Murder is Academic (6 page)

“What’s that?” A fleeting look of concern crossed his features.

“Rumor has it Talbot finally decided to move the Biological Field Station under the auspices of Dr. Pruitt and Water Resources.”

Stanford continued walking down the hall ahead of us, and I couldn’t see the expression on his face. When he stopped and faced us, he laughed. “That’s preposterous. Pruitt is making it up, and how convenient he can use the president’s death as an excuse for there being nothing official. I really don’t think that verbal promise will hold much sway with the next president. That Pruitt, he’ll try anything to get his own way.”

“Murder?” Guy’s comment stopped Stanford in his tracks..

“Good God, no! Pruitt? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Stanford’s expression was at once both horrified and amused.

We turned into one of the labs where Donald was working on the water samples brought in that night.

“That water sample from around the launch site will probably look bad, and we’ll monitor that closely.” Stanford stood over his assistant, a move that seemed to irritate Donald. “They must be having trouble with their system again.”

I tried a direct question. “Does that happen often?”

“Not really. We’d like it not to happen at all, but it hasn’t done any permanent damage. It’s probably related to the enormous amount of rain we’ve had lately. Continued monitoring and testing of the water will establish it’s an anomaly and only temporary.”

“I had an appointment with my physician today as a follow-up on some antibiotics she prescribed for earaches I had earlier this summer. She said she’s been finding a rash of earaches and suspects some water source. Not the lake, of course.”

“Yeah, I know. I got a call from her just this week. We’re being extra vigilant and doubling our water samples. So far nothing with the exception of that stink over by the condos, but that’ll be taken care of in the next few days. That’s not long term so we’ve ruled out this lake as the problem. I sure wouldn’t want people to be getting sick swimming in these waters.”

Donald nodded his head in agreement.

We spent some time looking around the lab and then continued on to the biology laboratories. Here glass aquaria housed fish, mussels and other animal life taken from the lake. Samples of lake vegetation took up a considerable amount of space in the last area while a smaller laboratory was reserved for microbiological work. I had toured the wetlands and swamp area the previous spring. Animal and plant life in the wild was vastly more interesting to me than specimens in a lab, and I said so to Stanford.

“I’d have to agree with you. I’m more of an ecological researcher, looking at the interrelationship among plants and animals in an ecosystem such as the wetlands around here. However, a significant portion of my time in the field is made up of obtaining water samples for testing because we were awarded the contract with the state to insure the safety of these recreational waters. That’ll change soon.”

“How’s that?” I hadn’t heard of this before.

“A public boat launch has been approved, so the college will be partnering with the state to monitor the lake waters. We’ll see if that reduces our work load or increases it.”

“Maybe you need to use some of your students for the work. I’ve been very successful getting students involved with my research, and they’ve proven to be quite adept at carrying out a number of projects.”

Stanford chuckled.

“You can’t really be equating the fuzzy procedures and approaches of psychology with the precision required in a real science like biology, can you, Dr. Murphy?”

“My research is hardly fuzzy and imprecise.” I clenched my fists and leaned forward, chin out, my posture suggesting I could defend my work with both words, and action, if necessary.

“I’m sure you believe it to be quite scientific, but it’s a far cry from working with human subjects to the demands required of a researcher in biology who must understand calculus, chemistry and a host of biological phenomena. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to close up here for the night.” Stanford strode to the door of the lab and held it open for Guy and me.

“Goodnight, Dr. Murphy, Mr. LaFrance.” There was finality in his tone of voice.

Guy shook Stanford’s hand and said goodnight. I gave a quick nod and continued to seethe over his condescending remarks to me about my research and psychology in general. I was about to speak, when Guy stopped in front of Stanford blocking his way to the parking lot.

“You know, Dr. Stanford, your set-up here puzzles me. It would seem to be a perfect environment for bringing students and professionals in for training, which might include gathering and testing those water samples. Not that it’s any business of mine how you run this station, but I did an undergraduate internship in a field setting in Canada, and the research was professional and precise.”

A red flush began to run up Stanford’s face from his neck. His thin lips drew together in a tight line, and I watched his cheeks tic up and down as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. He caught the intensity of my scrutiny, swallowed, cleared his throat and stepped back, calming himself in the process.

“What school did you say you attended?”

“McGill University.”

Stanford smiled. “Oh, well, then. Canadian schools do things somewhat differently.”

“I sure didn’t think they did science differently.” Guy’s gaze locked with Stanford’s.

The smile slid from Stanford’s face for a moment then was quickly replaced with a broader one.

“Well, this certainly is an interesting topic. I hope we can get together again sometime and exchange notes, but for now, I really must run. My wife is here from her studies at Syracuse, and I’m late for dinner. Not good to keep the little woman waiting, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Murphy?”

He patted Guy on the shoulder and trotted off to his car in the parking area.

As Guy steered the bike out of the parking lot and onto the lake road, I chewed on the insulting way Stanford denigrated my research. As if reading my mind, Guy reached back and gave my leg an affectionate rub. “Is the little woman still mad about Dr. Stanford’s comments?”

We both broke into laughter.

“Odd though,” Guy said, after a while.

“Hmm?” I propped my chin on his leather-clad shoulder.

“A day or two of untreated effluent from a faulty treatment system shouldn’t produce a fish kill. Takes a while.”

“Something else going on, do you think?”

“Maybe, but I’m no expert. That’s Stanford’s purview.”

“And what did you think of him?”

“Handsome devil. Strong handshake. Did I catch an undercurrent of tension between the two of you, I mean, even before the student interns discussion? His attack on you seemed unprovoked.”

