Failure is Fatal (12 page)

The dim light from the hallway was enough to let me see the chaos of the room, and my nose confirmed what I saw: the sweet-bitter odor of flat beer in near-empty bottles and the distinctive smell of tomato sauce, cheese and pepperoni from half-eaten slices of pizza. I chuckled at the guys' attempt at order—empty pizza boxes stacked at least three feet high sat in the far corner of the room. Nothing less than a backhoe could clear this area to yield anything of value to me. I was more curious about the door on the far side of the room near the pizza boxes. I moved toward the stack of boxes on top of which sat a phone and, of course, an ashtray. I could almost see the gray haze of cigarette smoke hanging in midair. I pressed my hand against my nose to ward off the smoky odor. The smell of wet wool left on my hands from the red mittens was preferable to the cigarette-infused odor that emanated from the upholstered sofa and chairs.

I turned toward the front windows. Maybe if I cracked one of the windows a bit. Then I realized how easily someone from the street could see into the lighted living area.
Oops, better move on.
As I quickly continued across the room and into the shadows on the far side, my eye caught a bowl of blackish-green something on the coffee table. Extracting my flashlight from my pocket, I shined it on the object.
Ah, a concession to another food group.
The brighter light revealed several slices of cantaloupe underneath the mold on top. Funny, it looked very much like what was growing in my own refrigerator. I made a mental note to clean out the crisper soon. I snapped off the flashlight. I was treating this as if it were a scavenger hunt;
find one bowl of mold, three hundred stubbed-out cigarettes, and five clues to a murder
. I mentally shook myself
. Get focused. This is serious business
.

I felt more comfortable in the shadows, but uncertain where I might be stepping without my flashlight to guide me. My foot touched something soft.
Yikes!
Oh, it was only a pile of clothing, dirty probably.
Oh, ugh. This is silly, getting worked up over a pile of clothes. Calm down. Get out of there, whispered the Der voice in my ear.
I was tempted to pick up the clothing and put it somewhere. I stopped myself. Now was not the time to be tidy, and certainly not in a house I was burglarizing. I sidestepped the clothing, steadying myself with a hand on what I thought was a bureau. Funny, it felt like glass, not wood. I removed my mittens and slid my hand up the side of the smooth object until I felt wire mesh. Oh no, it can't be. Probably just a terrarium with a few turtles in it or frogs. Frogs were okay. I needed to check to be certain. I turned on the flashlight.
Yup. My worst nightmare.
The beam reflected back the cold, unblinking reptilian eyes of a snake!
Why did I have to look? I hate snakes, hate them, hate them, hate them. Why is this one smiling at me?
In the light I could see feeding instructions printed in large letters on a card taped to the front of the glass cage: “Do not let Harry out. His next scheduled feeding isn't until Sunday. He's kind of grumpy.” Another card held the dates of previous feeds; the last one listed as three weeks ago.

I grabbed for the handle of the door behind me, and turned it. It opened into a dark room. I slammed the door behind me, waving my flashlight frantically around the room. No more glass cages sprang into view. I leaned backward into the door and felt my heart thumping heavily in my chest. Why was it frat guys always preferred scales to fur in their choice of pets? I shone the flashlight at my feet and toward the bottom of the door to assure myself that snakey hadn't followed me into the room.
Don't be silly, the top was on the cage. But how securely?
I hadn't checked all the sides, and I wasn't about to go back there and look now. I told myself to take deep breaths. God, I wish I had gotten beyond page ten in that book on relaxation.
In, out. Too deep.
I was getting light-headed. That's all I needed now, to hyperventilate, pass out and be discovered later by drunken frat guys. I could imagine myself trying to explain that one to Der. Or to Guy.

