Murder as a Second Language (7 page)

Frances nodded. “I'd like an explanation.”

“This happened last year,” Gregory said. “A lot of our grants come in the fall, along with our annual fund-raiser. Summers have been a problem since I started here. We'll survive the next ten weeks.”

“You didn't answer my question,” Rick said.

Willie rapped on the table with her knuckles. “He said that we did our best. That's all we can do, unless you'd like to get certified to teach ESL.”

He held up his hands, feigning contrition, but his voice was chilly. “I'm just saying that if we accept money from this foundation, we have to comply with their restrictions.”

“Hey, I don't want them breathing down my neck,” Austin said. “My karma's shaky enough already on account of the untimely demise of one of the flying sheep in that furniture store commercial. Dumb creature ran bleating into the street.”

Rick refused to be distracted. “So we're going to take their money under false pretenses? What are you going to do if a representative from the foundation wants to observe a nonexistent class?”

At that point, everyone except me felt the need to voice an opinion loudly and adamantly. Even Drake joined in, banging his fist on the table. Gregory rose to his feet, as did Rick and Austin. Sonya shrieked at them to behave. Frances shrieked at Sonya to stop shrieking. Willie demanded order in the court. Rick and Gregory were almost nose to nose, their hands clenched. I watched in awe. I'd expected a lot of polite dissension, not a vociferous uprising. Several Latino students came to the doorway, their eyes wide as they took in what might evolve into a bullfight.
Olé!

Frances was literally hopping as she howled for order. After another basically incoherent exchange involving improbable lineage, Rick and Gregory backed away from each other. Austin hastily began to make another round of martinis. Sonya took out a compact and checked her lipstick. Willie grimaced before downing her last few drops. Drake's arms were crossed as he watched Gregory leave. I felt sorry for the amigos in the doorway, who'd had such high hopes.

Frances found her voice. “The executive committee will meet Thursday at five o'clock at my house, when we will delve into these matters more thoroughly. Austin, I suggest you recruit Claire for the fund-raising committee. Any new business?” Rick waved his arm, but she ignored him. “If not, we're adjourned. Please excuse me, but I've developed a dreadful headache and I cannot stay here another minute. Our next meeting is … hell, I don't know. Ask Keiko.” She gathered up her things and marched out the door.

Sonya fanned herself with the sheaf of papers. “You must think we're terrible, Claire. Our meetings are usually short and boring. The financial situation has everyone on edge, I suppose. Gregory's doing his best.”

“You're defending him?” Rick asked. “Did corporate suck out your brains today as part of a new restructuring plan?”

She quivered with anger. “You're a damn bully, that's what you are! Willie, don't you agree that Gregory's doing his best?”

“Whatever.” Willie arose and picked up her purse. “This nonsense is too much for my aged bladder.”

She left the room. Drake followed her, his expression rigid. I grabbed my purse, but before I could bolt, Sonya snagged me. “Please don't resign, Claire. This won't happen again, I promise. We all care about the Farberville Literacy Council, maybe too much, and so do the students. We can't let them down.”

I removed her hand. “I've been in faculty meetings where certain professors were threatened with defenestration. This was mild in comparison.”

Austin's laugh sounded like a bray. “From the top floor of the ivy tower?”

“Academians make a very fine splat, or so I've been told.” I escaped and went into the main room. In one of the classrooms, an elderly man was talking to a dozen students about bank deposit slips. Several of the cubicles were occupied by tutors and their students, while other students in the lounge cribbed off each other's workbooks. Keiko was in her office, conversing with a man in a dashiki. Drake stood in the corner, still grim. Sonya and Frances were talking together in the lounge area. As I paused, Willie came out of the ladies' room and, with a bewildered expression, went into the classroom. If Gregory had the slightest sense, he was either holed up in his office or long gone.

I chose to be long gone.

