The Boreal Owl Murder (13 page)

“He’s already had experience, you know.”

My gaze shifted from the pen in her hand to her face. Now she was beaming, almost like I’ve seen parents do on Back to School Night when they’re proud of their children. Except she certainly wasn’t old enough to be Ellis’s mother.

Considering her multiple personality routine, I couldn’t imagine her as anyone’s mother. She alone probably had enough issues to keep a whole class of counselors-in-training busy for at least a year or two. Maybe three. I didn’t even want to consider how kids of hers might turn out.

“He spent a season working with Dr. Rahr a few years ago,” she offered. “That’s when I first met him, actually. I was Dr. Rahr’s secretary at the time.”

Bingo.

Ms. Multiple knew both Rahr and Ellis. I’d hit pay dirt on the first shovel dig. I bit the inside of my mouth to keep myself from grinning. “And you are?”

“Alice. Alice Wylie.”

Then it happened again. The woman—Alice—morphed again. This time into Ms. Press Release.

“I can’t tell you how upsetting Dr. Rahr’s death has been for all of us,” she said, her voice totally flat. “It’s just unthinkable. I haven’t seen Dr. Ellis this week, but I’m sure he’ll just be sick about it. Since he started here in January, he’s often remarked that he owes Dr. Rahr a great deal.”

Then, for the blink of an eye, Ms. Furious was back. “In fact, if it weren’t for Dr. Rahr, Dr. Ellis wouldn’t be where he is today in his academic career.”

Gee, do you think I could go out and come in again and we could start this thing over? I wanted to ask. Because this whole multiple-personality thing was really starting to creep me out. Without a doubt, I was definitely getting a bad feeling here. But what?

Something weird was going on with Alice Wylie.

Not only was she doing a good imitation of a really serious clinical psychological disorder, but her tone of voice was confusing me. I couldn’t tell if she was defending Rahr or damning him, or if it was Ellis that she was defending/damning. Whichever it was, it also didn’t jibe with the press release she’d just recited, a comment that seemed to suggest that a mutual admiration society existed between the two men.

But I knew that mutual admiration wasn’t the case. Or at least, it hadn’t been the case when Rahr refused to keep “the kid” on, as Dr. Phil had reported.

Which made me wonder what Ellis had really meant in his email when he said he owed Rahr.

Depending on how I took Alice’s statement, I could come up with a variety of spins.

If I took it as an indictment against Rahr on Ellis’s behalf, that could mean that Ellis had made his remark out of resentment, rather than gratitude—that he might be further along in academia if Rahr hadn’t shut him down with the Boreals. True, he’d earned his doctorate from Cornell, which was no mean feat, but was it possible that Rahr had somehow slowed him down professionally?

On the other hand, if I took Alice’s words as praise for Rahr, then maybe Ellis’s email remark was likewise complimentary.

Unless he was being sarcastic.

Or vindictive.

Get a grip, I told myself. Just listen. Stop looking for innuendo. Collect the information and let Knott do the detective thing. That’s what he got paid for. Not me.

“You know,” Alice was saying, lowering her voice, “some of these professors can be pretty petty about their colleagues. I’ve even seen them deliberately sabotage each other’s chances for promotion and funding grants. Not here, of course,” she added quickly. “I’ve worked at other colleges in the state and seen it all. But it’s different here.”

She sniffed, grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. My guess was that Ms. Vulnerable had just arrived.

“Everyone is so supportive of each other’s work that it’s like working with your own family,” she said, her voice quivering. “That’s why Dr. Rahr’s death was so disturbing. Nothing like that ever happens here.”

I waited to see if she’d say anything more, but she—all of her—seemed to be finished. Believe me, I wasn’t complaining. I thanked her for her time, and she promised to get the message to Ellis when he returned. As I wound my way out, following the worm back to the building’s lobby, I passed an office door that was slightly ajar. Thinking it was worth a try to speak with another department member, I knocked. When no one answered, I pushed it open.

Papers were scattered across a wide oak desk. On the wall behind it, photographs and diplomas hung in the space between filled bookshelves. One photo in particular caught my eye: it showed a man on skis shooting a rifle. Next to it was a diploma from Cornell University. I leaned in a little to read it. It belonged to Bradley Ellis.

