True Grey (15 page)

‘I don't understand why
anyone
would. But if someone did, then why not him?' Leaning in toward the red brick, she lowered her voice as she outlined her reasoning. ‘The senior tutor position goes with the postdoc, but it's not tenured. He's got to find something. And this could be big. Could be a breakthrough!'

The silence on the other end of the line could have been disheartening. Dulcie, however, knew that Chris was eating. Eating and thinking. ‘I don't know, Dulce.' She could hear him crunching. ‘Along those lines, people could say you did it.'

‘That's just it! People
have
been saying that, Chris. Only I know I didn't – and I think the cops believe me. Besides, the evidence shows that she'd been dead at least a little while before I got there. And who else would have done it?'

‘I don't know.' More crunching. ‘Do we even know that it was murder?'

‘That's what Darlene said.' As she named the senior tutor's girlfriend, Dulcie realized that she hadn't told Chris the most important part. She filled him in on the argument she had witnessed. ‘Something was going on. I'm sure of it. Darlene was jealous. Why would she have been jealous unless Rafe had been spending time with Melinda? Talking with her? Maybe even . . .' Dulcie paused as a couple passed by and turned to stare. In her excitement, she'd been talking louder and louder. Now she dropped her voice to a near whisper. ‘Maybe he was arguing with her. Maybe she caught him reading her manuscript. Maybe that's what they fought about.'

‘Dulcie, I know you've had a really rough couple of days . . .' He paused and she could hear liquid – coffee – pouring. ‘But are you sure you're reading all this correctly?'

Dulcie paused before answering. Mr Grey had hinted at something similar – only he'd been talking about the manuscript. ‘I'm not sure of the details, Chris,' she acknowledged finally. ‘I do know there's something going on. For starters, the original manuscript of that book – the lost novel – it's here. It's in the Mildon, at least enough of it to make an identification, and I think we were both on its trail, too.' She stopped. Chris was her boyfriend. She trusted him, and he knew about her nightmares. Should she tell him about the other connection – between the dream scenario and what she had stumbled upon? No, until she could sort out fact from fiction, she would leave it at that. She already had enough of a motive. ‘A newly discovered novel would be a prize worth, well, fighting for if not . . . Anyway, I think I can get to the bottom of all of this.'

‘If anyone can, Dulcie,' he slurped, ‘it's you.'

Dulcie was so happy, she wasn't even tempted to correct her boyfriend's tortured phrasing, and instead went off in search of her own lunch.

The counter at Lala's was crowded, and as she waited for someone to finish, Dulcie scanned the crowd. Between word of mouth and the succulent aroma of spice that escaped whenever the door opened, it didn't take long before the eatery made devotees of each new class of students. Sure enough, two familiar faces were sharing a table over in the back. Thalia and – could it be? – the handsome Andrew. Brains and beauty. And both from her English 10 section. Dulcie ducked her head and considered leaving – but only briefly.

‘Dulcie!' It was Lala herself. The owner-chef had emerged from the kitchen and was gesturing with both hands as if landing a plane. A big woman, with heavy black brows that could have made her look threatening were it not for her proportionately sized smile, she nodded as she gestured, reassuring Dulcie of her intentions. Drawn as much by that nod as by those large hands, Dulcie made her way over through the frankly envious crowd. ‘You sit.'

A stool suddenly appeared, brought out by one of the many similarly beetle-browed young men – sons, nephews, perhaps – who staffed Lala's kitchen. A damp white rag swept over it once and the young man was gone, back into the kitchen. Lala pointed. Dulcie sat.

‘You need to eat something.' Coming from Lala like that, the pronouncement was more command than question, but Dulcie nodded anyway as the big woman turned and disappeared back into the kitchen. She had been a regular long enough to have a passing acquaintance with the proprietress. She had never merited such special treatment, though. It was, she thought as she waited for Lala to return, a little intimidating.

Although she could feel eyes on her, Dulcie refused to turn around. Instead, she buried her face in the menu that she already knew by heart. It was yanked from her hands a moment later, as a bowl of steaming, mud-colored liquid was shoved before her.

‘Lentil soup.' Dulcie was about to protest. Lala knew her order: the three-bean burger special, with lots of hot sauce. But one look at those dark eyes stopped her, and instead she reached meekly for a spoon.

