Final Exam (10 page)

“Oh, Kevin gave me some cockamamie trick for getting out that required me to hold down two floor numbers at the same time.” The firefighters left, en masse, and got into the fire truck, parked an angle in the front parking lot. Amanda shut the door behind them and locked it. “Thanks for calling in for me, Amanda.”

She was still sniffling. “You’re welcome.” She looked at Crawford. “Weekday visitation ends at eleven,” she reminded me.

“I know,” I said. “We’ll take it outside.” I watched as she settled in behind the big desk, her eyes going to the textbook on top of it. “Do you want Trixie to keep you company while you’re on desk duty?” I knew that she would be there until eleven and figured she might want some company for the next four or so hours.

“Sure,” she said, looking up briefly before turning her attention back to her textbook. Her hair, more unkempt than usual, fell in front of her thick-framed glasses, a curly halo.

I walked Trixie over to the desk and told her to keep Amanda company. She settled into the deep space under the desk and fell asleep. “She shouldn’t have to go o-u-t,” I whispered. Trixie had an uncanny ability to spell words that meant a lot to her including “food,” “water,” “ball,” and “bone.”

Amanda looked up at me. “Dogs can’t spell.”

“This one can,” I said, and started off down the hall, Crawford in tow.

“What’s her problem?” he asked. Having two teenage daughters made him acutely sensitive to their attitudes and problems.

“Besides being in love with Wayne?” I whispered when we were a safe distance away.

His eyes were wide. “Really?” We got to my room, continuing our whispered chat in the hallway. “How did you find that out?”

“Elevator confession,” I said. “I have a couple of hours before I have to put this place on lockdown. Do you want to get a drink somewhere so I can tell you what else has been going on?”

His face lit up and that made any memory of being trapped in an elevator with Trixie and her fish breath melt away.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ ” I said, and opened the door to my room. I turned and looked at Crawford before kicking the door open with my foot. “Let me just get my bag and we’ll go.” I walked into the room and looked around. It still looked like it had when I left, but something felt different, off. I stood in the middle of the room, Crawford on the other side of the threshold, giving every surface the once-over.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said, and pulled down my shades. “I feel like someone’s been in here.”

Crawford stiffened. “Who has a key to the room?”

I looked at him. “Well, Wayne, for one.”

“And we don’t know where he is. Or even if he
is
.”

“How Zen, Crawford,” I remarked. I thought about who else might have a key. “Maintenance.” I peeked into my bathroom. Still no toilet so they hadn’t been here. “Housekeeping. But they don’t clean until Friday. At least that’s what Kevin told me.” I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the area, still dusty, still littered with my personal belongings, most of which I hadn’t had a chance to put away. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Just doesn’t feel right.” I grabbed my bag and closed the door and then it hit me.

My pillows were gone.

Twelve

“Pillows.”

I looked at Crawford. “Pillows.”

“Why would anyone want your pillows?”

“I have no idea,” I said. We were sitting in a bar on the avenue, me sipping a vodka martini that tasted like life itself, Crawford working on a cold beer from the tap. “But they’re gone. First, the toilet. Now, the pillows. Is someone trying to make it so that I’m so uncomfortable I’ll resign from the school?”

He shook his head. “No idea.” He stretched his long legs out and crossed his arms. “You’ve been there what? Less than seventy-two hours? And already you’ve got a heroin-filled toilet and missing pillows? That’s some kind of luck.”

“I’ll say.”

The restaurant crowd was thinning out but the bar scene was just getting going. Crawford kept one eye on the Knicks game airing on the television behind my head. “I saw Lattanzi today,” he said, fist pumping after the point guard scored a three-pointer. “He said that heroin is grade A, imported junk. That would have made Mr. Brookwell, or whoever stuffed it into the toilet, a boatload of money.”

“Really?” I said, not surprised. “What else did he say?”

“Fingerprints haven’t come back, but like I said, there are a hundred years of prints in that room.” He made a face and I suspected the Knicks had just done something bad. “So we’ve got a huge bag of heroin, a missing person with no missing person report, and nothing else. It’s a big zero.”

