Stump Speech Murder (20 page)

“I’ll turn on the news while I work,” he whispered in her ear, kneeling behind and to her side.  He hit the remote button and WRER anchor Ginger Cooper appeared on screen.  The sight of her reminded Pamela of their conversation and the pretty reporter’s willingness to help with her investigation.  Rocky’s large hands kneaded Pamela’s back, rubbing the kinks of the day away.

The local news contained nothing new about the Grant murder case.  In a related story, however, a reporter presented a brief account that indicated that mayor Hap Brewster had filed an injunction with the local Election Commission to have James Grant’s name removed from Reardon’s mayoral ballot in November.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” mumbled Pamela, face down on the mattress as Rocky pushed and rubbed her back, “why does that man seem to feel so intimidated by James?  He’s in jail, for heaven’s sake!  Why doesn’t Brewster just let this play out?  Let James stay on the ballot.  Surely, if nothing happens before the election to exonerate James, who will vote for an accused murderer?  All Brewster does by forcing the issue—it seems to me—is to make voters curious why he doesn’t trust them to decide for themselves.”

“I agree,” said Rocky, never losing the rhythm of his back rubbing strokes.  “He ought to leave well enough alone.”

The screen changed to commercials and the couple watched in silence as Rocky continued his efforts to relax his wife after her tiring day.  Another slick, well-produced commercial advertising the candidacy of Hap Brewster appeared.  This one was even more impressive than the short super-hero one she had seen the other day.  There was documentary footage of Brewster who was made to look like a knight slaying various possible foes.  A professional voice-over and an impressive original musical score contributed to the polished effect. 

“Wow!” said Rocky.  “That was good.  I mean, I haven’t seen a political ad that well done since the Reagan ‘Morning in America’ one.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “Not your typical used-car commercial. Even better than the one we saw yesterday. Slick.”  It was the only word that seemed appropriate.  She was used to seeing corny ads for local political campaigns.

“It makes Hap Brewster look like a hero,” noted Rocky, stopping his ministrations to her back.

“Are you done with my back rub?” she asked, turning over on her side.  Rocky scooted down beside her.

“Am I?”

“It’s too bad James can’t get the guy who did that ad to make one for him,” she sighed.

“James! James!” he said gruffly, sitting up.  “For a guy you’ve barely met, we sure discuss him a lot!”  His loud voice appeared to serve as a beacon to their dog, and Candide jumped up on their bed, looking from one of them to another.

“Candide!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands to get her pet’s attention.  “I met a very nice kitty today.  She was much bigger than you!”

Candide was obviously miffed with this statement and he lodged himself between them.

“Great!” moaned Rocky.  “First James comes between us, now Candide!”

“No one is coming between us,” Pamela replied to her husband, nuzzling his chin.  “Did I tell you how much I loved dinner tonight?”

“Did you?”

“I did,” she replied in his ear.

Candide joined in and licked Rocky’s other ear.

“No! Stop!” said Rocky, swatting away the dog’s attention with his hand.  “I’m not a meat loaf.”

“You’re probably covered in juices from tonight’s amazing lamb stew,” she observed.  “Candide can’t resist you any more than I can.”

“You not resisting me,” he whispered to her, rolling over towards her and pulling her to him.  “I’d like to see that.”

She traced her finger over the familiar features of her husband’s face.  Yes, there were a few remnants of the evening’s meal still there.  But more than that, there was the face she loved more than any other.  His rough skin, his firm features, his tender expression.  She reached out and embraced him.  Candide propped himself up on Rocky’s shoulder and looked into Pamela’s face—only a few inches away.  It was difficult, she thought, being romantic with the long black snout of a small poodle two inches from your nose.  She closed her eyes.  Rocky pulled her tight to his body.  Her mind filled with the rich images of a political commercial—an unforgettable political commercial.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next day, it was difficult to concentrate on her classes.  Her mind kept wandering from her lecture material to the James Grant murder investigation.  Her students were full of questions about their upcoming research papers and with the summer session so much shorter than regular semesters, she felt she had to spend the additional time after class answering any questions they might have in order for them to complete the demanding projects on time.  She now found herself standing behind the lectern in the second floor lecture hall, chatting with several students about said paper.

“So, you don’t want us to give any of our own opinions in our papers?” asked one tall girl in Bermuda shorts and her hair in braids.

“No,” replied Pamela, her pat answer rehearsed over many years of requiring this particular paper.  “You can’t use first person statements, but obviously, your paper is filled with your ideas, but you argue those ideas by supporting them with evidence and you present that evidence in third person.”

“You mean,” said a male student, attempting to clarify, “we can say ‘voices convey personality,’ but we can’t say, ‘I believe that voices convey personality.’”

“Something like that,” noted Pamela with a chuckle at the student’s simplification.  The students began gathering their belongings.  Pamela looked up to the back of the lecture hall and noted a woman standing hesitantly in the doorway, apparently waiting for her.  As the students wandered out of class, chatting and laughing, the woman entered and began walking towards Pamela at the front of the room.  As the woman came closer, Pamela realized who she was because she had seen her leave Mitchell’s office only a few days ago.  This was Katherine Brewster, wife of Reardon’s mayor.  What was she doing here?

“Dr. Barnes?” questioned Katherine Brewster, walking down the aisle of the large classroom.  “Dr. Pamela Barnes?”

“Yes,” replied Pamela.  What did the mayor’s wife want with her?