“Can I help you?”

I jumped at the man’s voice right behind my shoulder. I hadn’t even heard him walk in. I turned around and found myself looking at a big muscular guy about my height, maybe my age, with salt-and-pepper hair cut close to his scalp.

“Yes,” I said, pointing at the photo. “Who’s the biathlete?”

“I am.” He stuck his hand out in introduction. “Bradley Ellis.”

I shook his hand. “I’m Bob White.”

“Do you compete?” he asked, nodding towards the photo.

“No,” I replied. “I ski, but I don’t shoot. Do you compete?”

“Not any more. When I was younger, I had the time to get to races and train, but full-time employment put an end to that.” He folded his arms over his broad chest and looked me squarely in the eye. “Not much demand for armed cross-country skiers, you know.”

I shifted a little uncomfortably on my feet. “No, I’d guess not.”

“So … is there anything else I can help you with?”

Gee, now that you mention it—confess to murder, maybe?

But since I figured the odds of that happening were zero to nil, I tried to talk my way out of my embarrassment at being found loitering in someone’s private office.

Okay, maybe not loitering exactly.

More like … spying.

“Your secretary said you were out of town, and I happened to see your door open, so I thought I’d check,” I explained. It sounded lame even to me, but it was the best I could come up with spur-of-the-moment.

Obviously, people who were detectives were highly skilled in their profession: they knew how to handle getting caught while snooping, while I felt like a bumbling idiot.

Maybe because I was a bumbling idiot?

It wasn’t my fault that we never covered the finer points of spying in my counseling classes.

“Actually, I just got back about an hour ago,” Ellis said.

He moved away from me and leaned his hip against his desk. With one hand, he straightened the papers on it into a neat pile. I noticed his hands looked strong and weathered, definitely more the hands of an outdoor enthusiast than a classroom pedagogue. I could easily imagine him hiking in the woods or paddling a canoe, dressed as he was in a worn flannel shirt and heavyweight jeans. As for proof that he could ski and shoot, I’d just seen it on the wall.

“I don’t always check in with the receptionist,” he said, smiling a little. “I have a bit of a reputation around here as a maverick, I suppose. An aversion to authority, some people might say.”

The “kid”—as Jim had called him—was definitely a six-footer like me, but he was carrying probably thirty more pounds, all of it muscle. Teaching environmental science was obviously a better workout than being a high school counselor, even with the coaching I did.

Maybe I should start lifting weights with Alan, after all. He was always telling me I should.

“I’m on the MOU board,” I told Ellis. “I’m up here for the weekend to look for the Boreals, and I thought I’d stop in to say hello and talk with you about taking on the study.”

“So you got my email,” he said. “I know the timing seems lousy and probably disrespectful, but I know how much the research meant to Andrew, and I think it would mean a lot to him if it weren’t interrupted.”

“You two worked together before, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we did.” Ellis shuffled some more papers. “After the one season I spent with him, I decided I wanted to pursue my doctorate in environmental studies instead of biological field research, so I took off for the East Coast. I’m afraid he wasn’t very happy with me.” He smiled briefly at me. “Sometimes, it’s hard for mentors to let their mentees go.”

“And now you’re back,” I said.

Brilliant observation, Bob!
I gave myself a mental headslap.

“Yes. I am.”

He didn’t elaborate. After a moment of silence, I asked him how his father was doing.

“Not great,” Ellis said. “I left on Saturday … no … Friday to fly home to Michigan. I’m sorry—after being away, my days are all mixed up right now.”

“Bradley!”

We both turned to see Alice in the doorway.

“Hello, Alice.”

“I didn’t know you were back,” she gushed, beaming. Ms. Proud Parent in action.

“Alice, are these yours?” He pulled a pair of red reading glasses from his chest pocket. “I found them on my desk.”

“Oops!” She blushed and took them from his hand. “I was in here the other day—I hope you don’t mind—to see if you had any plants that needed watering, and I must have left them here. I’m always losing these little guys, you know. I’m missing another pair, too, so if you happen to find them,” she smiled again, “you know where I am.”

I gave myself another mental headslap.

She wasn’t Ms. Proud Parent.