“What about the Prius? Anything on that?”

“It’s registered to Eben.”

Just like I thought. “Where is it?”

“Don’t know. But I’ve added it to the system, so if it turns up in the area, we’ll know.”

I told him about Sister Mary and the continental breakfast express.

“You think she’s got Wayne in the convent?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time the cloister had been breached,” I said. He knew exactly what I was talking about: a few months earlier, I had stashed a friend in the convent who was on the run from a psychotic killer. The nuns had taken good care of my friend and had saved him from deportation—or worse.

Crawford was mesmerized by the game so I finished my drink in silence, looking at the bar denizens. I recognized one of the office staff from the admissions office who was lip-locking with one of the groundskeepers. Interesting, I thought. There were a thousand stories in the naked college, or so I paraphrased in my head.

“Can you send someone into the convent?” I asked.

“On what grounds? Suspicion of takeout breakfast?”

I faked a laugh. “Good one, Crawford.” My drink was gone, so I motioned to the bartender for another one. “Extra olives!” I called as he walked away. There was no polite way to say “extra vodka” without sounding like a complete lush so I hoped the alcohol-soaked olives would suffice. “Oh, by the way, Kevin has a meeting with the archdiocese tomorrow.”

Crawford grimaced; I wasn’t sure if it was because of the Knick center’s fourth foul or Kevin’s situation. “That can’t be good.”

“I know.” I leaned in and rested my head against his chest, drinking in his clean laundry smell. “If Kevin goes, I’m sunk. This whole situation is a nightmare.”

“You don’t ride around with depressed Cro-Magnon man all day.
That’s
a nightmare.”

The bartender put my drink down on the mahogany bar and took some money from the stash of bills I had thrown down when we walked in. “Speaking of that, Max went back to work today.”

“How did that go?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I was going to call her but then the elevator thing happened. And my pillows are missing. Did I mention that?”

Crawford nodded. “I think so. I’m not sure. Should we cover it again?” He smiled. “Seriously, though, why don’t you get Maintenance to change your locks after they install your new toilet?”

I picked up my drink and clinked it against his beer bottle. “Good idea.”

“I’m full of them,” he said.

“You’re full of something, but I’m not sure it’s good ideas,” I said. I gave him a long kiss. “I’ve got to find this guy.” I had an idea. “What say you and I head back to Scarsdale and take the Brookwells up on their invitation for cocktails?”

He was shaking his head before I had finished the sentence. “No, no, no, no . . .”

“Think about it.”

“I’ve thought about it and the answer is no,” he said. “Besides, I’ve got a graphic design convention in Tucson.” He pulled away from me. “If you want to start somewhere, start with Mary.” He shuddered involuntarily again, his usual response to thinking or talking about Mary. “See if you can find out something about her relationship to Wayne.”

“I’m positive that Geraldine is her sister. And Wayne is her nephew.”

“Yeah, but all you’ve got is a resemblance and that’s not enough to go on.”

“They have the same Miraculous Medal,” I reminded him.

“And so does my mother and half of the Irish Catholic women in New York. We need specifics,” he said, slapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “Haven’t I taught you anything?”

I threw my drink back in one gulp. “No. But let’s go back to your car and I’ll teach you a few things.”

He dropped me off right before eleven. We sat in the parking lot outside the dorm, getting in a few last gropes before I had to go in. He turned and looked out his window, his attention caught by something outside the car. “Did you know you’ve got a ticket on your windshield?”

“Oh, that.” I explained the illogical rule regarding resident parking. “See you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Fred’s looking for overtime so that he can eventually move out and get back into his own place, so we may be pulling a double.”

“Sounds horrendous.”

“It is,” he agreed. He leaned back against the headrest. “When you’re not trying to figure out where Wayne Brookwell is, could you work on getting my partner and your best friend back together? He’s a giant pain in the ass.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Should I walk you in?” he asked.