Calmer now, I directed the flashlight at the bottom of the door again.
Nope, nothing.
Moving the light around the room, I was astonished at how neat and orderly the room appeared. It contained an oversized desk and a large, comfortable-looking desk chair. Several other chairs were placed around the room with a floor lamp to the right of one of them. I cautiously made my way to the lamp and switched it on. I could see that the windows behind the desk overlooked the backyard of the house. Little chance anyone would be back there in this weather or at this time of night. I felt more secure in this lighted room than I felt since entering the house. Taking a backward look at the bottom of the door again to assure myself that nothing was slithering its way underneath, I walked over to the desk. I pulled on one of the drawers, but it was locked.
Drat!
This place looked like the frat house's office, just the place I might find something incriminating. I tried every drawer without luck. File cabinets lined the room to the left of the desk. I tried each one of their drawers to find them locked also.
Keys, where would I find keys?

I scanned the room, then sat in the desk chair to think. The room held nothing else of interest. The only other object on the desk was an ashtray holding paper clips. I shifted through them with my fingers and found…nothing.
Time to tackle the upstairs
. But that meant I had to leave this nice, clean, well-illuminated room and cross in front of the snake cage to get to the stairs. Even if I decided not to search the rooms upstairs—quite a cowardly thing to do—I'd have to pass the cage to get through the living room and to the front door. I swung around in the chair to face the windows. Could I climb out a window and into the back yard? Maybe, but that meant I had to give up my plan to search the bedrooms.
Get a grip, Laura. That snake is not interested in you.
It eats mice, a mammal a lot smaller and more tender than a middle-aged college professor.

I got out of the chair and walked over to the floor lamp. I held my breath and counted to three. This had to be fast. In one movement, I checked the bottom of the door, made sure my flashlight was on, and turned off the floor lamp with my right hand while I pulled open the door with my left. Feet barely touching the floor in my flight, I waved at the snake (just to be friendly), avoided the pile of clothing on the floor by a fraction of an inch, and hit the corner of the pizza box telephone stand, causing the stack to tilt to one side and send several cockroaches scurrying across the room for shelter. Out of the corner of my eye I was certain I saw the snake show some interest in the roaches. I continued fleeing across the room, and sprinted for the stairs, taking them by twos. I worried that the stairs might creak and wake up…
Who? The snake?
He was already setting the table for dinner.
The roaches?
Awake also and about to be fricasseed into a reptilian entrée.

Chapter 11

At the top of the stairs, I paused to catch my breath. I bent in half, breathing with difficulty. Who would have thought creeping through a deserted fraternity house in the dead of night would be so difficult? I was glad my flashlight was still on, for the upstairs was pitch black, not a bulb lit anywhere. I tiptoed down the hallway, shining my light into the rooms whose doors had been left open, bedrooms except for the last two. My flashlight caught the reflection of porcelain in both, a row of urinals and sinks in one, a bathtub, its inside gray with soap scum, in the other. As I was about to retrace my steps down the hall, I caught a movement out of my eye. Not another pet! I directed the beam of light back into the bathroom. Several cockroaches ran back under the tub.
God, this place was like the roach Bellagio.
I sighed with relief. Cockroaches I could handle.

I returned to the first room at the top of the stairs. In my initial exploration it appeared larger than any of the others, and I thought it might be the fraternity president's room. My flashlight beam caught two beds, one on either side of the room, both unmade and piled high with clothing. I stepped through the doorway directing my light toward the area between the beds.
A desk! Now we're getting somewhere.

I crossed to the desk and shined the light on its surface. Piles of books and papers.
What's this?
I ext
racted a file folder peeking out from beneath a biology textbook. I opened it to find several papers inside. Directing the flashlight beam on the first one, I quickly read it through.
Fascinating.
It was one of the story leads from my research. Now how in the hell did it get here? These were only passed out by the research assistants, one to each subject at a testing session. This had to be stolen from the lab. I directed the beam at the second paper. At the top was the word “Suggestions” followed by a list of numbered items.

“Mom?” said a groggy male voice from one of the beds. Startled, I dropped the folder and swung around toward the voice.

My heart stopped momentarily, and with it my breathing. Then my heart raced out of control.
Caught! Trapped!
Headlines raced through my mind, “Professor Caught in Fraternity Brother's Bedroom.”

