Physics Can Be Fatal (17 page)

*

    Will spent the rest of the day speaking to other members in the Physics & Astronomy Department.  Each had observed a different piece of the puzzle, and little by little, Will was beginning to see a picture emerge. 

     His next interview after Nedda Cake was with Lois Lieberman.  Will knocked on her open door.  Lois was talking on the phone, and motioned for Will to come in. 

     Will sat down and waited patiently, going over his notes.  When Lois finished her call moments later, she apologized to Will, and offered any help she could to the investigation.

     Will asked Lois about the cocktail party for Professor Sidebottom on the night of his arrival in New Guilford.  Lois’s first order of business was to cast aspersions on Sheila Dubin.

     “You just don’t wear a dress like that to a Department function,” Lois sputtered, adjusting her pink tinted glasses.

     “First of all, you don’t wear a dress like that
anywhere
unless you’re twenty-five years old.  Which Sheila is, you know, exponentially
not
.”

     Will sat quietly, taking notes.  Lois’s office offered a stark contrast to Mitchell Fender’s jumbled workspace, an observation he included in his notes.  Her desk was tidy and uncluttered, and there was little in the way of decoration in the room.  Black and white photographs of a beagle hung on the walls.

     “That’s Beechnut, my dog,” Lois said, beaming.  “She loves being photographed.”

     “Cute dog.”

     “You wouldn’t think it, but she’s a great watchdog.  And she’s an incredible athlete.  She loves to swim and hike and stuff.  Paolo and Francesca Rossetti, and Ravi Kapoor and I go hiking on the weekends sometimes.  Beechnut always gets really excited.”

     “I imagine there’s been a lot of conversation lately about the murder?” Will prodded.

     “Yeah, we were having dinner the other night at Paolo and Francesca’s house.  Two names kept popping up: Mitchell Fender and Seth Dubin’s wife, Sheila.  We had all witnessed Mitchell’s meltdown over the plagiarism thing with Alan Sidebottom last year.  Then Mitch’s wife left him, and things got pretty bad for Mitch.  Anyway, we were thinking he has the best motive for killing Alan Sidebottom.  But honestly, I don’t think he has it in him to kill anybody.  Not Mitch.”

     “Was Professor Fender’s allegation of plagiarism legitimate?”

     Lois Lieberman was silent for a moment.  She ran her fingers through her short hair, fluffing it up.

     “Mitchell definitely thought so.  But it’s hard to say.  Mitchell only shared parts of his manuscript with us, and from the chapters I read I wouldn’t be able to swear that Professor Sidebottom lifted from Mitchell’s work.  It’s an open question,” Lois said.  “It’s possible; I just can’t say for sure.  Mitch has his faults – like the rest of us – but when it comes right down to it, he’s a decent guy.”

     “And Sheila Dubin?” Will said.

     “The night of the party,” Lois began, “a few of us noticed how strongly Sheila reacted when Alan Sidebottom was teasing Seth about his stammer.  I’m telling you’ her anger was epic.  She practically turned colors, she was so mad.  I mean, I would be mad, too, if Seth was my husband and somebody teased him about his stammer, but it’s not that big a deal.  Sidebottom was drinking, and nobody took anything he said that night very seriously.  I just don’t get why Sheila didn’t throw it off.  I would have.” 

     “She happens to be a very pushy and ambitious woman,” Lois continued.  “She’s dying for Seth to get on in the world.  I think – a few of us thought – that she took the Sidebottom incident as a blow to Seth’s career.  Plus, I think she felt personally humiliated and even denigrated.  Sheila is all about image.  I wouldn’t put anything past her if she felt somebody slighted her.”

Chapter 13

     Will stopped on his way into work at The Earl of Sandwich Café, a small New Guilford eatery popular with the town’s old-timers.  Will generally picked up something for lunch at Earl’s, and once in a blue moon, stopped by for breakfast.   

     Hearty, homemade fare was cooked and served by Earl Dufresne, a retired tugboat captain.  In a decidedly unfashionable neighborhood on the outskirts of New Guilford, Earl’s clientele was more town than gown.  So Will was surprised to see Edwina there.  She was sitting at the counter in rapt concentration over a magazine article she had propped open against a napkin dispenser.  A plate of blueberry pancakes sat half-eaten.

     “Hello,” Will said.

     Edwina continued reading, her long eyelashes bumping against her bangs whenever she blinked.

     “Excuse me?” he said, tapping lightly on her shoulder.

     Edwina looked up, startled.

     “Mind if I join you?” Will asked.

     “Oh, it’s you, hello.  How goes the case?”

     “We’re making some progress.  Slow––but steady.  What are you reading, there?”

     “Oh, it’s physics stuff––you know––”

     “Yeah?  What’s it about?” Will smiled.

      “Uh, well, it’s basically about parallel universes.  There’s this guy at M.I.T., Max Tegmark, amazing guy, very brilliant.”

     “Do you think I could understand the article if I read it?” Will said.

     Edwina took a moment to think about this, although she knew the answer.  She didn’t wish to be rude, but facts were facts.

     “Not really, no.  But Professor Tegmark has a fabulous web site.  You might enjoy that.”

     When Will’s order of scrambled eggs with chili and cornbread came, Edwina peered curiously at the plate.

     “That looks good,” she said.  “I’ll have to try it next time.”

     “You’re welcome to have a taste,” Will said.  “Here.”

     He held out a forkful of chili mixed with eggs.  Edwina was uncertain whether he expected her to eat from the fork while he held it for her in mid-air, or whether she should hold up her own plate so he could tap the bite-full of food onto it.  It all seemed somehow vaguely flirtatious, and Edwina was afraid of doing something clumsy.  Finally she decided to take the fork from him and feed herself.  This proved an awkward maneuver, and the food fell onto the floor.