“Nah. Amanda has been at the desk all night and the door is locked. I’m sure it’s fine,” I said. “And she’s got Trixie.”

“Yes, the amazing watchdog. You’d be better off with a feral house cat than that lump of a dog.”

I slapped him softly on the cheek. “Don’t you dare disparage the Trix,” I said, and then kissed him. “She’s all I’ve got for company until I get out of here,” I reminded him.

He held his hands up. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He kissed me one last time before I opened the door. “I’d rather have you snuggling up to her than one of those firemen from earlier.”

“They were kind of cute,” I mused.

“Don’t start,” he said, and pushed me gently toward the door. “Get out. I have to go to work at seven tomorrow morning.”

Amanda was still at the desk, her head resting on her textbook, sound asleep. Trixie was still under the desk, but when she sensed I was back she moved out from on top of Amanda’s feet.

I bent and kissed my dog. “Hi, Trix.” I walked over and touched Amanda’s shoulder.

She bolted upright. “What?”

“You were asleep, honey. It’s eleven. Time to go upstairs.” I helped her gather her books and other belongings. “Everything okay here?”

“Everything’s fine,” she mumbled, straightening her glasses and pushing her hair off her face. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

Be damned if I knew. “Go to bed. I’ll lock up,” I said, and took a walk around the ground floor of the dorm. When I was sure that everything was locked up tight, I called Security as my handbook advised the RAs to do before they left the desk, told the guard on duty that we were closed, and walked down to my room.

There was a package outside my room, propped up against the door. Trixie ran down to the package and knocked it over, sniffing at the contents. It was a giant plastic bag, and it had the ubiquitous and recognizable Target bull’s-eye logo emblazoned on the front in the store’s trademark red.

“What did you find, Trixie?” I asked, thinking that I should be concerned but then deciding that anything in a Target bag had to be innocuous.

If it hadn’t been so weird, it would have been funny.

Because inside the bag were two brand-new, queen-sized down pillows.

Thirteen

Bringing Max up to speed on what was going on proved harder than I thought.

“Pillows?” she asked for the third time. “That’s a new one.”

“Yes. Pillows. First they were gone and then I had two new ones.” I was walking toward my office and talking to her on my cell phone.

“You can’t make this stuff up.”

“You’re right about that.” I stepped gingerly on the unevenly spaced steps leading down to the back of the classroom building. “How was work yesterday?”

“Good,” she said. “The Hooters PI series is going to keep me busy for the next few months so I’ll have a distraction.” She took a loud slurp of something. “Gotta go. Can I call you later?”

I reached the back door and put my hand on the knob. I had wanted to have a confab about her situation with Fred but it sounded like our conversation was over. “Can we have dinner?” I asked, but she had already hung up. I looked at my phone. “I guess that’s a no?” I said to no one. I walked through the hallway and into the main office area. Dottie Cruz, the worst receptionist known to mankind, sat at her desk, surreptitiously reading a novel wedged under her in-box.

“Morning, Dottie,” I said, and reached over her and into my mailbox. A few late papers, a few early ones, but nothing of note.

Dottie looked up at me and appeared to be trying to communicate with me telepathically. Her tattooed eyebrows went up and down in some kind of Morse code but I couldn’t decipher the message. “Is there something you want to tell me?” I asked.

She tilted her head toward my office and I followed the angle to find Etheridge standing there, right outside my door. I hurried toward him, figuring it was better to get this over with rather than delay the inevitable. Which I was sure was a thorough interrogation over the toilet situation followed by all sorts of accusations and recriminations for my role in the sordid story of drugs, toilets, and pillows.

His hands were in his pockets and he was rocking back and forth on the heels of his shiny brogues. “Dr. Bergeron.”

“Good morning,” I said, inserting the key into the lock of my office door with shaky fingers. “To what do I owe this honor?”

