A Function of Murder (11 page)

I bailed on Fran, promising to call her back, then clicked on with Kira, whose voice
was weighed down with grief.

“Dr. Knowles, what am I going to do?” No preamble. It was as though I’d cut into a
conversation she’d been having with herself for as long as she’d known about the mayor’s
death. Edward’s death, to her.

“You must be so sad, Kira,” I said. “So am I. I’ve been thinking about you. Are you
still on campus?” My real question was, are you on a ledge somewhere?

“I’m in the dorm. My parents went back home at, like, dawn, this morning. They don’t
even know yet. I won’t be able to reach them for another couple of hours. I might
stay on to work at the campaign headquarters for a couple more weeks to close—” Her
words came to abrupt halt. A gasp followed quickly, then, a wail. “To close the doors.
There’s no more campaign!”

Kira’s sobs took over the line. I tried to fill in with soothing words.

“I know it’s hard, Kira. This will take time for you to process.”
Nice going
, I thought. As if grieving was like collecting data for an experiment. “Are you still
in your room? I thought the dorms were closing today.” A white lie.

“Who would do this, Dr. Knowles? He was the nicest, most amazing man. There’s nothing
left for me now.”

If Kira was at an eight out of ten on the freaked-out scale at the party yesterday
and the dinner last night, she was now at sixteen.

“Would you like to get a coffee, Kira? I can meet you downtown.”

“I don’t know. I’m just…There are still cops on campus.
I didn’t go down there, but I could see them from the window in the lounge.”

The dorm lounge, where various potential weapons were stocked. Knives, electrical
appliances, and a handyman’s box of common tools. Maybe even a letter opener.

“Kira?” I thought I lost the connection, until I heard a soft weeping. “Kira, I know
you were…” I struggled for the right word.
Close
didn’t sound appropriate. Neither did
friends
. I wished Fran’s term
seeing him
wouldn’t keep blocking out my internal thesaurus. “I know he meant a lot to you.”
Citizen-wise
, I almost said.

“We had something very special.” A pause for raspy, erratic breathing. “No one gets
it.”

Uh-oh.
“I get it, Kira. I do. Look, it’s so hot here, I was just going to leave for an iced
mocha. How does that sound? Why don’t we meet at the Coffee Filter?” I heard sniffles
from the depths. “How about fifteen minutes from now? It’s air-conditioned there and
I’m stifling in my house.” Gray lies.

“I don’t know. I—”

“Oh good. Thanks,” I cut in. “My friends are all working or out of town and it would
be great to have someone to talk things over with.”

“There’s no one here either,” Kira said. “They all went out for breakfast like everything
was normal. Jeanne, Paula, Bethany, even Nicole.”

“Then it’s up to us, Kira. We can talk about it or just be quiet together if you want.”

“Ummm…”

“Hey, I haven’t talked to you much since you’re officially a Henley College alumna.”
I managed a weak “Ta da,” and added “You promised to visit often, remember? This can
be our first non-teacher-student visit.”

I was encouraged by what might have been a small chuckle, which might have meant simply
that she saw through my falsetto cheeriness.

“Okay.”

Whew.
“I
do need a favor, though. If you can do it. I know you have that new graphing app installed
on your phone. I have to pull things together for a class on graphs at Zeeman this
week.” Lies, lies.

“I have the app.”

“I’d be really grateful if you can go over it with me.” I paused for effect, then
an afterthought. “Or, if you just want to talk, that’s okay, too.”

I hoped I got it right, following suggestions from all the counseling workshops I’d
been to over the years. The first thing I’d learn not to say is any form of “This,
too, shall pass” or “You’re young yet and still have your whole life before you.”
I’d learned early on that teaching math to people barely out of their teens wasn’t
just about the math, but about life. I felt confident that I’d done better than the
clichés, especially since the circumstances were more traumatic than the usual crises
that threatened to put students over the edge—breaking up with a boyfriend, the lack
of a prom date, or a B-plus instead of an expected A.

I went through my mental checklist. I’d coaxed Kira out of her physical location;
given her something to do for me, so she feels committed to the meeting; left an opening
if she’s just looking for a sympathetic ear. I waited for the response.

After a long pause, Kira answered my request. “Ummm. I don’t know.”

“It will take me about fifteen minutes to get to the Coffee Filter. See you soon,”
I said, not too cheery, not too down, as if I’d misunderstood her hesitation.

Kira’s “Okay,” wasn’t as enthusiastic as I’d hoped, but at least she hadn’t hung up
on me.

The Coffee Filter was barely a five-minute walk from Kira’s dorm, the Clara Barton,
on the northeastern edge of campus. I didn’t want her to be alone any longer than
necessary. I tried to think of someone who’d be on campus on a
Sunday, especially this Sunday, with a “no more teachers, no more books” air about
it. No administrators would be there, and no smart-thinking faculty would step foot
on the pathways that wound around the buildings on the day after graduation.

I worked my way down my mental list to the staff and perked up. Woody, our all-purpose
maintenance man. His main beat was Franklin Hall, but I knew he’d do anything for
his employer family.

I called his cell phone, supplied to him by the college for janitorial emergencies.
I felt my need at the moment more than qualified.

“Awful thing, Dr. Knowles,” he said to me. I knew what he meant and I knew his old
gray head was shaking in disbelief at the murder of Henley’s mayor.

I hated to rush past Woody’s feelings of sympathy, but I needed him to move fast.

“You know Kira Gilmore, Woody?”

“Course.”

“She’s been hit pretty hard by the mayor’s death, maybe even more than the rest of
us. Do you think you can stop at Clara Barton dorm and…” I was at a loss for what
Woody could do. What excuse could he have for dropping in?

