Maid of Murder (30 page)

She cocked her head, looking at the painting, looking for herself inside of it. “I hope so,” she whispered.

A crack from the street jolted me off the glider and out of the memory. A massive off-white and faux wood paneled camper backfired. It rumbled to a jerky stop in front of the duplex. I stood on the porch waiting for someone to exit the vehicle, believing it was one of Ina’s eccentric cronies. Maybe Juliet—I could imagine her behind the wheel of a camper. To my astonishment, Mark, with Theodore on a leash, exited the side door. I walked across the lawn and around the perpetually cheerful leprechauns to meet him.

Mark walked toward me. He wore baggy carpenter pants, much like our father’s, and an outrageous Hawaiian shirt. Theodore sat docilely on the unruly grass and began to eat it.

“What do you think?” Mark asked happily and gestured to the camper.

“Yours?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yup. I bought it at a nice price too.”

“Because?”

“I saw the ad in the Akron paper. Couldn’t pass it up.”

Not really the answer I was looking for. “Why did you buy the camper, Mark? Are you going camping?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he remarked.

He stuck his free hand in his back jeans pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of white office paper. He handed it to me; it was a photocopy of a letter. Dated the day before and addressed to Samuel Lepcheck, the provost of Martin College, the letter began, “Dear Dr. Lepcheck: I respectfully resign from my position . . .”

“You quit your job? After everything that has happened. After everything we did to get it back?”

Mark shook his head sadly, as if he expected, but pitied, such a reaction. “We didn’t fight to get my job back, India. You did. And Mom and Dad, and maybe Lew. I had nothing to do with it.”

Before I could protest, he continued. “Do you know what my first thought was when you told me I was suspended from Martin, even with everything else that was happening? Thank God. That was my first thought, thank God. Because the next day I knew that I wouldn’t have to go back to the hole in the basement of Dexler or pound equations into apathetic freshman heads or create some useless theorem so I could publish my dissertation. For one brief second, those cares were gone.”

“If you didn’t want to fight the suspension, why did you let us fight it for you?”

Mark laughed. “And deny Mom and Dad a worthwhile crusade?”

“I don’t understand. I thought you liked Martin; you even went to undergrad there.”

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” Mark said quietly.

“Your Ph.D.?”

“What about it?”

“But all you have to do is finish your dissertation, and you’re done. You’re so close.”

“I’ve dabbled on that dissertation for years and never even completed the research stage.”

“But you’re so good at math.”

“Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it will make you happy,” he said sagely.

I was at a loss.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

Dumbfounded, I nodded.

“I’ve always loved the travel logs and journals of adventurers and pioneers. I’ve always wished I could leave everything and hit the open road and discover America, discover the world like they did. While in jail, I promised myself I would do just that. Olivia isn’t around to wait for anymore.” He paused as if to let those words sink in. “I finished the summer term at Martin, sold my car, and bought this camper. I’m doing it, India. I’m leaving Stripling.”

“Where will you go?”

“Anywhere, everywhere.”

He handed me Theodore’s leash, and I took it. “But I worry about taking Theodore on such a venture. Will you take care of him while I’m gone?”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. A month. A year. Please, India, it’s the only thing I ask.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and I glanced down at Theodore to hide them.

“You understand why I have to leave, don’t you, India?”

I did. “Because you never have,” I whispered.

Mark knelt down and hugged Theodore, kissing the cat’s furry head. Then he hurried to the camper and brought out a large blue duffel bag that had Theodore embroidered on the side in bright orange letters.

Mark patted the cat again on the head. “I’d better be off.”

“You’re leaving
now
?” I exclaimed.

He nodded.

“What about Mom and Dad? And Carmen?”

“Could you tell them for me?” He laughed again. “I guess that’s two more things I need you to do for me.” He turned and strode to the camper.

“Mark! Wait!” I yelled as he reached for the camper’s door. I dropped the duffel and scooped up the protesting cat. I smashed us into a three-way hug that Theodore did not appreciate.

“Bye.” I let go.

Mark waved as he stepped into the camper. It backfired as he pulled away from the curb and then disappeared around the curve.

An empty tear rolled off my cheek and onto Theodore’s ruff. I dumped him onto the lawn, where he discovered a peace-loving cicada and promptly ate it. Wiping my eyes with the hem of my T-shirt, I told Theodore, “You’d better pray Ina has the room.”

Amanda Flower is an academic librarian for a small college in Ohio’s Western Reserve. When she is not at the library or writing her next mystery, she is an avid traveler, aspiring to visit as much of the globe as she can. Recent trips have taken her to Slovakia, Ireland, and Israel. She lives and writes near Akron.