Grey Matters (32 page)

Before she could come up with a cutting remark, Dulcie found herself carried along to the top of the stairs and deposited out on the street. But the body block had done her some good. There was no point in moping, she decided, as she swung her bag back on to her shoulder and queued up to cross Massachusetts Avenue.

Just as the light changed, her cell rang. She ignored it until she’d reached the opposite curb. Let him wait! When she pulled it out of her bag, however, her heart sank. Lloyd – but he’d left no message. He’d probably already talked to the cops. Her fate might already be sealed. Maybe that was a good thing, Dulcie told herself, looking up at the wrought-iron gates of the Yard. Between Lloyd and Bullock, Chris and Suze, maybe she was getting a message. Maybe karma had other plans for her. She’d always been a bit of an interloper here anyway: Dulcie Schwartz, the hippie’s kid. Maybe the leap from a cooperative yurt to the ivy-covered halls of academe was just too steep. Maybe . . .

Somehow, Dulcie had gotten through her section, the odd looks she’d gotten from her students and the long silences before she thought to ask another question only confirming in her mind her unfitness for life as an academic. But even the most awkward classes end eventually, and as the church clock rang out the hour, Dulcie searched out a quiet place where she could sit and think.

This was harder than it looked. Neither the library nor her office seemed very welcoming at the moment, and undergrads flooded the other Yard buildings, darting back and forth like crazed birds, preparing for their big migration. But, at a few minutes past the hour, things had quieted down, only the occasional stray wandering along the bare paths. Dulcie took a seat on the cold steps of an administration building and tried to make sense of her day.

‘Mr Grey, where are you?’ She found herself staring at a fat grey squirrel. But although its black eyes looked up as she spoke, she heard no answering voice. No touch of fur. ‘I could really use a friend right now.’ She was sinking into self-pity, she knew. And really, what reason did she have? Suze had a lot going on in her own life. Lloyd was probably doing the right thing, legally and morally. And Chris, well, she’d hear what Chris had to say later. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

Almost before she realized what she was doing, Dulcie found herself calling the community center’s number back in Oregon. ‘Lucy Schwartz, please?’

‘Karma!’ She heard someone calling and could only hope that her mother had not taken it on herself to change her name.

‘Dulcie, dear, what’s wrong?’ Whatever she was calling herself, Lucy had come to the phone immediately. And at that unfamiliar motherly prompt, Dulcie broke down. Chris, Lloyd, Suze, Bullock . . . everything from that awful moment when she had found Cameron lying there came tumbling out. Even Mr Grey’s relative silence was thrown on to the bonfire of her life. Tears streaming down her face, Dulcie hiccuped. This was what she needed. To talk to a sympathetic person. To talk to her mother.

‘And so I thought, well, maybe it was time for me to come home.’ She hadn’t realized how much she craved the comfort of the commune with all its silly rituals and self-affirming warmth, until she said it. But once it was out, she realized just how right a move that would be. ‘I don’t belong here, Mom.’ She paused. ‘I mean, Lucy. I think it’s time for me to go back to the land.’

But Lucy’s response was not what she’d expected. ‘Absolutely not! And give up on all the dreams you’ve had? All the work you’ve done?’ Her mother sputtered. ‘Your father may have dropped everything to go off and meditate. But you’re a Sellenbock as well as a Schwartz, young lady! You are not a quitter; that’s not how I raised you! You’re going to get your degree!’

Dulcie hiccuped and sat up. Was this really Lucy Schwartz on the phone?

‘But, Lucy—’

‘You’re having a rough time, dear. I understand that and, frankly, I’m not surprised. Mercury is retrograde and your sign, as I recall, has Venus in the ascendent. Very tricky right now. But you can’t lose hope, Dulcie. I’ll see you soon enough.’

‘But—’

‘Dulcie!’ Lucy’s voice had taken on a tone that Dulcie had never heard before. It sounded, just a little, like her grandmother, Lucy’s mother. Despite herself, she smiled. ‘You just stay with it, dear. Keep on searching. I’m sure you’ll find the key.’

For the first time ever that Dulcie could remember, it was her mother who ended the call. But for a good ten minutes, she continued to sit on the cold stone steps, pondering her mother’s newfound determination and the strange phrases she had used. What did Lucy mean when she said she’d see her soon enough? And why, for the second time that day, had she been told to keep on searching for a key?