She was Ms. Lovestruck.

In fact, Alice was so focused on Ellis, I wasn’t sure she realized I was standing there in the room, too.

Ellis, on the other hand, was sending out cold waves that were almost palpable. I decided it was time for me to make an exit.

“I won’t keep you,” I told Ellis, edging toward the door, giving Alice a nod as I slipped past her in the doorway. “I expect you have a lot of catching up to do after being out of town. I’ll be in touch. The board wants to make a quick decision about funding you.”

Ellis turned his attention away from Alice and back to me. “That would be great,” he said. “Maybe we could talk more this afternoon? I’ve got a couple appointments, but I’ll be free after three.”

“Actually, I thought I’d take another look at that Boreal site in the daylight,” I told him. “The one where … uh … Dr. Rahr …”

Ellis nodded. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? I just can’t get my mind around it. I keep thinking Andrew’s going to walk in the office any time now and say it wasn’t him they found up there. He’d hate to have his work left undone.”

He threw a quick glance at Alice, who was still standing in the doorway.

“Alice, could you find me a cup of coffee, please?”

“Certainly!” Alice made a quick about-face and headed off down the hall.

“Good help is hard to find,” I commented.

Ellis sighed. “You can say that again.”

I got the clear impression he wasn’t including Alice in the “good help” category.

“Maybe we could have a drink later this evening and talk about the study,” I suggested. “I understand there’s a new spot on the North Shore. I promised a friend I’d check it out.”

“The Splashing Rock,” Ellis said. “It’s excellent. What time do you think?”

We settled on eight o’clock.

“I’d really love to have that study in my lap, Bob,” Ellis told me as we shook hands again. His eyes were intense. “I’ve been thinking about it … for years.”

Oh, really? Exactly what had he been thinking about it? How he would do the study differently if he were in charge? How it had affected his academic and professional career, for good … or ill?

Because it had definitely affected it.

That much was clear from what Ellis had just told me about the reasons behind his change of field and his departure for the East Coast. Given what Dr. Phil and Jim had said about Rahr’s opinion of Ellis after their season together, it didn’t sound like it was an amicable separation, however. At least, not on Rahr’s part, unless “over my dead body” was a secret code in field research language that meant you really liked your coworker. Somehow, I doubted that. If I believed Ellis’s version, though, Rahr’s anger was the result of a mentor’s possessiveness—not the result of protocol discrepancies.

Having dealt in a very limited way with Rahr, myself, I had to admit that the possessive quality didn’t surprise me. Rahr had been jealously protective of the work he was doing with the Boreals. He hadn’t wanted to share any details with me. And it’s not like I was another researcher trying to steal his thunder, or his study. I was just a local birder. He couldn’t possibly have felt threatened by me, yet his words had suggested a definite wariness, if not downright paranoia.

Still, the question nagged at me as I walked out to my car. Had Ellis left the study of field biology willingly, or was he forced to abandon it because of his experience with Rahr?

I thought again about what Alice had said, that Ellis told her he wouldn’t be where he was today if it weren’t for Rahr. Was that a good or a bad place, according to Ellis? Call me a half-empty-glass kind of guy, but I didn’t think that landing an adjunct professorship was anything to brag about when you were in your mid-thirties, like Ellis was. A full professorship, preferably a tenured one, was the plum most academics wanted in hand by that point.

So what did Ellis owe Rahr? Gratitude for good advice, or payback for blocking a career move?

Man, this suspicion thing was insidious. For the second time in less than an hour, I told myself to quit playing at detective and let Knott do his job.

Knowing from experience that the best way to get my mind off other matters was to take it birding, I drove down the hill to the harbor and over to Park Point, a swath of shoreline that fronts the south edge of Lake Superior. Yesterday, on the list serve, someone had spotted a Scaup and two Buffleheads there. The fact that they were usually the first of the waterfowl to return to Lake Superior in the spring could only mean that early migrants were already on the move. I pulled my binoculars out of the glove compartment and looped them over my neck, got out of the car and walked down to the shore.

For the next forty-five minutes, the only things I wanted to find were birds, not murder suspects. I lifted the binos to my eyes and tried to identify a duck out on the glassy water.