Grey Dawn (23 page)

‘Oh.' She nodded. There was something here, something she wasn't getting. ‘But you don't want Mina looking too closely into family histories.'

He was staring at her quizzically, his brow knotted up. ‘Wait, did I tell you?'

Dulcie froze. This was it. He was going to confess. But just then they were interrupted by the appearance of two baskets, lined with waxed paper that was quickly becoming translucent as a red-orange sauce dripped from the edges of the burgers each held.

‘Wow.' Josh hefted the burger, which took two hands. Dulcie reached out to stop him, and caught herself. He'd been talking. She needed him to stay relaxed if he was going to continue.

‘Sorry. What were you going to say?' She heard the tension in her voice, and picked up her own burger to cover.

‘The woman …' He took a bite. ‘Oh, wow, this is great.'

Dulcie did the same. For the first time ever, she barely tasted Lala's special. ‘The woman?' It was hard to sound casual, especially with a full mouth.

Josh nodded and reached for a napkin. ‘It's all still really speculative,' he said. ‘But there's this strange chance that they're related.'

‘They?'
Dulcie took a second bite, a small one, in case she needed to launch another question fast.

Josh nodded, chewing. ‘Mina,' he said finally. ‘And the woman. I mean, probably not. That was another of Emily's things.' He took another bite, but Dulcie still managed to hear what sounded like, ‘That's how she is.'

‘They, not you?' This was where Josh had stonewalled her before, and she found herself trying to read his face. The fact that his cheeks were distended with food made it difficult, so she bit into her own burger, this time letting herself savor the spicy patty and the hot sauce. It really would be a shame not to enjoy one of Lala's specials. Besides, chewing gave her a chance to regroup. And if Josh was going to deny any interest in genealogy, or in Mina's research, she was going to have to find another way to come at him.

‘Tell me.' She tried again, taking a sip of soda. ‘How did you and Mina meet?'

‘Contemporary political theory.' Josh brightened up at the mention of a course that Dulcie had barely survived. ‘We both took it last year. That's when I realized I wanted to concentrate in poli sci. Mina was considering switching into women's studies back then.'

‘Really.' Dulcie took another bite and considered. She needed to draw Josh out, make him feel like they were having a friendly chat. ‘My room-mate minored in women's studies,' she offered. It was an odd conversational gambit. From what Dulcie remembered, Suze's classmates had been a very tough, self-aware group. Not the sort to fall victim to abusive men. Then again, there was often a gap between theory and practice.

‘What's her name?' Josh sounded eager, although that could be its own warning sign. ‘I wonder if Mina knows her.'

‘Not likely. She and I graduated, oh, what is it? Five years ago.' Sometimes Dulcie couldn't believe it.

‘Tell me anyway.' He was working his way through the burger, but he seemed to have mastered the art of tackling the two-handed meal and talking. ‘Mina's got a lot of friends, still, from women's studies. She says they're a really cohesive group.'

‘They are.' Dulcie remembered regular late-night study sessions, when Suze would bring her classmates over. The talk could get heated, but it always ended on a supportive note. In a way, Suze's minor had helped Dulcie focus on her thesis topic: the female friendships that were key to
The Ravages of Umbria.
Then again, Suze hadn't had a possessive boyfriend at the time, and she might not appreciate this one being interested in her now. ‘So, what do you think of that crowd?' Dulcie deflected his question.

‘What crowd?' He blinked, his round eyes so innocent in his red face. ‘The women's studies people? They're great. I even thought about changing my major, well, for a little while.'

Dulcie felt her internal alarms go off. For a few minutes there, Josh hadn't sounded like an abuser. She had noticed that he hadn't insisted on Dulcie giving him Suze's name. But this could be another red flag. It was unusual for men to be that interested in women's studies – but it would fit with some kind of odd attempt to co-opt Mina from the start, to move in on her territory and show her that he would always be around. Always watching. Unless … perhaps it was the effect of the warm meal, or the fact that he seemed so happy to be sitting, eating, and talking, but Dulcie wondered, once again, if Josh truly was as clueless – and innocent of the charges – as, well, Esmé.