He waited until we were inside the office before answering. “Let’s not do the witty repartee. Just give me the facts and we’ll move on from there.” He looked around my office; it was the first time he had ever set foot in it. “I’ve been away on a recruitment trip but Jay Pinto filled me in via a conference call.”

I had been wondering why I hadn’t heard from him sooner; that explained it.

The sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows that took up the back wall of my office and the room was warm. That didn’t totally explain why I was dripping sweat in my lightweight sweater, though. I took a few deep breaths to slow my heartbeat. I could see students running down the back steps toward the rear entrance of the building; classes were starting in minutes but I didn’t teach until next period, which I’m sure Etheridge had confirmed with his assistant, Fran. We had plenty of time to cover all of the goings-on in Siena dorm.

I closed the door and then sat behind my desk. He took a seat in one of the guest chairs fronting the bookshelves across from my desk. “Why don’t you tell me your version of events?”

“It’s no different than Jay’s,” I said. “Exploding toilet, bag of heroin, police, crime-scene units, et cetera, et cetera.” I hadn’t meant to sound as sarcastic as I did, but something about his smug face, obviously pinning all of this inconvenience on me, made me angry.

He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands on his belly. “Have you gotten a new toilet yet?”

It was a strange question, coming from him. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would be talking to the college’s head honcho about latrines, but here it was. I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“I’ll have Maintenance take care of it immediately.”

I decided to go for broke. “Could I also get the locks changed?”

“Why is that necessary?”

“I just feel like I should have a new set of keys. It sounds like several people have keys, including Wayne, wherever he is,” I said. “It just seems like a good idea.”

He thought about that for a moment. “I think that can be arranged.” He shifted in his chair. “We’re going to keep this quiet, yes?”

“Of course,” I said. Gee, anybody concerned about where the heroin came from? Where Wayne was? If Wayne
was,
as Crawford would say?

“I’ll handle it with the police. Not a word, Dr. Bergeron. We don’t want this getting out.” He raised one eyebrow at me. “Not in light of everything else that has gone on here.”

“Got it,” I said. Please, please, please, I prayed in my head, do not go to the “remember when they found a body in the trunk of your car?” story. I was lucky; he changed his tune from the past to the present and we didn’t have to go down memory lane.

“How are things going in Siena?” he asked, more out of curiosity for my charges’ well-being than mine, I was sure.

“Things are fine. You have a top-notch group of RAs there so that makes my job easy,” I lied. I couldn’t pick most of them out of a lineup if they didn’t have their sports equipment with them, but it sounded good. I had no idea how good, or not, they were at their jobs. I had only been in the building a few nights and it hadn’t burned down, so I took that as a good sign, if not a ringing endorsement of their abilities to maintain the dorm.

He stood. “Remember. Not a word.”

“I remember,” I said. I’m clumsy, tactless, and a host of other things, but forgetful? No. I thought I could remember not to talk about a giant bag of heroin found in my toilet. “Have a nice day,” I called after him as he ventured out into the main office area. I watched as Dottie tried to make herself disappear as he walked past, but he acknowledged her with a head nod and a mumbled greeting. I was positive that he didn’t know her name, never mind her actual responsibilities.

She was in my office within seconds of his departure. “What did you do now?” she asked. Her ensemble today consisted of salmon-colored pedal pushers, three-inch wedge heels, and a tight yellow sweater. I guess spring had sprung in the Cruz household. Her peach-hued lipstick was a shade darker than her pants.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I heard you’re living at Siena,” she said, fishing for information.

“My house is being renovated,” I said by way of explanation. Wayne’s disappearance wasn’t a secret but I didn’t feel like getting into it with Dottie. Was I being petulant? Probably. But I hated to give her any information regarding my living situation as it related to Wayne. I rooted around on my desk, collecting the papers I needed for class, hoping she would get the hint and leave.

“What are you having done?”

“This and that.”

“Like what?”

I lost my patience. “Dottie, I don’t have time right now to go through everything I’m having done. Suffice it to say that it’s a big job and I needed to move onto campus for a while.”

