Murder is Academic (2 page)

“I’m not charging anybody with anything tonight. I’m taking names, and I’ll be checking your whereabouts at the time of death. And I’ve got to identify the victim.”

“You’re going to check on my whereabouts? You know me and Annie and Frank. How could you possibly think we’d have anything to do with murder?” I felt aggravated by his cop attitude. He could try to act like more of a friend.

“I think we have the name of the victim, sir.” The officer handed a wallet to Der who flipped it open and shone his flashlight on the contents. I tried to look over his shoulder, but he blocked my view.

“One more thing, sir. Mr. La France said that if you weren’t going to arrest Dr. Murphy here, that he’d like to take her to dinner tomorrow. I can relay your reply if you’d like, Dr. Murphy.”

My reply, my reply. Oh, I had a reply all right. I wanted to go over there and bend his thumbs again.

“Tell him to shove…”

Der interrupted me.

“I won’t be arresting her, so you can tell him yes to dinner.” A quiver of a smile worked one corner of his mouth. “But perhaps I
should
charge you and your sidekick here too.” He nodded toward Annie. I saw her large, brown eyes grow round with worry. “Look at this.” He held the wallet out to us, open to the plastic window displaying the owner’s license.

The license of the victim was that of Thomas Talbot, president of the college where Annie and I were professors.

“Didn’t you tell me just the other day that the two of you had an argument?”

I stared at the photo on the license, recalling the conversation to which Der referred, and I gulped. President Talbot had turned me down for an increase in my research space, and I had slammed out of his office in a rage, yelling loud enough for his administrative assistant and everybody near his office to hear my threats.

“And you told me what you said, Laura. You were hot about doing something to President Talbot.” Der ended his comment on a high note as if he expected me to fill him in on how I might carry out my threat.

“But I meant I was going to go to the union for support. That’s all. And maybe get my own lawyer and sue him.” I popped my mouth open and closed like a guppy out of water. “But, but, you can’t believe . . .”

“Mr. La France is single. You’re single. He’s interested. Find out what you can about him.” Der thought he could order me around. Ha! I needed to remind him I didn’t follow commands well.

“I’m not desperate enough to date someone who’s committed murder.”

Der walked with me to Frank’s car where Annie and Frank were loading our canoe onto the roof.

“Once the medical examiner determines the time of death, I’ll be able to check his alibi. That should be by tomorrow.” Der stopped and took my arm, turning me to face him. “I was joking about the date. I doubt he’s our killer. You don’t have to go out with him, although it might be of help to me.”

Oh, not a command performance, but a plea for help on the case. Well, that was different.

“You sly fox. Say no more. I’ll pump him for any information on the road crew that might be useful. And you know I’m willing to do what I can on campus, too.”

“I’m counting on it. You know these people. They don’t trust me because I’m a cop and… different. You’re my inside source, but hold it down a bit, would you?” He turned and walked back toward his police cruiser. I understood what he meant. His only reservation about my helping him was my no nonsense, Yankee manner. His was the island way, learned in his native Haiti, a gentlemanly approach to people with deference to their positions. We were so different. How had we become such good friends?

Chapter 2

At eight the next night, I opened the door to my date. He wore a black tee-shirt and black jeans, and his light brown sun-streaked hair was slicked back off his forehead. I swallowed hard at his appearance, trying not to let the drool slide out of the side of my mouth. He looked as good as a French cruller. On the other hand, he was a murder suspect Der had tricked me into dating.

I hoped this La France guy possessed brains and a personality to match his looks or this would be a long evening. He handed me a bouquet of flowers, a box of candy (yum, chocolates!), and a bottle of champagne.

“Clichéd, I know,” he said, “but I couldn’t resist.” He paused and looked me over, his gaze traveling from the top of my head to the sandals on my feet. “You’re pretty short, you know. I’ll bet your feet wouldn’t even reach the pedals on my road grader.”

“And that’s why you asked me for a date? Because I wasn’t the killer if I couldn’t operate the machinery used to cover the body? How flattering.”

I grabbed the gifts out of his hands and began opening cupboard doors searching for a vase. No luck. Maybe the fridge?

“That and a few other things. His look traveled over my body again coming to rest on my chest.

“Hey. I’m not that short. My face is up here, buster.”

“I know. I’m just wondering what you’re going to do with that.” He gestured to the milk carton I had grabbed out of the fridge and now held in front of me.

“Oh.” I opened it, poured the contents, sour, down the sink, filled it with water and arranged the flowers in it.

“I guess I made the right choice. They fit nicely in there.” He smiled his lopsided smile. “We’d better get going. I made the reservation for eight-thirty.”

I walked to the door and preceded him down the sidewalk, expecting to see his car in front of my garage.

“Where’s your car parked?” I couldn’t see another vehicle in the driveway.

“Oh, just on the other side of yours.”

I was thinking something small and low like a Mazda Miata. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be so bad after all. Ride in a fancy car, wind in my hair, come home and eat chocolate.

“Oh, my God!” My hand flew up to cover my mouth.

Parked next to my Toyota was the biggest motorcycle I’d ever seen.

“Yep, isn’t she the most beautiful machine? A 1989 Honda Gold Wing with 40,000 miles on her.” There was the pride of a parent in his voice and his hands ran lovingly over the front fender.
Those hands. Strong looking, long fingers. Sensitive?
I shook myself free of my musings.

“You don’t really expect that I’ll ride on that thing, do you?”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind the wind blowing through your hair. Anyway, you need to wear this helmet. It’s the law.” He handed me a helmet of the same turquoise color as the bike.

“Color-coordinated. What other surprises do you have in store for me?”