‘Oh, good.' Despite its unprepossessing color, the soup was thick and rich, reminding Dulcie that she hadn't eaten a real meal since yesterday's breakfast. ‘Thank you,' she said, looking up. Lala, however, had disappeared.

‘Now you can have.' As soon as she'd put the spoon down, a plate appeared, this time with the familiar burger. ‘Here.' Lala turned to retrieve a squeeze bottle of sauce from the station behind her.

‘Wait!' Dulcie called before her benefactor could disappear again. ‘Thank you, Lala. Really. But why are you feeding me like this?'

One eyebrow rose in a question.

‘I mean, it's fantastic. You know I love your cooking.'

A nod. Dulcie had passed muster. ‘Working here, I hear things.' Lala crossed her heavy arms across her substantial bust. ‘I know you are in trouble.'

‘What did you hear?' Dulcie started to ask, as a commotion broke out in the kitchen. Lala spun around and slammed through the door, cutting off the sight of what looked like shooting flames. When no screams issued forth, Dulcie picked up the burger. Lala would come back in her own time. There was no point in letting her efforts get cold. She took a bite, closing her eyes to fully savor the juice and spice.

‘Wow, I didn't know you were such a big shot.'

Dulcie turned, suddenly aware of the hot sauce in the corners of her mouth. Andrew Geisner stood behind her stool. Thalia was nowhere to be seen.

‘I'm not,' she managed to say, mouth still full. ‘Bad day.' She swallowed and desperately stretched for the napkin dispenser. ‘Sorry.'

‘No problem.' With his longer grasp, he reached over her, grabbing a handful of paper napkins to hand her. ‘I heard what happened.'

She swabbed her face. ‘Is everyone talking about it?' She looked around again for Thalia. Maybe it had been a working lunch.

He was shaking his head, his sun-bleached hair falling across his face. ‘I don't think so. Not yet. I think they're trying to keep it quiet. Bad publicity for the visiting scholar program.'

She nodded and reached for the water. ‘To say the least. But you heard?'

‘I have a work-study job in the dean's office.' He shrugged, surfer-cool. ‘Keeps me busy.'

‘I bet.' She didn't want to ask a student to leak information. It was wrong on so many levels. Still, he had brought it up. ‘Dean Haitner?'

He nodded. ‘They're going nuts. As you can imagine. I mean, on top of the whole thing being horrible, you know the dean had personally invited her.'

‘I know they were close.' She remembered him yelling, his bereaved cries.

Andrew seemed less impressed. ‘She wrote him last spring, and they've been talking a lot,' he said. ‘He gets enthusiastic.' He shrugged, his usual blasé self, dismissing the topic, and then leaned in close. ‘You know about the manuscript?'

‘I heard about it.' Andrew's easy-going charm invited confidences, but with an effort, she stopped herself from saying more.

‘The dean is convinced that it's the key.' His eyes were blue. Very blue. ‘He thinks that someone in the university didn't want her to publish it.'

A few hours before, Dulcie would have dismissed that idea as mad. Then again, a few hours before, Dulcie had not thought of Rafe Hutchins as another rival. She swallowed. ‘Does he have any idea who?'

Another shrug. ‘He seems to have some ideas. All I know is that he was saying something about how the chronology is wrong, that the cops are missing the point. Hey, is that your phone?'

Dulcie looked over at her bag, which was buzzing. ‘Yeah, I've been ignoring it while I eat.' The phone vibrated again, as if to show up her white lie, and her messenger bag trembled like a scared animal.

‘It might be the dean.' Andrew nodded toward it. ‘I should warn you, your name came up.'

‘Great.' She heard the sinking sound of her own voice and smiled to make up for it. ‘Sorry, it's been rough, and I did just want to have an uninterrupted lunch.'

‘Finish your burger then.' Andrew stepped back. ‘Sorry to be a bother.'

‘You didn't—' Too late. With a nod, he'd turned and his long legs had already taken him out the door. To make matters worse, Lala was in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, staring at Dulcie.

‘He's a student of mine,' Dulcie said. She knew how Lala felt about Chris, and that the chef had appointed herself the custodian of Dulcie's affairs. ‘From one of my sections. Honest.'

