The Probability of Murder (18 page)

I shared all this with Ariana, who kept on beading. A pair of blue crystal earrings on silver wire was taking shape. At least one of us would have something to show for the morning.

“I’m just trying to find out if people who climbed the mountain yesterday are safe today,” I said. “I’m going to see if there’s a ranger station I can contact.”

“You know he hates that,” Ariana said.

“Tough.”

Whirrrr. Whirrrr. Whirrrr.

I picked up my cell phone before a second round of whirring could begin. Not Bruce, but another man I wanted to talk to.

“Hey, Martin,” I said. I came close to calling him Marty, but he would have known something funny was up.

“Sophie. I didn’t want to disturb you on a Sunday, but I see you’ve tried to get me. I’ve been so stunned about what happened to Charlotte.”

“I still can’t get over it all,” I said. He could decide for himself how many levels that sentiment applied to.

“It makes you think, doesn’t it? You can’t get too complacent and assume you’re safe from violence, even at a place like Henley,” he said.

“How true.”

“I tell my staff all the time to lock themselves in if they’re staying late. It’s foolish to leave yourself at the mercy of anyone who can walk in off the street.”

“Of course.” I got why Martin would like to think the bad guy was a townie, not a member of the Henley community. So would I.

“So is there anything special you wanted?” he asked.

I could have sworn our director of finance’s voice held a bit of concern that wasn’t due to a murder on campus. It was unusual for anyone in the administration to return a call on a Sunday. Had Warren, my new friend at the Bailey’s Landing Shop at Ease, called Martin’s number to warn Garrett that a short, thin lady was on his tail? I smiled. That would scare him.

Now that I had Martin on the phone, I stumbled over what to say.
Did you have a reason to murder Charlotte?
would have been a good start, but I didn’t have the nerve to ask.

I came up with a diversion. “Olivia asked me to put together a memorial for Charlotte. You knew her pretty well from that special lottery group, didn’t you?”

“I was one member of a group who pooled our money for that one activity, yes.”

“You were a member? Not anymore?”

“It’s a long story.”

I bet it was, so to speak. “I thought you might want to participate in the service.”

“Oh, sure, sure. As I say, I didn’t know her all that well, but sure. I’ll be glad to contribute. What did you have in mind? Are you taking donations for flowers?”

Not that easy.

“I’m looking for help with the program itself. Some readings. Music. A eulogy.”

“Oh…uh…I may not be your man for that. I—”

“It’s hard to talk over the phone, Martin, and also I’m trying to keep the line open for Bruce. He’s on a mountain in New Hampshire right now.”

“One of his climbing excursions? I hear it’s snowing pretty heavy up there. That’s a good thing, right?”

“So they tell me. Are you free for a quick meeting tomorrow? I can show you what I have so far.”

Which was nothing, but it didn’t matter since I had other things in mind for Marty.

“My schedule is pretty tight. Eight to five with an hour for lunch. Not like you professor types with hours of free time between classes.”

Martin laughed, but I knew most nonteachers, even college administrators, really believed that teachers magically appeared, prepared for each class, with no work in between. Now was not the time to ask how much prep work he did for every hour of work he put in at his office.

“Let’s use the lunch hour, then. In or out?” I asked.

I heard a resigned sigh. I was proud of myself for sticking it out and getting Marty to agree to a meet. “I usually brown-bag it. Does that work for you? Noon, my office?”

“See you then. Oh, one more thing,” I said. “Do you think Garrett would like to be part of it?”

Silence.

“The service for Charlotte. Do you think Garrett would like to be part of it?” In case you didn’t hear me the first time.

I was now much too pleased with myself. I pictured Marty at home, but neatly dressed, maybe with a cashmere sweater instead of pinstripes, perspiring under his button down, wondering how I knew about the guy crashing on his couch.

“I think we need to talk,” Marty finally said.

My thoughts exactly. “Oh?” I said.

“It’s not what you think.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and hung up.

Ariana, who’d been paying close attention, high-fived me. “Nice going.”

“Not too Columbo?” I asked.

“No such thing. But what was that about a memorial service? I didn’t know you’d been working on something for Charlotte.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then you’d better get busy.”

“Do you know any hymns and prayers?”

Oops. As soon as I asked, I knew I was in for it.

“You’ve come to the right place,” Ariana said, and sang an Eastern-sounding tune while doing a kind of snake dance in my den. I caught a phrase or two. “Golden pathways.” “Chain of memories.” I could almost smell the incense.

What had I gotten myself into?

Whatever else came of Ariana’s performance, the moments of laughter it brought both of us were worth it.

Ariana and I set out before noon, heading in opposite directions. She was on her way home in her yellow hybrid; I drove my smokestone Fusion toward the campus to meet Chelsea in the coffee shop.

I’d let Ariana think she’d convinced me to stop worrying about Bruce, otherwise she wouldn’t have left me alone. There was only so much New Age dancing and chanting I could take at one time. Bruce would call when he could, Ariana reminded me over and over. He was probably having the time of his life. She was willing to bet on it. The more challenging the conditions the better, and he’d come home completely safe and refreshed.

I wanted to believe she was right.

As if to emphasize the importance of weather everywhere today, rain poured down on the lowlands of Henley. The sound of my windshield wipers, usually background noise
that didn’t affect me at all, now seemed like labored breathing. Bruce’s breathing as he trekked through a storm.

I’d almost forgotten that Eduardo, more experienced than Bruce, was with him, and that was a plus. But the third member of the team, Kevin, a relative newbie, was a minus, who might get himself in trouble if the weather panicked him. I punched the Bluetooth device on my visor and dialed Bruce’s cell. Nothing.

I remembered that I had Eduardo’s wife’s number in my address book. No harm in calling a fellow stay-at-home to say hey. So what if I’d never met her.