And if he was, did that put the spotlight back on Thorpe? Dulcie couldn't forget how wild eyed – and wild haired – her adviser had looked both nights she had seen him on the street. On one night, Mina Love had been brutally attacked, her throat reportedly cut open. On the other, two nights later, Professor Showalter had been felled by a blow. Granted, hitting someone on the head wasn't particularly lupine, but Dulcie didn't know the details. Perhaps Thorpe hadn't completed his transformation. Perhaps he wanted to subdue her before sinking his fangs into her tender flesh.

Or perhaps Thorpe was the attacker, but he was not a werewolf. Could job stress lead a man – a noted if not famous academic – to attack women around the full moon?

‘Ms Schwartz? Dulcie?' Dulcie blinked. Josh was staring at her, his round face worried. ‘Are you okay?'

‘Sorry, I was caught up in a thought.' Dulcie shook her head to clear it, and Josh settled back into his seat. For that moment, he had seemed honestly concerned, and that spoke well of him. Then again, there had to be something attractive about him, or else Mina would never have fallen for him – either for good or ill.

‘I was remembering my room-mate's undergrad experience.' Suze would forgive her, she knew, if she used her as a sort of stalking horse. ‘There was one girl, one woman, who came from some kind of horrible background. She took all these feminist theory courses, was really involved in political action. But I guess it was really some kind of compensation.' She paused, ostensibly to reach for a napkin. ‘Suze reached out to her, but this girl didn't respond. Or maybe she couldn't. She really needed someone to take care of her.'

Josh was nodding as he finished the last of her burger, and Dulcie felt a flash of revulsion as he licked his greasy fingers. That was it – that was his rationale. Reaching for another bunch of napkins, he wiped his hands.

‘I hate to say it, but I know the type.'

She held her breath. He was going to confess. Maybe not to attacking her. Maybe not to trying to run her life. But to finding her weak or wanting.
He who would contain me within Tyranny's walls …

‘Women who are, well, I don't want to say handicapped, but who are dealing with other issues. Still, those classes can be great. I think a lot of those women find strength in the political action groups.' He balled up the napkins. ‘I know Mina did.'

D
ulcie left lunch more confused than ever, despite the warm feeling that comes from indulging in a tasty – and even moderately healthy – meal. As she had struggled to come up with another, more probing question, Josh had excused himself to use the restroom. Then he'd paid and grabbed his coat, all the while thanking Dulcie for her help at the Mildon. She hadn't had a rejoinder for that, and had watched him go, unsure of what to think.

At least, she told herself as she followed him out to the street, Mr Grey would have approved of what she did. Though what she meant by that – whether she meant rescuing Josh from the angry Griddlehaus or grilling him afterward – she wasn't sure. It was simply a thought that had popped into her head. One that put her in a cheery mood as her phone started to ring.

‘Nancy!' Dulcie was surprised. ‘Are you okay? Was there another … incident?' The secretary rarely called.

‘Thank you, dear, I'm fine.' The warm voice was calm, but Dulcie wasn't quite reassured. ‘I am not sure everything is as it should be, though.'

‘Oh?' The warm feeling was dissipating fast, and she turned toward the buildings to hear better.

‘It's Mr Thorpe, Dulcie.' In the pause that followed, Dulcie began to envision scenarios. Her adviser was dead. Her adviser had lashed out, clawing a nurse. He was …

‘He's very upset, Dulcie.' Nancy broke in before her imaginings could get worse. ‘He checked out a little after you left, and he has come into the office. But he's not himself. He's under enormous strain right now, and I don't think your little outburst at the health services helped. I understand that he is not always easy to work with, and I do know he has his faults. But frankly, Dulcie, I believe you owe Mr Thorpe an apology.'

‘I'm sorry, Nancy,' she replied. ‘I really am.' The good feeling was gone, and with it, the sense that Mr Grey would approve of her actions. The secretary was right. She had acted on assumptions. Even if she were to be proven correct, the balding scholar would be more to be pitied than hated. It wouldn't be his fault if he had been turned into some sort of horrible, homicidal creature. She shivered at the thought, despite the broad daylight, and had a thought: daylight and an invitation. She had her opening to find out more. Trying to sound more contrite than curious, she added to her response. ‘I'll come by and talk to him.'