“Can I have a drink of water? Mom?” He sat up uncertainly, raising his arm in front of his eyes, temporarily blinded by my flashlight. I was paralyzed, certain that my heart would not start up again and I would be found dead in a frat boy's room. It wouldn't look good on my resume.
Brain to body: work with me here. Move those feet. Now!

“Hey! You're not my mom,” said the voice, now more awake.

I snapped off the flashlight, and lit out for the door of the room, hoping the guy in the bed was too hungover, tired or sick to stop me.

I ran down the dark hallway to the staircase, held onto the banister and took the stairs two at a time. Out the front door and the world of white enveloped me. The swirling snow all but obliterated the car, and, I hoped, a clear view of me fleeing the fraternity house. I turned to look up at the bedroom window, expecting to see someone moving around, preparing to call the cops about an intruder. But the façade was dark. Maybe the guy thought he had had a dream and simply rolled over and turned off the light. Perhaps I stumbled onto the lone frat brother whose hangover from the night before dictated he take to his bed rather than join the others for a ramble through the bars in a snowstorm. Just in case he was able to make a call, then go back to sleep, I decided I'd better scoot for home before anyone arrived. I finally remembered to breathe as I took my first lungful of air since the guy gave forth mommy distress signals.

I jumped into the SUV and dug in my coat pocket for the keys.
Now where the hell were they? Here!
In the snow-dimmed light from a nearby streetlamp, I attempted to find the ignition, but my hand was shaking so badly that the key rattled ineffectively against the dash. I sat back and took a deep breath, then tried the key again. This time my aim was better, and I inserted the key and turned it. I adjusted the heater and defroster and pulled into the street, driving a little fast for the snow. The car shot through the stop sign at the corner. I talked to myself, trying to send comforting and positive messages.
Calm down, Laura. It was a close call, but you're just fine, just fine.
The Der voice rudely interrupted my speech.
You are not fine. You're an absolute idiot for going into that house. You could have gotten eaten by a snake.
No, no, he'd never say that. That was my voice, but now it sounded just like Der's. Oh my god, not only was I talking to myself, but my voices had multiple personalities.

Maybe I should rethink these little capers, I cautioned myself as I took a fast left turn onto the highway. They really weren't good for my mental health, of which, I was certain, I had little left right now.

*

The trip back to the lake was a bit more harrowing than the one into town before the snow piled up so deeply on the roads. Still, the four-wheel-drive car eased through the drifts, and I arrived home safely. I pulled the car into the garage, planning to return it to the dealership early tomorrow morning. If Der saw it, he would know, if not the specific details of my evening, a general outline of the night.

Although the return on my adventure appeared small, rethinking the evening in the warmth and safety of my living room, I felt pleased at my work. I was certain no one saw me, and pretty sure the guy in the bedroom wouldn't recognize me if he ran into me on the street. It was likely he wouldn't even remember the incident by morning. I didn't remove anything from the premises, hadn't intended to anyway (that would be stealing and not my style at all, well, at least not for this night). I was looking for information and, although I got little of it that made any sense, I was determined to fit all these pieces together. But not tonight. I was exhausted and couldn't wait to crawl into bed.

I struggled out of the bulky army coat, hung it in the kitchen and started for the stairs when the phone rang. I glanced at the clock over the refrigerator. It read a little after two o'clock. Who could be calling at this hour? I decided to let the machine get it in case it was Der. It was.

“Hi, Murphy. I called earlier this evening and left a message.” I looked at the message light. Yep, it was blinking. “If you're asleep for this call, which a hunch tells me you're not, you'll get this message in the morning too.” I held my breath for the next line.
How could he possibly know…?
“I was listening to the police scanner and heard that one of the fraternity houses had a visitor, an uninvited visitor. The guy who called the cops was asleep upstairs. He was home because of the flu, I guess. He didn't get a good look at the intruder, but he had the impression it might have been a short, fat, badly dressed, older woman. Funny, huh? Just thought you might like to know. See you tomorrow morning. Oh, and, Murphy, get lots of sleep. I hear this flu bug is going around, and I sure wouldn't want to see you get it.”