“I’m in front of Nathaniel Hawthorne, right next door. I’ll look in on Clara Barton
and see if anybody needs any boxes for movin’ or somethin’,” Woody said. “That do,
Dr. Knowles?”

I wondered if Woody were a closet therapist.

“Perfect. I’m scheduled to meet her at the Coffee Filter on Main in about fifteen
minutes.”

“I understand. She’ll be there, Dr. Knowles.”

“Thank you so much, Woody.”

“No, Doctor, thank you.”

Some people just made everything seem easy. I needed that right now.

I tapped my steering wheel with more than my usual impatience in heavy traffic. If
I’d gone online before leaving, I’d have known enough not to take my regular route
to campus. Checking road conditions on my phone now would be too little, too late.
I’d have to wait it out and hope for the best.

Our creatively named Main Street ran parallel to Henley Boulevard. Both were long
east-west streets, both bordered the campus, to the north and the south, respectively.
I’d driven east toward town, taking Main. I skirted the highway, expecting to pass
the city hall and post office buildings, and end up directly across the street from
the back of the campus, where the Coffee Filter was located.

That would have been the quickest route, except it was blocked. The beautiful city
hall, with its gold dome, rivaling that of the State House in Boston, was the site
of one of the largest gatherings I’d ever seen in our town. Moments before I was forced
into a detour, I saw that the steps of the
building were lined with mourners carrying items toward the top landing, where a kind
of shrine was taking shape. I identified flowers, wreaths, posters, candles, and large
photographs, probably from the mayor’s campaign. I’d thought vigils were held only
at night, but apparently when a city official was involved, they were all day, also.

Had I missed a memo? How did such events come about? I supposed if I’d checked my
email this morning, I’d have found an invitation or notice in some form. News spread
a lot faster these days. Barely twelve hours ago, the mayor was alive and calling
my name in front of the fountain; now his murder had been broadcast far and wide.

As pleased as I was about the tribute to the mayor and the great turnout to comfort
his family, if they were even here, I was upset at being caught in it. I was afraid
Kira would use any excuse to bolt and I feared for her safety. It was always a touchy
time when a vulnerable young woman’s dreams were dashed, for whatever reason.

The detour forced me to drive away from the Coffee Filter, and I found myself becoming
increasingly anxious. I didn’t want to be late. I worried that Kira was sitting there
alone, with all this hubbub only four short blocks away. Maybe in her current state,
she hadn’t even looked to her left as she’d crossed Main, and so she hadn’t seen the
crowds. In a way, I hoped she was oblivious to them. Who knew how she might react?
I could picture her running down and joining them happily. I could also picture her
running toward them, hysterical, calling them disrespectful or irreverent or making
an even more pointed accusation. Henley’s finest were out in full force and seemed
ready to haul away anyone who disrupted the proceedings. I didn’t want to visit Kira
in jail any more than I wanted to find her in the hospital.

I called Kira’s cell and left a message saying I was getting close and would see her
shortly. I hoped that was true, on many levels.

It took three turns around the block to find a spot for Bruce’s car, partly because
of the crowd, but mostly because I didn’t drive it that often and I needed the equivalent
of a space and a half to park comfortably.

I slammed on my brakes when I saw a car backing out of a place two doors down from
the rear entrance to the Coffee Filter. I was determined to wait, mindful of the times
I’d seethed when a guy in front of me pulled the same selfish trick. Exigent circumstances,
I told myself, as I listened to the honking behind me.

I parked the car, silently thanking the city council for voting for free parking on
Sunday, and dashed toward the coffee shop.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark room. The cavernous space was fairly
empty, from a combination of a depleted student population and a major attraction
four blocks away.

My jaw finally relaxed when I saw Kira, alive, at a corner table. I put on my most
casual demeanor and walked toward her. I became even more relieved when I noticed
that she was texting. From my perspective across the room, it might have been any
other day, time to make a date with a friend or tweet about the great chocolate croissants
at the Coffee Filter.

Kira looked up from her thumbs and greeted me. “Hey, Dr. Knowles,” she said, then
looked down again. “I just have to finish this.”

What? At forty-four, was I already too old to deal with the mood swings of college
students? Should I be happy that Kira was back to normal, whatever that was for her,
or annoyed that I’d spent a lot of nervous energy on unnecessary worry about her well-being?
As long as she wasn’t texting her last will and testament, I should be satisfied.

Since there seemed to be no more urgency, I gestured that I’d step to the counter
and order a coffee.

The Coffee Filter was a student’s delight—a huge, dark
room with old wooden tables that you could feel free to put your feet up on, or even
carve your initials in, yet the latest in Wi-Fi service and trendy drinks were available.
Most of the baristas, male and female, were students themselves, equipped with piercings,
streaked hair, many layers of tank tops, and tattoos, fitting the clientele. It occurred
to me that Ariana would also fit right in and be hired on the spot. Not so much Bruce.
Definitely not Virgil.

I dug out my coffee card and walked to the counter, mentally scratching my head over
what to do and say next. If Kira was out of the woods emotionally, where was she exactly?
At the river, with a load of rocks in her pockets? Or focusing on a promising future
as a mathematician, which should be enough to cheer up anyone?

I took my iced mocha to the table and sat down across from my star pupil. I thought
of quoting phrases from her own speech yesterday, phrases about courage and facing
challenges and gumption, though I didn’t remember that she’d used that last word specifically.

“I’ll put this on vibrate,” Kira said, working her smartphone, then setting it beside
her iced drink. She looked directly at me. Close up, I noticed her eyes looking a
little glassy. I wished I knew more physiology, a subject so much more complicated
than linear algebra or topological invariants.

“Same here,” I said, fiddling with my own smartphone.