Lala's glare moved from Dulcie's face down to her plate. In response, Dulcie hefted the big burger. It had cooled, and the spicy drippings were beginning to separate on the plate. Under that fearsome scowl, however, Dulcie didn't dare complain. She took a bite, and then another. Only when the burger was completely done did Lala nod once, sternly, and turn back into the kitchen.

Dulcie grabbed another half dozen napkins on her way out the door, her impromptu seat having already been snagged by a hungry diner. Only then did she dig around in her bag, looking for the now-silent phone.

Three new messages. Great. If she were lucky, they'd be from Chris, she told herself. The first call was the one she had ducked in her office, from University Hall, and she skipped the message. Her eyes lit up when she saw the next number – home – and she hit the key for playback.

‘Hey, Dulce,' Chris said on the recording, ‘just me again. Thought you'd still be at lunch. Well, Esmé told me you'd be hiding out in the library today. She said that was the place for you to be. Give me a ring though, OK? You've gotten some calls I think maybe you would want to answer. Love you.'

Esmé had told him? Dulcie shook her head. Chris had a dry sense of humor and from a message she couldn't tell if he was joking or not. Maybe the kitten had picked up her intentions. Then again, maybe the kitten had thought she ought to stay in the library all day. Easy for a house cat to say, thought Dulcie. Esmé had a bowl of dry food to dip into whenever she felt the slightest hunger pang.

She was about to move on to the next message when another interpretation hit her. The library was the place she was supposed to be. Maybe Dulcie was supposed to run into Darlene. Maybe she was also supposed to be following up on the other girl's search, uncovering the lost link to the unknown author.

No, it was bad enough that she'd peeked at Melinda's manuscript. Bad enough that she was using what Griddlehaus had told her, trying to retrace the dead woman's footsteps. Coercing information from a colleague's girlfriend was beyond the pale. Dulcie didn't need Lucy with her Wiccan ‘rule of three' to tell her that would be worse than dishonest. It would be unethical on several levels. No, if she was supposed to be in the library, it was because she was supposed to be doing her own work.

She hiked her bag up on her shoulder and looked across Mass Ave. The back of the library loomed, a solid beacon in a shifting world. Melinda, the dean . . . she was sorely tempted to turn the phone back off and cross over to the cell-free zone. Who had been ringing her? The dean?

As if on cue, her phone buzzed again.

‘Hello?' It was hard to hear on the crowded sidewalk, so with a twinge of regret she turned away from the library, leaning up against a wall. ‘Is anybody there?'

‘I
said
I've been trying to reach you!' Whoever it was, wasn't happy.

‘I'm sorry.' She couldn't place the voice. ‘May I help you?'

‘Well, yes!' The voice took on a peevish quality she recognized. ‘We're waiting for you now.'

‘Mr Thorpe?' She glanced down at the phone display. University Hall? ‘You're with Dean Haitner,' she realized suddenly. ‘I'm sorry, I only now saw that you'd called. I'll be there in five minutes.'

So much for her dream of getting back to work. At least she'd gotten to eat, thanks to Lala's stern generosity. She looked up now, through the diner window, and saw the big woman pointing at something – a dirty table, an empty hot sauce bottle – as she gave commands. The woman ran a tight ship, and she clearly knew more than she let on. At her gesture, a busboy had gone scrambling.

Dulcie smiled at the sight. As if she could sense that smile, Lala turned, and their eyes met. For a moment, though, Dulcie had the weird sensation that the eyes looking into hers weren't Lala's. Weren't human at all, and instead featured slit irises set deep in glowing green.

‘Watch it!' The woman who knocked into her barked at Dulcie as if it had been her fault, then turned away, cell phone plastered to her ear. Dulcie looked up, but the spell was broken. Lala was just a big woman running a small business. And Dulcie was late to a meeting.

She looked down at her own phone. Clearly, it was too crowded out here for calls. Still, the voicemail was blinking at her. Three calls, and she'd only listened to that one message from Chris. Watching the traffic carefully, Dulcie waited for her moment to cross and, as she did, she hit ‘play'.

The third message began. ‘Ms Schwartz? This is Detective Rogovoy. We are going to need you to come in and answer some more questions. As soon as possible, please.' He repeated a number she knew too well.