“I heard that Wayne Brookwell didn’t come back from spring break.” That was obviously her gossip trump card.

“Says who?”

She folded her arms across her chest and gave me a knowing look. “I have my sources.”

I stared right back at her. “Well, tell your sources that they need to stop trafficking in idle gossip and get back to work.”

She stomped off and returned to her desk; my hope was that she was so angered by my reaction that she wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of the week. One can only hope.

I pulled my papers together and shoved them into my bag. I had forty minutes before my first class started and I could either have breakfast or do the thing that I had conjured up while showering in the mold-filled stall in my bathroom. I really didn’t have a plan but didn’t think I needed a well-thought-out one, an assumption that would probably bite me in the ass later. But I took a chance and left my office, heading up to the administration-office floor one story above me.

Sister Mary’s office was located between the dean of students and one of the reception rooms that when I was a student was called the “red room.” It was now called the “DeGeorge Reception Room” after Sister Marguerite DeGeorge, one of the founders of the school and a revered figure here at St. Thomas. It should also be mentioned that the DeGeorge family was old St. Louis money and St. Thomas is nothing if not mercenary in getting funds out of alumni or even their rich families. Max can attest to that.

I didn’t know what I hoped to find once I gained entry into Mary’s office, a place where I had been only a handful of times. Mary usually visits me when we need to discuss something that can’t be resolved on her favorite mode of communication, e-mail.

I crept down the hallway, passing the restroom, where I stopped in briefly. Not having a toilet made me acutely aware of every bathroom in the building and also spurred me to use every one I passed.

I was washing my hands when the smell of Jean Naté filled my nostrils and I turned slowly, only to see Mary coming through the door of the bathroom, as shocked to see me as I was to see her.

Startled by, first, seeing my very prim boss in a public restroom and, second, knowing that I had come up here to break into her office, I was startled. I flapped my hands in the sink, flinging water in every direction but mostly onto Mary. “Sister! Mary! Sister Mary!” I said. I grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser and attempted to wipe off the water that I had flung onto the front of her starched white shirt.

“That won’t be necessary, dear,” she said coolly. She took the paper towels from my hands and sopped up the water soaking her shirt. She balled them up and threw them in the waste can. “This is an interesting place for you to be.”

“I’ll say,” I agreed, sounding like a moron, my voice echoing in the tiled room.

The steady drip of the old, leaky faucet was the only sound as Mary stared at me, awaiting my explanation.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m without a toilet,” I said. I made a face to illustrate just how inconvenient that was.

If looks could kill, I was dead meat.

“So, I’ve been making a grand tour of all the restrooms in the building. I realized I had never used the one up here.” I pointed to the spot where I was standing in case she had forgotten where we were.

Mary’s not stupid. And she clearly wasn’t buying my ridiculous explanation. “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, dear?”

Oh, where to begin? Having a conversation in the restroom wasn’t ideal, but I decided to take a stab at it. “As a matter of fact, there is, Sister.” I straightened up, prepared to find out the truth.

At that moment, the door opened, and Sister Louise, one of the nursing professors, busted into the room, her hands covered with blue ink. She rushed over to the sink and stuck her hands under the faucet. “Alison, be a dear and turn on the faucet for me? I’m covered in ink!” she said, the front of her wimple also stained.

I turned on the faucet.

“Thank you, dear.” She washed her hands vigorously. “Oh, Mary, wasn’t that a wonderful sermon by Fr. McManus this morning?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, it was, Sister.”

“He is such a gifted speaker,” Louise said, pushing in the handle of the soap dispenser and sudsing up. “And a delightful young man, to boot. We are very blessed to have him here.”

Well, at least someone thinks so, I thought; I thought about Kevin heading downtown to the archdiocese’s office and said a silent prayer for his well-being and return to the school. I excused myself, Mary giving me a look as I slid past her and into the hallway, making haste down the stairs and back to my office, where I hoped I would be safe for at least a little while longer.

If she had been trying to intimidate me into leaving things alone, she was having moderate success.