She might have sat there till she was numb, if her reverie hadn’t been broken by another buzz. A message, probably delivered while she’d been talking to Lucy, had just made its way to her voicemail. Well, the morning couldn’t get any worse, she reasoned as she poked in the access code. As soon as she heard Lloyd’s voice, though, she remembered her earlier fears and regretted her bare-bones optimism.

‘Hey, Dulcie. It’s Lloyd again. Bother, I wish I’d caught you.’ Should she hang up? No, she decided. Let’s get the worst over with.

But despite her first concerns, her friend and officemate hadn’t been calling to tell her that he’d reported Bullock’s bizarre behavior to the police. Nor was he calling to say he’d told the departmental powers-that-be about the tenured professor’s decline. What he was saying was garbled and a bit frantic, causing Dulcie to hit ‘replay’ and listen again. Yes, Lloyd had gotten Dulcie’s message; he had not told anyone anything. Now, however, he was regretting his lack of action. Because at some point this morning, after he had gone out, someone had broken into his apartment. As far as he could tell, nothing had been stolen (‘I don’t have much to take anyway, Dulcie.’). But his bookshelves had been emptied on to the floor, and the covers of several larger volumes torn off.

‘My place looks like a cyclone hit it.’ He’d paused then, but Dulcie could hear a tremor in his voice. ‘It looks like our office. And, Dulcie, I’m scared.’

SIXTY

‘
L
loyd?’ She’d called her friend back, the fear in his voice pushing her own concerns aside. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, I’m glad I wasn’t here when it happened.’ She heard a thud. ‘Sorry! I didn’t realize the chair was leaning so far over. I’m at home now, trying to clean up.’

‘Shouldn’t you call the cops?’

‘They’ve come and gone. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to think it’s a big deal.’ Another thud and a small grunt. ‘Oh man, my desk drawers have all been emptied out.’

‘How can that not be a big deal? Do they know about our office?’

‘I told them. Asked them to check with the university police.’ Another grunt, but this time it sounded like Lloyd was sitting down. ‘But they gave me a whole spiel about crime in the neighborhood. About how I should have had window locks on the fire escape. They seem to think it was random.’

‘That’s impossible.’ Dulcie realized she was gesturing when she smacked a bystander. ‘Sorry!’ The office workers were beginning their lunchtime exodus, and Dulcie retreated off the stairs to talk. ‘It sounds like the same person, doesn’t it?’

‘To me, sure.’ Lloyd sounded tired, his voice flat. ‘But the city cop who took my report was just going on about how the neighborhood is changing, how there’s new money right up next to the older buildings.’ Dulcie was surprised to hear a soft chuckle. ‘When he heard I was a grad student, I think he thought I was part of the “new money.”’

‘Yeah, I get that sometimes.’ Dulcie had to smile. ‘With the new Harvard Square and all. But you said nothing was missing?’

‘Nothing much to steal. I have to finish going through my books, though.’

Books. Something sparked in the back of Dulcie’s mind, something about books and the Square. ‘Hey, did you hear that Gosham’s is expanding? Trista said something. I guess there must be some money in used and rare books. You think someone’s looking for something to sell to him?’

Another grunt. ‘Considering that his main clientele are academics, it would be pretty stupid to steal from one of us to sell to another, don’t you think? Besides, I don’t have anything worth anything.’

‘Still . . .’ Dulcie couldn’t quite dismiss the idea. ‘Maybe I’ll ask Gosham next time I see him. Or see if I can get Polly to.’

Lloyd laughed out loud at that. ‘I’d love to see that. Gosham terrified of losing Bullock’s patronage. Polly fluttering about. I don’t know, Dulcie. Maybe the cops were right.’

‘Maybe.’ But Dulcie didn’t believe it. ‘Hey, Lloyd, could Bullock have done this? Could he have forgotten what you found out about that book of his, and maybe been searching for it?’

Lloyd seemed to consider this, but after a moment he responded. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Another pause. ‘He was too embarrassed. Humiliated, really. Besides, he’s never been violent. His way of lashing out was to sic the police on me. And also, to be honest, I don’t know if he could get it together enough to come here and do this. I mean, find my address, come over here, climb up the fire escape, and break in and all? It’s just not likely.’

Dulcie nodded, a little relieved. ‘Hey, do you need any help cleaning up?’

‘No, thanks.’ Lloyd sounded better now, too. The shock had passed. ‘I’ve got a friend coming over. And speaking of Professor Great Books, don’t you have a meeting with Bullock today?’