No answer from Jenna, either. I didn’t leave a message, though I feared caller ID would tag me as a clingy, worrywart girlfriend.

One more thought brought me some consolation. Both Eduardo and Kevin were flight nurses at MAstar. Eduardo had been an ER nurse for many years before his air-rescue career, and Kevin had just returned from duty at an American medical station in the Persian Gulf.

That counted for something, and brought me a few minutes of peace.

I tuned in to a classical music station, the music my parents loved. If it didn’t put me to sleep, it would calm me down. According to my mother, my mathematician father was a great musician and could have been a professional pianist. “Music and math go together,” she’d say. “I can’t do either.”

I fell somewhere in between, good at math, but talentless in music.

Thinking of my parents and listening to their music relaxed me as I drove through the rainy streets of the town of Henley. I took comfort in familiar melodies and the routine of Sunday shoppers on its one main street.

I headed for the Henley College campus for the first time since it had been a crime scene.

I arrived on campus shortly after noon and parked in the lot next to the dormant, rain-soaked tennis courts. The Henley campus was beautiful, even in a downpour, when the old red brick buildings took on the look of sentinels guarding the pathways and lawns.

I made a point to look east, away from the library. I pulled my cell phone out of my spare charger and checked the battery capacity—fully charged, waiting for a call. The one time I’d been caught without a charged cell phone, my home was broken into. If I were a superstitious type, instead of a mathematician, I’d have resolved never to let that happen again.

I made a dash to my meeting place with Chelsea, only a few steps away, and entered one of the oldest buildings on campus.

The combination bookstore, to the left, and coffee shop, to the right, was brick inside and out. The wooden bookshelves and tables that filled each retail establishment had probably been there since the Ice Age.

Funny I should be thinking of ice.

The music seemed just as old, with elevator versions of sixties tunes. The Rolling Stones’ “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” put into a blender and turned into a smoothie. And there was no question about how old the odors were. Grease and onions from the Pythagorean era, I guessed.

Who had chosen this venue for our meeting, instead of an upscale downtown café? I had, I realized with dismay.

I stomped my way through the lobby, shivering from the chill and shaking water from my shoes, jacket, and purse. A right turn took me into the Mortarboard Café, where the smells originated and where a student with disheveled hair was wiping down the counter.

“Nasty out there, huh, Dr. Knowles?” I regretted that I didn’t know his name, too, but he kindly bailed me out. “Nick,” he said. “Freshman, of course. Aren’t we all? The Henley guys, I mean. I’m taking biology this term.” He waved his stained white rag in the direction of Ben Franklin Hall. “Love those Friday parties you put on in your building.”

If I were in a better mood, I’d have enjoyed a joke about my owning the building, started a chat about Möbius and his surfaces, asked Nick if he had any ideas or special requests for scientists or inventors he’d like to see honored, inquired about what he might choose for his major. I was known as a student-friendly professor. When I was in a good mood.

But “Nice to meet you, Nick” was all I could drum up today. “Can I get a coffee?” I asked, walking away from the counter, to the area with table service. “I’m going to take a seat and wait for someone I’m meeting.”

“Sure thing, Dr. Knowles.”

I wished he wouldn’t keep calling me by name—it brought out the fact that I hadn’t known his and that I should be more accessible and engaging. The way the Henley College brochures and website promised, with its fifteen-to-one student-faculty ratio. It was hard to be anonymous on a small campus.

“Thanks,” I said when he brought the coffee without a word. Sorry to say, Nick had gotten my unfriendly message.

I wrapped my fingers around the warm ceramic mug, which is the only reason I ordered the drink. I had no intention of ingesting coffee from the Mortarboard Café, where the students called the drink “mortar,” like the lime-based bonding cement used in bricklaying. The times I met students here, I stuck with a cold drink from the dispenser and a bag of chips.

I got past the shivery stage and settled at an interior table in the otherwise empty shop to wait for Chelsea.

I was on my way to completing the solution to a puzzle, a four-by-four grid with A, B, C, D along the vertical, and the numbers from one to four across the top. Clues were in the form
D1 is C3 divided by A2
and so on. What would I do without busywork?

With the rain pounding on the window, the too-loud music, and my concentration on the puzzle, I didn’t hear Chelsea arrive. She’d pulled the chair out quietly, either not to disturb me or because she was hesitant to talk to me at all. She had taken the waif look to the max with a huge gray muffler and an oversize sweater that was probably Daryl’s. Only the tips of her fingers were visible between her chin and her knees.

“Hey, Dr. Knowles,” she said, barely above a whisper, sitting on the edge of the chair.

“Hey,” I said, with a smile I hoped made her comfortable. “I’m glad you came.”

Nick appeared, with his hair combed, I noticed. “Lunch for you lovely ladies?” he asked, mostly to Chelsea.

I thought we’d better order. I wanted Chelsea well nourished while I quizzed her for the next hour.

I gave Nick a smile, also. He returned it tentatively. “I’ll have a grilled cheese and a diet cola,” I said, playing it safe.

“Me, too,” Chelsea said. She didn’t make eye contact with the poor guy, who clearly wanted it.

I started on her as soon as Nick left. I didn’t want to
scare off my bright sophomore major, but neither did I want to miss an opportunity to learn something about the principals in recent events.

“Chelsea, I sense you’re having a hard time right now, but I need to know why you were at my house yesterday.”

Chelsea’s eyes took on an innocent look. She shook her head, freeing long, loose curls next to her face. “I wasn’t—”

“Look, I saw you.” I cut her off with my sternest tone. “I saw you with Daryl. I don’t know who the others in your group were, but I know you and Daryl were in the crowd in front of my house right after it was broken into. Now you can tell me right here, right now, or we can march down to the police station and talk it out with the cops.”