     “Good Lord,” she said, feeling totally embarrassed.  Her face infused with color, and she didn’t know where to look.  Will noticed that her freckles darkened when she blushed.

     “No worries,” Will said gallantly.  “Here.”  He held his plate up for her to try another forkful of eggs and chili.  Instead she picked up a spoon.

     “Delicious!” she grinned.

     After that, the conversation flowed easily.  They traded stories on matters of local interest. Edwina expressed her opinion about the superiority of Dan’s Bridge Market over the new supermarket in town.

     “Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to shop at a market where you can buy a six foot ladder along with your laundry detergent?  Dan’s has everything!  And you know something else?  That new super-ubermarket smells,” Edwina said.

       Will complained about the recent closing of one of two remaining independent bookshops in New Guilford, and Edwina commiserated.  They shared stories about black bear sightings, and compared notes on where the best cross-country skiing was to be had nearby.

     “Have you ever gone cross-country skiing at night?” Will said.

     “At night?  No, never have.”

     “I have this friend who lives up in Tunbridge.  When he was in med school at Cushing, he used to have these ‘midnight frenzy’ parties in the wintertime.  There had to be a full moon and a lot of snow, and then a bunch of us would get together and build a huge bonfire, and roast something––like a whole pig, or a road-kill deer.  We’d go cross-country skiing in the moonlight, and then feast,” Will said.

     “Sounds like fun,” Edwina said, suddenly looking at her watch.

     “Damn!  I’m nearly late for class!” she exclaimed, jumping off her stool.

      Edwina grabbed her jacket and the magazine and dashed toward the door, turning to flash Will an indelible smile, before she disappeared into the lane.

*

     Edwina drew back the curtains in her bedroom on Saturday morning and squinted at a sky of such brightness and clarity she could hardly wait to get her hands on it.  The trembling leaves were resplendent with bold reds and oranges against the hydrangea blue sky.  Edwina dressed hastily, packed a lunch, and sped on her bike toward the Boat House.    

     It was here on the river where she felt her own nature was in rhythm with nature itself.  Here she could do nothing clumsy, or feel embarrassed or anxious.  As she eased her kayak into the river, the waves reflected thousands of rapid pieces of sunlight, like some sort of light show, ongoing and ever changing.

     Edwina headed downstream.  She could smell wood smoke in the air from the nearby houses.  Her thoughts soon melded with the motion of her paddle, the friction of the paddle meeting the water, the displacement of the water.   Equations danced in her head, equations for fluid velocity and fluid density.  Calculations ran through her mind about the force she was able to exert against the waves.

     Some time later Edwina arrived at her private cove.  She pulled the kayak onto the beach, and spread a wool blanket on the ground.  Listening to the sounds of the leaves fluttering in the surrounding woods, she devoured a lunch of cheese and honey sandwiches, an apple, an orange, and a bottle of water.  Afterwards she cleaned up the lunch remnants, rinsed her face and hands in the river water, and lay on the blanket with her damp face turned toward the sun.  Edwina felt ineffably happy.  Time seemed to distill into one, eternal moment.  She had a sudden feeling of being connected to everything.

     Her thoughts eventually turned to the Sidebottom business.  Edwina reviewed the events of that last night when she had had dinner with Professor Sidebottom at the New World Tavern.  How she had started to walk him back to campus.  How he dashed off through the quiet streets of New Guilford, running like a man possessed.  Edwina’s guilt still needed assuaging.

    
I should have followed him on my bike.  I could have caught up and found him.  And then what?  Fend off the killer?  I could’ve been killed, too!

    
Edwina let this line of inquiry fall away. 

    
I wonder why Charlotte Cadell looked at Sidebottom in such a hostile way at tea the afternoon before he died?  He didn’t seem to even notice her.  Did she know him from before?  She spoke in a strangely personal way about him that night at the New World . . .  Poor Mitchel Fender!  He certainly had a good reason for killing Sidebottom, but then again, everybody knew all about the plagiarism thing . . . what if somebody is trying to frame Mitchell?  Professor Sidebottom was horrible to Seth Dubin, but Seth wouldn’t hurt a fly . . . Sheila Dubin is another story, that woman gives me the willies . . . could some of the players be acting together in this thing?   And what about Helen Mann, and her past with Professor Sidebottom?

    
Edwina rolled onto her stomach, resting her head on folded arms.  A continuous breeze softly ruffled her hair.   Her dark fleece jacket had absorbed so much heat from the sun it felt like a hot water bottle, and she soon fell asleep.  When she awoke a short while later, a doe and two fawns stood at the edge of the woods staring at Edwina, waiting for her to make a move so they would know if this human animal was friend or foe.

Chapter 14

     Will set off for Boston at noon on Monday, supplied with a thermos of coffee, a large bottle of water, and two turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sandwiches from Earl’s Café.  His first stop would be to interview Donald Gaylord’s wife.  Will had called the day before and left a message for her to meet him at the Gaylord home at two o’clock.  He had not heard back from her, and hoped she would be there.

     He turned on the radio, but quickly turned it off again.  He wanted to concentrate on the case.

     There was no shortage of motives.  Mitchell Fender and Donald Gaylord hovered near the top of Will’s list.  Alan Sidebottom’s alleged theft of Mitchell’s original research had surely damaged, if not ruined, Mitchell’s chances of tenure and promotion, and cost him a raise in salary.  Maybe even cost him his marriage.  Perhaps the most enduring loss to Mitchell Fender was the respect of his colleagues.