‘I'm glad, Dulcie,' Nancy's voice registered her approval. ‘I knew you'd do the right thing. I know he's difficult. Please keep in mind, he's only human.'

Dulcie hoped she was right.

On Nancy's advice, Dulcie headed over to the departmental offices. The motherly secretary had suggested she just ‘pop in,' rather than make an appointment (‘you'll only scare him, dear'). And Dulcie, who had been wondering if her adviser would decide to take off if he knew she was coming, agreed.

There was so much going on that she just couldn't get a handle on. What she really needed was time to think it all through – ideally with the aid and comfort of either Esmé or Mr Grey. Josh, for example. At first the junior had seemed like a nice guy, a fairly ordinary blend of geeky and sincere. Then again, Dulcie acknowledged, that would be what an abusive boyfriend would look like – until one got caught up in his nets. If that were the case, well, then it was possible he had attacked Mina and then Emily, and then switched back into his current caring mode. He might even be in some form of denial about it and not realize he had been the one to hurt them. But if that was the case, how did Professor Showalter fit into it all? Was it that Mina had been interested in her research – even if just to discredit it? Or did it somehow touch on the ancient connection Emily had uncovered between Mina and her boyfriend? No, Dulcie shook her head as she walked. It all seemed too tenuous.

Then again, was it any more likely, really, that Martin Thorpe was the would-be killer? Logic said no, and a small, persistent voice in the back of her head pointed out that someone who didn't read Gothic fiction every day would not even have considered the possibility of a lycanthropic malefactor. That voice – which bore a sneaking resemblance to the low, quiet voice of a certain feline specter – also warned Dulcie that she needed to be aware of her own prejudices in the matter.

‘I am, Mr Grey.' She said under her breath. A passing pedestrian turned and looked. ‘At least, I'm trying to be. That is why I'm going to meet with Thorpe now.'

The response – a sense of questioning, mixed with a bit of doubt if not humor – was not phrased in words, exactly. It didn't need to be. ‘Well, part of the reason,' amended Dulcie, ignoring the looks she received as she turned from the busy avenue onto DeWolfe. ‘I'm
trying
to be fair, Mr Grey. It's just that …'

She stopped. This is where it had happened, that first night. Where she had heard that howl – that strange unearthly howl – and then, moments later, seen Martin Thorpe emerge wild and disheveled from the shadows. This was where, although she didn't know it at the time, a young woman – a student – had been mauled.

Dulcie took a deep breath, looked around, and made up her mind. She might not understand how, exactly, this had all happened. But she had to keep her wits about her. Something strange was going on, and whether or not he was culpable, Martin Thorpe was involved. It only made sense for her to be careful.

‘B
ut the problem is, I don't know if I'll ever find the section that explains what happened exactly.' She looked up, breathless and lost. ‘It may never be resolved.'

Forty minutes later, Dulcie was deep in a different dilemma. Despite her fears, Martin Thorpe had indeed been in his office when Dulcie climbed the rickety stairs. At his invitation, she had trundled into his office and, somewhat unwillingly, into the guest chair opposite his desk. She'd found herself studying the bookshelves that lined the wall as she forced out the words she had promised Nancy she would say. The words that, she knew, were only polite, even if they just might be terribly, tragically wrong.

‘I'm sorry if I sounded like I was accusing you of anything untoward, Mr Thorpe.' She switched her focus to her hands as she spoke. She really needed to stop biting her nails. ‘I know that you are innocent of any wrongdoing.'

It sounded formal, fake and stiff, but it was the best she could do. And Thorpe seemed content to have it over with.

‘That's fine, that's fine,' he said. ‘Everyone gets a little hot-headed when things go wrong around here.' His acceptance of her rote apology was both so vague and all-encompassing, it led Dulcie to believe that Nancy had primed him for this scene as well, and that he had been as unwilling as she was.

By the time she was able to look at her adviser directly, his complexion had even returned to something like its normal pallor, leading Dulcie to wonder if she had indeed imagined both those odd episodes.