Murder is Academic (23 page)

“I need to toss a salad and put some potatoes in the oven to bake. Didn’t I hear someone offer me a gin and tonic?”

Guy made the drinks as we waited for Der to return. When he did reappear, the steaks he brought looked as if they had been carved off of Babe the Blue Ox, they were so large. Both Der and Guy made their way through the meat, but I found my steak was too big for anyone with a normal menopausal appetite to devour. The same sized piece of chocolate would have been different.

“Looks like leftover steak and eggs for breakfast.” I carried the remains of my meal into the kitchen.

“Great,” Der said, “I’ll be here at first light.”

I gave him one of my don’t-you-even-think-about-it looks, then realized he was the one who footed the bill and went to get them.

“Just kidding. I’ve got work to do tomorrow,” Der said.

Guy smiled and sat back in his chair. “Me, too. I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

We sat out on the deck for the remainder of the evening, drinking espresso and listening to the sounds of night as it gently crept over the lake. The guys sipped some of the brandy while they discussed motorcycles. I let my mind wander over the events of the weekend, delighted my son and I were forging a new relationship. I was growing a bit drowsy when I caught the sound of my phone ringing.

“I’ll get it.” Guy rose from his chair and patted my shoulder as he passed. “You look as if you’re half asleep.”

I touched his hand in gratitude as he passed by my lounge. I didn’t want to get up. “Tell whoever it is that I’ll call them back.”

The call was not for me, but for Der. “Sorry about that. I turned off my cell phone, but I guess someone tracked me down here.”

Suddenly I was wide-awake with the possibility the call concerned the papers Bunny sent to Canada. I jumped up and accompanied him into the kitchen.

“Have they arrived?” I nagged Der as he said hello. He listened closely for a minute or tw
o, then said goodbye.

“The papers are on their way. They came in the afternoon post, and my man picked them up at around five. He phoned the station from a diner where he was grabbing some supper and said he’d be here in another hour or so. I’ve got to go meet him at the station. You two want to come with me?”

“Tell you what,” Guy said, “I’ll clean up things from dinner here and then join you. You go ahead with Der.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive.” He kissed my hair. “Now go on and detect something.” He patted me on the butt as he shooed us out the door.

“How’d you like to drive my car?” asked Der. “I’ve had more brandy than I should have.”

I was suddenly suspicious. “So that’s why you invited me. You needed a designated driver.”

“Don’t be so damn paranoid. And don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

I punched the accelerator and felt the car surge forward.

“Watch the speed, Murphy. I don’t need for you to get us stopped.”

“Yes sir.” I was enjoying the power of the large engine so different from my own little car.

We arrived a very short time later at the station. I turned off the engine and got out. I was wide awake and oh so pleased with the drive. I loved the feeling of power that the big car gave. “I sure enjoyed that.”

Der remained seated, and I came around to him, wondering if he had fallen asleep on the ride. No, he was wide-awake and seemed to be having difficulty unbuckling his seat belt.

“God, Murphy, your driving is atrocious.” His pupils looked abnormally dilated, and I thought his color distinctly green as the overhead light in the car came on.

“Gee, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I tried to grab hold of his arm to help him out of the car, but he shook off my hand.

“Get away from me. I can get out of my own car.”

I smiled and let him struggle up the steps of headquarters on his own. It wouldn’t do to have his men see him supported by a woman. What a wimp. And I obeyed the speed limit too. Well, most of the way.

We entered his office to wait for the papers from Canada. He was his old self, although he looked at me as if he had second thoughts about my presence at this event.

“I’ve been thinking about getting a new car. What would something about the size of yours cost, do you think?”

He put his head in his hands for a moment, then raised his face to look at me.

“Let me give you a little advice. Now that I’ve experienced you behind the wheel of a car, I’d recommend a bicycle.”

“No need to be sarcastic.”

“I’m not. It’s a reasonable recommendation and for the good of the general public. When was the last time you took a driving test?”

“It was your suggestion I drive.”

“I had no idea you didn’t know how.”

“Fine, you win.”

“You’ll get a bicycle?”

I gave him a look of disdain and turned my back on him, muttering under my breath, “I’ll get a motorcycle instead.” Once the idea popped into my head, I thought it had merit. Good on gas… Der’s courier from Canada broke into my train of thought about saddlebags and horsepower.

I jumped up from my chair and stood behind Der as he opened the envelope and began to examine the papers in it.

“Do you mind?” He turned his head to stare at me. I sat again. I could be good.

“Well, well, this is very interesting.”

“What? What’s interesting? Let me see,” I leaped out of my chair once more.

“In a minute.” He waved me back into my seat. I had the distinct impression he was enjoying my frustration at not being able to look at the papers.

He continued to read over the papers, turning the pages slowing and making “Uhm” sounds every now and then. The suspense was killing me.

“Okay. Your turn. You take a look at them and tell me what you see there.” He handed the papers across the desk to me and sat back in his chair. I repeated his actions, turning the pages slowly, saying “Uhm” now and then and then sitting back to look at him when I was finished. We stared at one another.

“Did you notice…”

“Yeah,” Der said. “Stanford’s name as one of the original investors in the condo property. Now that’s real interesting, I think. Talk about conflict of interest. Both Talbot and Stanford having their hands into the condo property. But so what? Did Stanford want to keep it a secret, and Talbot was holding the papers over Stanford’s head? This case just gets more and more confusing, and I see little chance of clearing up some of these mysteries with the principals dead and gone.”

“You’re right. None of this explains why Talbot withdrew money from his account each month over the last several years. If he knew Stanford was an investor and he had the papers to prove it, you’d think Talbot was the blackmailer. Maybe he was. Maybe he extracted favors from Stanford to keep the secret.”