I laughed. “I had his “little woman” in one of my women’s studies classes. Stanford may be worried there were lasting effects.”

“What’s she like?”

“I really don’t know her well, aside from that one class. She’s finishing her doctorate at Syracuse in water resources. I guess you could say he served as her mentor.” I stopped talking and sighed into his shoulder.

“Something else bothering you?”

“They got together when she was enrolled in one of his classes. I recently heard rumors on campus he’s been seeing another of his students. What is it with these guys?” I pounded my fist into Guy’s arm.

“Hey, interfering with the driver. I’ll have to stop and teach you better motorcycle manners.” He slowed the bike.

“Oh, please do. I need reminding every now and then.”

Guy pulled onto a side road leading to the water’s edge. There was no dead fish odor here, only the smell of wet ground near the shoreline and the sound of frogs calling through the mist on the lake.

He dug a blanket out of the saddlebags and spread it on the ground. We lay side by side gazing up into the night sky.

“No stars tonight. I think it’s going to rain, so we’d best begin with my motorcycle manners lesson right now.”

“Okay, here are the rules. Never, ever bite the driver on his neck.”

“You mean, like this?” I took a tiny nip on his neck.

“No, I mean more like this.” Guy returned the favor.

The lessons would have continued well into the night had it not been for the crack of thunder overhead.

“Oh, oh. Like I said, it’s going to rain.”

The wind began to pick up and a bolt of lightning turned the night into day.

“Let’s ride.” Guy grabbed the blanket off the ground, shook it, and reached for my hand.

We made it to the bike when the first raindrops hit. The trees began to bend in the wind.

“This could drop some limbs on the road.” I had to shout into Guy’s ear to be heard over the noise of the wind.

The storm intensified as the winds gusted, then lightning flashes struck just beyond the bends ahead and a deluge of giant raindrops pummeled us. As large and powerful as the bike was, the gusts treated it like a toy, shaking the machine and pushing it from side to side down the road. My fingers gripped Guy’s leather jacket.

Open to the elements of nature, I felt as fragile as a glass ornament on a Christmas bough under attack by a playful cat. But there was nothing playful about this storm, and I worried we wouldn’t make it home without the powerful blasts sweeping us off the road and throwing us sideways down the asphalt.

“Hang on!” Guy yelled at me, as if I would be foolish enough to let go for one second. Lightning hit a limb that slammed to the ground just after we passed under the maple tree it was once part of. Ahead of us, the lights of the motorcycle illuminated a road littered with tree branches. Guy maneuvered around them, downshifting to make the sharp turns required to avoid the leafy debris, and speeding up once we were beyond the obstruction.

We pulled into my driveway just as another gust shook the trees surrounding us. A lightning strike lit up my yard revealing a lawn covered with branches, leaves and an overturned barbecue grill. We made a dash for the door.

“Wow, that was some storm, and it came up so quickly.” He shook his head and the water trapped in his hair flew across the kitchen.

“Let me get some towels.” I dashed up the stairs and grabbed an armful of bath towels from the linen closet. “This is just the beginning of the storm season here. We usually get a few tornadoes, too.” I threw a towel to him.

“This is silly. You’re shivering, and we really need to get out of these clothes and into something warm. The storm seems to be passing. I think we’re safe enough.” He produced his lop-sided grin and nodded toward the stairs.

“Might as well use up all of the warm water again. You’re awfully hard on the electric bills.”

“Would you prefer a cold shower in the name of economy then?”

“No.” My teeth were chattering.

We showered and got out just before the water turned tepid, so that we wouldn’t get chilled again. By the time we finished, the rain slowed and only a few drops continued to fall as the lightning retreated beyond the hills, and the winds died. I made coffee, and we carried our cups upstairs and opened the French doors in my bedroom. Arms entwined, we stood in the doorway and took in the view of the lake below.

Gentler breezes blew in through the screen, sweeping away the clouds and revealing a bright moon, enough light to see each other’s eyes. Guy’s were dark and filled with passion. He reached out to touch my cheek.

“How was that for a ride?”

“Do you usually provide this much drama in a girl’s life?”

“This is just the beginning.” He kissed my lips and led me to the bed.

Chapter 6

I was on my hands and knees when Guy patted my backside and wave
d goodbye.
Where was that damn dress? Ah, here
. I grabbed the knit, sleeveless shift off the floor of my closet, shook it free of its wrinkles and slipped it over my head. A little lipstick, a mug of coffee to take with me in the car, and I was off to pick up Annie on the way to President Talbot’s funeral being held on campus at the student center. I waved at Guy when I passed the construction site. He waved and winked back.
Loved that wink
.

Cars filled the parking lot closest to the student center. A campus security officer signaled me to an area farther down the road. As Annie and I left the car, we ran into Rudolf Pruitt and his secretary on their way into the funeral.

I nodded briefly at him and his secretary Nancy. No wife accompanying him to this important ceremony?

“Sara couldn’t make it today?” My voice sounded innocent, but Pruitt probably knew better.

For many years Pruitt engaged in an on-and-off relationship with Nancy. Meantime he couldn’t seem to divorce or permanently leave his wife, Sara. Nancy grabbed his arm and jerked him after her as she hurried into the center.

“You’re so mean to the two of them.” Annie held her hand over her mouth and tried to suppress a chuckle. “I think Sara kicked him out of the house. She told me Nancy could have him.”

“I should send her a congratulations card.”

“Shhh.” Annie put her finger to her mouth. “A little respect here. Be quiet so I can hear what others are gossiping about.”

“Good thinking.” We entered and took seats toward the rear of the room.