‘Oh hell!’ Dulcie looked at her watch. ‘I’m going to be late.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Dulcie. He probably won’t even remember.’

It wasn’t until they’d hung up and Dulcie was trotting across the Yard that she thought of another possible suspect. Unless her eyes were fooling her, she’d seen Raleigh slipping away from Lloyd’s building the day before. From all she knew, the pretty undergrad didn’t need money, but she was an unsettled young woman. And both physically and mentally capable of climbing up the building’s fire escape. Could she have been scoping out Lloyd’s apartment for some reason? Could Raleigh Hall have broken in and trashed the place?

Dulcie’s phone rang again as she dashed across the Common. It was Lucy. Probably felt bad about being so hard on her only child. Well, she’d call her mother back later. Maybe she’d have reason to come home soon. But as she closed the phone unanswered, letting the call go through to voicemail, Dulcie felt a strange pang. Guilt? It was true that she’d just unloaded on her mother, and now she was avoiding her. But Lucy had wanted her to get on with her life, hadn’t she?

Or could it be something other than guilt, that strange momentary flush? For a moment, Dulcie paused. Was she that afraid of what would happen? Over on Garden Street, a bus went by. In its wake, the breeze picked up, tossing a handful of leaves into a short-lived flurry. She watched them dance and smiled. They were free, and she . . . she was being silly. So she might have to find a new adviser; that didn’t mean the end of the world. For that matter, even if she had to change her thesis, she still had time – and if she ended up exposing
The Ravages of Umbria
as a nineteenth-century cheat, a Gothic pastiche, so what? Whatever its origins, the work she had come to know and love was still a wonderful book, a piece of literature that spoke to her on so many levels. That alone made it worth her time. Dulcie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was tired of being afraid. What was it Mr Grey had told her? She had to have faith. The key was in the book.

SIXTY-ONE

P
olly opened the door looking like she’d seen a ghost. Pale, vaguely sweaty, Polly might have been ill, were it not for the red-rimmed eyes.

‘Polly, are you all right?’ Dulcie stepped into the foyer and reached for the other woman. But Polly stepped back, almost wincing, and Dulcie dropped her hands. ‘Polly?’

‘I’ll tell the professor you’re here.’ Polly turned away, wiping her hand under her nose. But Dulcie wasn’t about to let her go.

‘Polly, please. Is someone . . . Has someone hurt you?’ She stepped forward to see into Polly’s face, but the older woman ducked her head, all the while shaking it in denial. Dulcie remembered that other visit, when Gosham had turned on her. ‘Was it Roger Gosham, Polly?’ She tried to keep her voice gentle, but she wasn’t going to let a case of abuse go unquestioned.

In response, she got a mumble.

‘I’m sorry, Polly, I couldn’t hear you. Was he here?’

‘I didn’t let him in.’ She sniffed again, but Dulcie relaxed. This seemed more a matter of the heart than of physical violence. ‘But I’ll have to.’

Dulcie straightened up. Had she heard that correctly? ‘Polly, you don’t have to let anyone do anything.’

‘He knows.’ Polly sniffled, her already soft voice muffled as she stared at the threadbare rug. Dulcie thought she made out one more word: ‘Cameron.’

‘I’m sorry, Polly. I wasn’t thinking.’ So much had happened, Dulcie was surprised how little she had thought about her late colleague recently. But if Polly had been involved with him, as sounded likely, then their discovery just the week before would have been especially traumatic. She kicked herself for being insensitive and reached again to embrace the older woman, her voice gentle and soft. ‘You must miss him.’

‘Miss him?’ Polly reared back, her voice a hiss. ‘Cameron? I hated him!’ And with that she turned on her heel and stormed out the front door without her coat, leaving Dulcie standing in the hallway, shocked into silence.

‘Ah, Miss Schwartz.’ Before she could recover her wits, Professor Bullock had stuck his head out of his office. ‘Come in, come in.’

Her mind still reeling from Polly’s sudden outburst, Dulcie followed her professor into his office. At least here everything seemed solid. No matter what else was about to happen, she could look around here and see life unchanged. The overflowing ashtrays, the shelves of books; the professor’s own great work prominently displayed. With a sigh, Dulcie sank into the desk chair – and immediately jumped up again. She’d sat on a book.
Elizabethan Short Prose
. Taking it in her hand, she sat again and looked it over. In front of her, Bullock had settled in behind his desk and was hard at work lighting his pipe.