*   *   *

Peter had slipped away when I woke up the next morning. The previous night we'd had a very pleasant marital interlude that had almost erased the ugly scene at the board meeting, and I was feeling chipper as I fixed a bowl of cereal. Before I could pick up a spoon, the telephone rang. I thought of a long list of people with whom I had no desire to speak, so I opted to let the answering machine deal with it. I'd managed one bite when Peter's voice said, “Claire, I need to talk to you. It's urgent. Call me back as soon as you can, okay?”

I snatched up the receiver. “What's so urgent?”

“There's been a death at the Literacy Council. I'm surrounded by people speaking so many languages I might as well be in the United Nations cafeteria. The person in charge is in her office, sobbing—I think in Japanese, but it could be Korean. The director's not here.”

“Who's dead?” I demanded.

“One of the students. Will you please get here as quickly as you can?”

I felt a tingle of self-satisfaction. In every case I'd been involved in, Peter had done everything within his power to keep me out of it. He'd had my car towed. He'd put me under house arrest (or so he'd thought). He'd threatened and cajoled in a most endearing fashion. Now he was begging for my help. I deigned to be magnanimous.

“I'll be there in half an hour,” I said sweetly.

My smugness faded as I went out to my car. The death of a student was tragic, no matter who it was. The ones I'd encountered were good people, struggling to fit into their adopted country. I recalled the terror of my French classes in high school, where I'd crouched behind my textbook and prayed that I wouldn't be called on to read or recite. I'd been obliged to take a foreign language, but the students at the Literacy Council did so voluntarily.

The parking lot was jammed with civilian and police vehicles. An ambulance blocked the entrance. I parked across the street and was approaching the door when two paramedics wheeled out a gurney. The body was in a black bag, but from the bulge, I had an idea who it might be. A uniformed officer lifted the yellow crime scene tape and waved me in. Forty or so students were milling about in Leslie's classroom. I knew that some of them had come from countries with oppressive governments and brutal police forces. I hoped Peter had been gentle with them.

Lieutenant Jorgeson joined me. “Good morning, Ms. Malloy. I understand that you were invited to the crime scene.”

“For once,” I said, finishing his unspoken sentiment. “What happened?”

“A woman's body was discovered in a storage room in the back. It looks as if she fell against the copy machine and cracked her skull. The medical examiner concurs. The girl in the office is trying to contact the woman's next of kin, but she's … upset. Do you think you can calm her down?”

“I'll try after you explain why this is being treated like a homicide. If the woman fell against the machine, why isn't it an accident?”

“It may have been an accident, but someone dragged the body into a corner and tried to conceal it. The medical examiner said that the woman would have been incapable of crawling.”

“We're talking about a Polish woman, right?”

Jorgeson opened his notebook. “Ludmila Grabowski. Her grandson is—”

“A professor at the college,” I said. “I met her Friday morning. She wasn't what I'd describe as likable. She may have made some enemies.”

Jorgeson gave me a glum look that I'd seen numerous times in the past. “Would you please do something about the girl in the office, Ms. Malloy?”

I dutifully went to the office. Keiko was no longer hysterical, but her face was streaked with mascara. She was clutching a tissue to her nose and hiccupping with such force that her whole body shuddered. “Ms. Marroy,” she said, “this is so very dreadful! What should I do? I try to call Gregory, but he no answer. How do I call college? How do I find Grabowski-san?
Tetsudatte kuremasuka?
”

Her English was slipping away like an elusive tide. I went around her desk, pulled her to her feet, and hugged her. She began to sob. I tried not to wince as my shoulder became increasingly clammy. After several minutes, she calmed down, and I released her cautiously. “Do you have a file for Ludmila? That's likely to have her grandson's contact information.”

She opened a drawer and extracted a manila folder. I scanned the pages until I found her grandson's name and telephone number. Since Keiko was in no shape to talk on the phone, I dialed the number. I was immediately informed that Bartek Grabowski was unable to take my call. I left a message with my name, the number of the Literacy Council, and a vague reference to an accident involving his grandmother.

