he could see I was tensed up. I tried to relax.

“So, can you tell me where you were last night? Before your walk.”

“Card game with friends, from about eight to eleven. Then I was in the bar, with Laurel and Sue, and some others. Then I went for a walk. Then I went to my room, then to the slide room. Duncan…saw me there. In the bar again, briefly, after that. Then I called my sister. That was after one.”

He wrote all of this down, noting the names and times especially.

“And you last saw Professor Garrison—when?”

“I think it was at the presentation, and that was before everything else. But I know that Petra Williams saw him later, walked him up to his room,” I said. “You might check with her about the time there, I think she said about nine, so some time after that. And there was a note for him, someone left on the board. They were supposed to meet last night, I guess, and the writer, whoever that was, seemed angry, like he’d been blown off. Maybe you should check that out too.”

“Maybe I already have.” Again came the smile, and it could have sold everything from toothpaste to foreign policy. “And we’ve spoken to Dr. Petra Williams.”

“Oh.” There were no flies on this guy. “So, what’s with the shots that were fired? You know, what we heard on the radios at the reception?”

He tensed, the smile faltered. “Probably some misguided hunter, nothing to worry about.”

I looked at him, waiting.

“That’s my opinion, but we’re looking into it. But other than that, all’s I can tell you so far, is no one thinks you fired
them. We need to take a count of who was where, so your friends back there in the ballroom are going to be mighty jealous that you got done so quickly.”

I’ll bet, I thought. “Do you need to know anything else?”

He laughed, and I felt absurdly pleased with myself. “I need to know almost everything, but…why don’t you tell me about the words you had with Garrison.”

Hell, I walked straight into that one. I took a deep breath. “He was asking about my grandfather Oscar’s involvement with the site. Oscar introduced me to the owner—Pauline Westlake—when I was very young, and we’d been good friends. Pauline…Pauline was killed, murdered, a few years ago. He was asking me about that.”

“And that made you angry.”

I held up a braking hand. “I just didn’t want to talk to him about Pauline, or Oscar either. I…I didn’t think he had the right, the way he’d behaved toward Oscar. And I didn’t like him asking me about how my friend died.”

“Really.”

“If he knew that Pauline was murdered, he should have known well enough that it might be a source of pain for me still. That’s why I might have been ‘flustered,’ as you put it.”

As I spoke, I felt myself getting stiffer and stiffer—posture, demeanor, everything. I could feel my face shutting down, banking down my emotions. As much as I wanted to be forthcoming about Garrison and what I knew about him, this was off limits.

Church nodded, once, twice, and resumed chewing his gum. “Right. Well, you can leave. Oh, hang on one more second.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “We were talking about notes, before. This one was left for you on the bulletin board. Can you tell me anything about it?”

He handed me a photocopy, and I looked at it, puzzled, expecting that it was a note from Scott, or maybe another student. It was a copy of both sides of a smaller piece of pa
per. One side had my name on it, handwritten. The other read, “Stay out of it. It’s not worth your life.”

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and my hands went cold. “Where…when…what is this?”

“You can’t tell me?”

“No, of course not! I had no idea—you said you got it on the notice board?”

“Yes. You don’t recognize the handwriting?”

“No, I don’t. What…what have I been talking to you about? I mean, that would get anyone so…would make someone write this?”

“I surely don’t know. At conferences—isn’t there a lot of fooling around? Drinking, jokes, that kind of thing?”

I didn’t buy it and he knew it.

“But just in case it isn’t, you might want to keep in sight of crowds, this weekend, in case this isn’t some kind of joke. Better to stick to archaeology than criminal investigation, right?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I said absently. The note didn’t feel like a joke, and if it was, it certainly wasn’t Carla’s style.

He took down my room number, again confirming things I’d already told the other officer, and then sent me on my way.

I wanted to go up to my room, and once again I found myself wishing to avoid my colleagues, but I knew it would only feel worse, that it would look bad, for whatever reason, if I hid myself away. The bar was emptier than I’d seen it yet that weekend. It was filling up slowly, as people exited the police interviews in the ballroom, and everyone who came in was subdued. Eyes flickered watchfully, a little fearfully, and a lot of glances lingered on me a little longer than I liked. Drinks were clutched, ignored, or swallowed too quickly.

I found Sue there, sitting on a stool off to one side, her head nearly bowed to her lap, elbows on her knees, her hands clutched to her mouth. A drink sat mostly drained be
fore her on the table. She squared her shoulders and shook herself when I greeted her.

She looked up. “I’m sorry? What was that? I’m still out of it, hon.”

“No problem. I was just asking if I could get you a drink or something. Orange juice, a Coke?” Just in case you wanted to stop the hard stuff.

She thought for a moment, then grimaced, shaking her head. “Not unless you can rustle up a vernal cocktail.”

“Huh?” Was this something new, from
Sex in the City
, maybe?

“I need a little spring in my life, Em. I’ve had it with feeling like I’m setting my teeth, hunkering down,
enduring
all the time. You know, when the fall starts turning really cold, and you have to start thinking about storm windows and raking and firewood and whether you’ve got deicer and sand in the car? I’m sick of it.”

She paused and reached into her glass, popped a couple of ice cubes into her mouth. I assumed she was drinking water and lime, as I couldn’t smell gin or rum, but I didn’t know for sure.

When she got done crunching, she said, “I want…I want to remember what it feels like when a warm breeze runs across your face and your shoulders unknot and you start to feel hopeful again. Daffodils and early tulips, flowering buds on the trees, wild birdsong. New grass breaking through the hard soil. I need that, Emma. I can’t stand this other feeling anymore.”

She sighed so deeply that I thought she would cry. I followed her glance to the window, where the world outside was shrouded in white, buried in snow, and all hope of spring had to come from memory, because we were about as far from it as you could possibly be. The frost-rimed glass let in a bluish black light from the outside lamps, but blocked out any more distinct images. The exception was a
single black and skeletal branch, evenly draped in a snowy mantle with icy fringe, as it tapped like a bony finger against the window.

I shivered, glad to be inside, but the feeling of being trapped inside—not only in the hotel, but too near Sue’s depressed state of mind—was total.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Sometimes the snow is nice. Covers up the dead grass and leaves. Makes you feel secure, all cozy indoors.” But I was far from feeling any of that now; I just felt stranded.

In spite of that, Sue’s next words surprised me.

“I’m done. I’m not going to do this anymore. I can’t keep bashing myself against walls I didn’t create, keep working for something I don’t feel I can really change. Last night decided me. I’m done.”