“What kind of favors?”

“I don’t know.”

The rest of the papers in the envelope weren’t of much interest. They included minutes of the condo board meetings and other legal documents on the planning and construction of the condos. I saw most of these when I did my research at the courthouse. All in all the papers were a disappointment with the exception of the information about Stanford’s involvement as an investor in the condos. Would Stanford kill to keep those papers a secret? Did he do in Talbot hoping to shut him up? Somehow that didn’t make sense. Surely the papers would be found, and Stanford’s role be known.

The papers appeared to be important enough for someone to try to warn me away from them, and perhaps they were at the root of the fire at Bunny's. We couldn’t blame those events on Stanford. He was dead long before the fire and the phone call to me. But someone was as interested in those papers as Der and I were.

I shook my head at these thoughts. “I can’t believe Stanford had anything to do with those condos. It would have taken some significant money to invest in their construction, and I don’t see Stanford having that kind of money. A college president, yes. But Stanford was a lowly associate professor at the time. Where would he get the funds?”

“My thoughts exactly. If Stanford were one of the investors in that condo project, his will would mention the ownership, and Beth would be heir to his holdings. Did Beth mention anything to you about her husband’s estate and its contents?”

“No, I think the will is to be read soon, but I’m certain Beth would have said something about the condo property if she knew about it.”

“Well, it’s a place to start.”

“And if the papers are fake, then what? If Stanford wasn’t an investor, what does that mean? And if he were an investor and hiding it, where does that get us?”

Der and I sat in his office staring at one another, occasionally shaking our heads at the jumble of thoughts running around in our brains. Guy found us like that when he entered the office. It took both of us about a minute to notice he was there.

“Well, it looks as if those papers were less illuminating than you would have hoped.”

“Come on.” I picked myself up out of the chair. “I’ll explain on the way home. Did you bring the car or the bike?”

“The bike, of course. I wouldn’t ride in that car of yours for any money. It’s a wreck.”

“Good. I can use a bike ride to clear my head.”

We turned to say goodnight to Der, but he still had that blank, confused look on his face, and he merely waved us out the door.

The ride home did clear my head some, but despite the relaxation of the ride, I was no closer than earlier to finding my way out of the maze of paths that seemed to lead nowhere in this case. I told Guy about the contents of the papers and expressed once again my puzzlement about Stanford’s investment in the condo property.

“Frankly, I don’t believe it,” I said.

“I think you’re right. From what you told me about Talbot, it sounds like some kind of scheme to keep Stanford in line, falsifying those papers of investment.”

I liked his line of reasoning, but we couldn’t begin to guess what Talbot’s scheme could be. After talking over coffee on the deck, we gave up trying to make sense out of the papers and headed for bed. We were both so exhausted from the evening’s confusion we fell asleep almost immediately.

At two in the morning, I sat up in bed and turned on the light.

“What’s going on?” Guy rolled over and looked at the clock, then moaned.

I reached for the phone without answering him and dialed Der’s number. He picked up on the first ring and muttered an unintelligible sound into the receiver. Without saying hello, I began to talk excitedly.

“Talbot’s papers on the condo construction, the ones done by the hydrologist on the wastewater treatment process. Remember, the document reported adequate filtration for condo construction of ten buildings with eight units in each building?” I didn’t wait for him to reply, but rushed on. “The hydrologist’s report filed in the county courthouse talks of
twenty
buildings, not ten. The reports are identical with the exception of the number of buildings in the complex.”

By this time I could tell Der was wide awake. “Who did the work? Who was the hydrologist? Do you remember the name?” he asked.

“I can’t remember. I think it sounded French. That would make sense. The project was developed by a company in Montreal. I do know the name was the same on both hydrology reports.”

“I’ll get back to you later today. I’ll get the name on the reports and check it through the company in Montreal. We need to track down this guy and sees what’s going on here.”

“Do you think there was an error in the number of units, a mistake of some sort?”

“You know I don’t believe in simple mistakes. Something funny is going on here. Talbot had those papers including the hydrology report for a reason. From what you’ve told me about him, he was a sly old devil. There’s some relationship between that report and Stanford’s investment in the condo project that’s eluding us. With our major players conveniently dead, the only real chance we have of finding what’s going on here is to locate that hydrologist. Get some sleep, and, oh, by the way, nice work.” He hung up.

“Like I could possibly sleep now.” I filled Guy in on what Der was going to do in the morning.

“Good idea of Der’s.” He yawned, patted my face and rolled over.

“Yeah, but what do I get to do?”

“You get to sleep.”

“Hey, you can’t just leave me hanging here. I want to talk some more.” I jostled Guy’s shoulder, but there was no reaction. Oh, well, I’d just go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea and try to accomplish something on my paper. I doubted sleep was possible.

Guy found me the next morning slumped over my computer keyboard, the teabag still untouched on the saucer by my cup of water, now cold.

“Coffee’s made. I’m off to work. I’ll see you this evening.” He patted the back of my head.

Before I could reply, he banged out the kitchen door, and I heard his bike starting up. I was just padding my way into the kitchen for coffee when I heard the sound of Annie’s car in the driveway. I poured her a cup of coffee also. We still had some catching up to do as I had talked with her only briefly since David and Sandy were here.

In the midst of our conversation, my phone rang. It was Der letting me know that the hydrologist’s name was Henri Lebeau. I was right. It was French, and it also was a totally unfamiliar name. I knew no one whose name was even remotely similar to Henri LeBeau, a total stranger. Another dead end in this perplexing case.