Keiko produced a feeble smile. I suggested that she clean her face, and she was staring in horror into a compact mirror as I went to find Deputy Chief Peter Rosen of the Farberville PD. He and several officers were outside a small corner room. The CSI team was taking photographs, measuring the floor, and crawling about like large beetles. Peter nodded at me, quite officiously in my opinion. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Is there someone on the board that we should call first?”

“Frances North is the president. Keiko will have her number.”

“Is she still upset?”

“She's recovering.” I did not offer to run to ask her to find the number. “May I see the crime scene?”

He started to protest, then shut his mouth and gestured at the doorway. I interpreted it as an affirmative and peered into the room. It was small and crowded with the copy machine, boxes, stacks of folders, a collection of umbrellas and oddments of clothing in a bin marked
LOST AND FOUND
, and a decrepit office chair tilted at a perilous angle. The worn rug was stained with a large blotch of blood. The dirty window allowed in enough light to illuminate the overall dustiness. I sneezed as I stepped back.

“Do you know when she died?” I asked Peter.

“What I need you to do is help us communicate with the students. We're trying to get a list of everyone who was in the building last night. I've sent for a translator for the Latinos. Jorgeson speaks a little German. As for Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Arabic, Thai, Russian…”

“You called your wife, the multilingual? I'm afraid my Farsi is a bit rusty. Besides, all of the students speak some English, or so I was told. Where's Leslie? She can help.”

Peter glanced at a minion, who consulted her notebook and said, “Leslie Barnes teaches from three to five classes every day, and a couple of night classes. She was supposed to teach an intermediate conversation class at nine this morning, but she hasn't shown up.”

“Go find her and bring her here,” Peter said, annoyed. “Did anyone else not show up this morning?”

The minion, clearly a rookie, blushed to her roots. “No, sir, not that we know about. The director usually doesn't come in until eleven.”

“Why don't we invite him to break tradition and come in early?”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” The poor creature fled toward the entrance.

Peter asked for a description of the daily operation. I obliged as best I could, having been involved for less than a week. After my brief recitation, he asked me to elaborate about the previous evening's board meeting. I'd already given him a synopsis, so I filled in some details and then added, “It was hard to figure out who was angry at whom, although Rick was close to punching Gregory. Sonya and Frances seemed to be on Gregory's side. Willie was demanding order in the court. I suspect she'd already had a cocktail or two before she arrived at the meeting. Austin's just a fan of drama, as far as I can tell. Drake was smoldering.” I paused for a moment. “That's all irrelevant, if Ludmila died hours after the meeting was adjourned.”

“You didn't see them leave, did you?” Peter asked.

I made a vague gesture. “No, but I doubt any of them had ever encountered Ludmila, with the exception of Gregory and Keiko—and perhaps Sonya, who was here last Wednesday morning when I came by to volunteer. The board members have day jobs. Shouldn't you be questioning the students?”

“We're trying to sort out who was here last night. According to the medical examiner's unofficial estimate, the victim died sometime before midnight. She was seen eating a meal she'd brought with her at six o'clock. Once the medical examiner's done the autopsy, he can be more precise.” He put his hand on my back and led me to the reception area. “Would you please see if that girl can find the class roster and a list of tutors and their students? Every time I look at her, she bursts into tears.”

“Look at her—or glare at her?”

“I don't glare.”

“And I never interfere in police investigations. I certainly don't want to risk tarnishing my record by interfering now,” I said.

“Do I have to say it?” he asked in a pained voice. I nodded. He took a breath, no doubt considering his options, then said, “My darling Claire, you have never interfered in a police investigation. Your eagerness to assist the police is admirable. Now will you please get the damn list?”

I patted his cheek. “All you had to do was ask. I'll help Keiko find the information and be right back.”

Gloating does not become me, so I contained my elation and went back to Keiko's office. She'd repaired her makeup and was able to give me a low-wattage twinkle. I told her what Peter wanted, and she and I sorted through the folders on her desk until we found the information. I was relieved that Miss Parchester only tutored in the mornings. It wasn't that I suspected her of anything whatsoever, but her presence had often complicated the situation.