“Ride on my bike, and I’ll tell you over dinner.” He moved close enough to me that I could smell his clean, masculine scent.

*

The night was full of surprises. I rode on his motorcycle, and I liked it. The wind caressed my face, bringing with its coolness the smells of the evening rising from the countryside.

“Whee!” I lifted my arms like a child on a carnival ride as we sped down a hill.

“Hold on tight,” he warned me.

I could do that too.

I was pleased he already knew my name and that I was a member of the psychology department at the college in Onondaga Falls. I didn’t ask him how or why he found out about me. It was enough that he took the trouble to do his homework. My mistrust of him lessened as the night air caressed our senses in a way that made me forget he was anyone other than the most desirable man I had met in a good while. Best of all, I liked how the summer moon shone through my bedroom skylight that very night, reflecting the light from his blue eyes. The man had killer eyes.

*

The phone by the bed rang. I pulled the pillow over my head. It kept ringing.

“Maybe you should answer that while I pop into the shower.”

I rolled over toward the voice. No, it wasn’t a dream. I was in bed with a biker. The two main suspects in the murder of my college’s president had spent the night together, not suspicious enough of one another to keep their clothes on and their hands off one another. I reached for the phone and caught a fleeting view of a naked derriere heading toward the bathroom.

I looked at the caller ID. Damn. It was Der. “This better be important. It’s only seven am. Hang up and bother someone else.”

“How was your date with our suspect last night?”

“A suspect with an alibi. Guy told me over dinner that you checked with his landlady, and she alibied him for the time of the murder.”

There was hesitation on the line for a moment. “Well, then. I could use a cup of coffee, unless I’m intruding. I’m in your drive.” He pronounced the word “coffee” with his soft, island accent, making it sound more like “café”.

“You’re here?” I sat up in bed. The sight of my clothes in a trail from the hallway like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs didn’t help pull me together.

“Okay, come on in. Door’s open.”

“Right then. Annie just drove up, and she’s carrying a pastry box. I’ve got some information about your president. Unless you’re not interested.”

I heard a chuckle from the other end of the line, and then it went dead.

I flew out of bed and banged on the bathroom door. “I need to get in to brush my teeth.”

“Come.”

Guy was in the shower, putting forth a cloud of steam and a pretty good rendition of “Sloop John B.” I wiped a small circle of steam off the mirror to look at my reflection. That was a mistake. My heavy blond hair no longer hung in waves down my back. Instead it was scrunched down on one side and sticking straight up on the other. Some women looked tousled after a night of sex. I wasn’t one of them. I looked messy. I turned sideways as I brushed my teeth examining my stomach in the mirror. Was it getting plumper? At least my boobs still looked great. Well, maybe the left one drooped a little more than the right one.

Guy’s hand shoved back the shower curtain, grabbed me and tried to pull me into the shower with him.

“Hey, I’ve got my robe on.”

“Take it off.”

I did, and we showered until my fingertips got all pruney.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Use the john downstairs. We’ll be right out.” I punctuated my sentence with a giggle of delight as Guy slid his arms around me.

It was Annie. “That’s not the problem. Der’s got to get going and he wants to know if you’re interested in the details of the president’s death.”

“Oh my God, I forgot all about Der.” I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel and headed for the bedroom. Guy followed, toweling off his shoulders. I couldn’t help but turn and stare at his tan chest.

“You seem to have a full house downstairs. Is it this way every morning around here or only when a murder has been committed?” He dressed, winked at me and headed down the stairs.

Pulling myself together took a little more time than Guy needed. On my way down the stairs, my body began to overheat. Sweat erupted from my brow. Oh, damn. Not now. When I entered the kitchen I noticed that everyone was drinking coffee, and pastries sat in a box on the table. I bypassed both offerings, opened the freezer door and inserted my head.

“What’re you doing?” asked Annie.

“I’m just looking for something.” That was better. I was careful not to lay my sweaty brow on the ice trays for fear they would freeze fast to my face. Then I turned and smiled at everyone and took a seat at the table.

“What did I miss?”

Der, his black eyes registering nothing that I could read, were intent upon Guy. Guy seemed unbothered by the scrutiny. He appeared more interested in my performance at the refrigerator, but, since I said nothing, he didn’t ask.

“Someone left the keys to the road grading machine in the ignition,” Der continued to eye Guy.

“Where I found them.” Guy’s gaze remained steady. “Most likely the foreman who’s forever moving equipment around and then forgetting to put the keys in the site trailer for lock-up at night. I think he feels frustrated that he no longer is doing the hands-on work and likes to play with the machinery after hours.”

“Well, your foreman didn’t murder the president. He went directly from work to the Hard as Nails bar, downed three shots in a row, and picked a fight with the bartender. He was in our jail sobering up by five o’clock. If you hadn’t removed the keys from the machine, we might have gotten some usable prints off them.” Der paused and his scrutiny of Guy hardened. Guy met his stare.

I decided to butt in. “Boys, let’s play nice here. You know Guy didn’t off the president, so what gives?”

“Man’s got a job to do. I don’t mind at all answering a few more questions.” Guy shoved the kitchen chair onto its back legs and balanced there while he continued to sip his coffee.

Then it hit me. Der wanted me to find out what I could about Guy, but that didn’t mean jumping into bed with him. He was jealous or protective or some guy thing. Who knew what went on in their testosterone addled brains.

Both men continued to stare at each other in silence. My thoughts journeyed back to last night and the way Guy’s hair fell forward on his forehead to give him a boyish look when he bent over to kiss me. My attention was not on the case.

I extracted a chocolate-covered donut from the pastry box and bit into it. There. That was better. My mind slid into drive, and I changed the focus to our recently departed president.