The woman was dressed like the society queen she obviously was–wearing a magenta linen suit and a dark purple silk top.  Her beige leather heels were probably designer too, reasoned Pamela.  She certainly didn’t own any shoes like that.  Mrs. Brewster’s hair was professionally coifed and her diamond earrings glistened.  Her long, elegantly manicured nails indicated that this was a woman who did not do her own floor scrubbing. 

“Can I help you?” asked Pamela, as the sophisticated woman stopped directly in front of the lectern.

“Dr. Barnes,” began Katherine Brewster, “Dr. Marks informed me that you would be here and that your class was just concluding.  I was hoping I might catch a word with you.  My name is Katherine Brewster . . . .”

“Yes, Mrs. Brewster,” interrupted Pamela, “I know who you are.”

“Oh,” responded the mayor’s wife with a lilting laugh.  “Possibly Mitchell–Dr. Marks–has spoken of me.  But, anyway, that doesn’t matter.  Actually, Dr. Barnes, I’ve come to talk to you today to plead with you to refrain from becoming involved–or at least–any further involved in this mess with James Grant.”

“What?” exclaimed Pamela.  “Did your husband send you, Mrs. Brewster?”

“No, no,” she assured Pamela, “he would never do that.  However, I am aware of what goes on in my husband’s campaign, Dr. Barnes, and he is extremely concerned about all of these individuals who seem to be conspiring to aid this wife killer–and thus–damage my husband’s campaign.  It’s incredible for me to believe that anyone in this department would be involved in such shenanigans. Excuse me for being blunt.”

Pamela was speechless.  Had Mitchell sent this woman to see her?  Did he even know she was here and what she was demanding?  Katherine Brewster stood before her, eyelids fluttering, arms crossed primly, anticipating that Pamela would produce an agreeable reply. 

“Mrs. Brewster,” she began, warmly, “I understand from Mitchell–Dr. Marks–that you have been a generous benefactress of our department, and as a member of the department, I am sincerely grateful for your contributions.  However, you surely are aware that contributing money to an academic department does not allow the donor the right to dictate to individual faculty members how they should behave–with regards to the use of those funds and with regards to their own personal behavior outside of their professional duties.  In other words, Mrs. Brewster, what I do on my own time is my business.”

Katherine Brewster gave a small gasp and straightened her suit jacket, ostensibly to allow herself time to gather her thoughts. 

“Dr. Barnes, I’m certainly not trying to order you about.  It’s simply that I don’t understand how someone of your intelligence and professional standing–like Mitchell, Dr. Marks–would become embroiled with an accused murderer.  You surely must see what such involvement does to your image in the community.”

“Mrs. Brewster, I’m quite touched that you’re so worried about the image of a person you don’t even know.  However, I’m not in the least bit concerned about my image and I don’t believe that my involvement in James Grant’s defense will damage it in the slightest.”

Pamela was actually starting to enjoy this polite debate between herself and the perfectly attired Mrs. Brewster.  She leaned over the lectern and smiled her most engaging smile at the woman.

“I-I, uh, Mitchell said you were a reasonable person,” Katherine Brewster scowled, her bright red lipstick on her lower lip smearing onto her teeth as she squeezed her mouth together.

“I am,” said Pamela.  “Very reasonable.  Just ask anyone I work with.  It’s that reasonableness–or you might say, reasoning–that has allowed me to help the local authorities solve several murder cases over the last few years.  All I’m doing now is attempting to do the same for James.”

“But that man was found standing over his dead wife!” exclaimed Katherine Brewster, diamond earrings sparkling in response. 

“All the more reason for him to have some people in his corner–as the police seem to have already made up their minds.”

“And for good reason,” Mrs. Brewster responded.  She carefully brushed a wayward strand of hair from her cheek.

“Mrs. Brewster,” said Pamela to the woman directly, “did you really think you could just walk in here and tell me to stay off James’s defense team?”

“I am attempting to appeal to your good judgment, Dr. Barnes,” said Katherine Brewster.

“Have you been appealing to the good judgment of all the other people assisting in James’s defense?” asked Pamela.

“Uh, no,” replied Mrs. Brewster, looking down.  “But, Dr. Barnes, you are well known for solving several local murder cases.  If people find out that you’re working for James Grant, they’re liable to think there’s a possibility that he didn’t kill his wife . . . .”

“He didn’t!”

“You can’t believe that!” cried Katherine.

“The more that people from your husband’s campaign try to intimidate me into quitting my efforts to help James, the more . . . .”

“What people?” Brewster asked suddenly.  “Has someone other than me said anything to you about this?”

“You mean, your husband didn’t send you here?” asked Pamela.

“No, Dr. Barnes,” responded the mayor’s wife.  “Believe it or not, this was my idea.  And, Dr. Barnes, I ask you again.  What other people from my husband’s campaign have asked you to stop helping James Grant?”

“For starters, Mrs. Brewster,” said Pamela with a sigh, coming from behind the lectern and stepping down a level to the floor where she could face Katherine Brewster nose to nose.  “For starters, your husband’s right hand man, Victor Baines, stopped my car in the street yesterday and pounded on my car window demanding that I stay out of the investigation.”

“He did?” she responded, aghast and then as the implications set in, somewhat deflated.

“Yes,” said Pamela, “and I also received a threatening phone call a few days ago.  That may have been Baines, but maybe not.  I don’t know.”

“I don’t know what to say,” replied the woman, noticeably shaken.  She stepped over to one of the student desk chairs and collapsed into it.  “Dr. Barnes, I’m really sorry.  My purpose in talking to you today was to try to reason with you–not strong arm you.  I had no idea that anyone from my husband’s campaign had been harassing you.”