Cockatiels at Seven (16 page)

“We’ve been looking for Mr. Walker ourselves,” the chief said. “Without any success, I might add, until you called in. Just how did you know to look for him here?”

“One of Karen’s friends told me that Jasper was
back, and living at his uncle Hiram’s place. And that Hiram was one of the Clayville Basses.”

“So you know Mr. Bass?”

“No, but I got a friend to look him up at one of those online phone book sites.”

“And it never occurred to you to tell us what you’d found?”

“It never occurred to me that you didn’t already know where to find Jasper Walker if you wanted him,” I said. I really worked at keeping the exasperation I felt out of my voice. “All your officers are local. If I’d thought about it at all, I’d have assumed that one of them would have told you about the family connection between Jasper and the Basses.”

The chief actually growled, so I deduced none of them had. I foresaw a lively discussion about this back at the station.

“Did you notice anything when you came by here yesterday?”

I thought about it for a few seconds.

“It looked the same as today,” I said. “Well, the same as it did before you showed up,” I added, waving at the dozen law enforcement vehicles enlivening the quiet woods with their flashing lights and squawking radios.

“You didn’t see anyone?”

“Only the dog,” I said.

We both glanced over to where Scout was sitting in the back of the chief’s car. He wagged his tail when he saw we were looking at him.

“What happens to the dog?” I asked. “It’s Jasper’s dog, you know.”

“We’ll take care of the dog,” the chief said.

“Take care of him how?” I asked, with a frown.

“We’ll probably take him to the shelter,” the chief said. “Don’t worry: it’s a no-kill shelter. He’ll be fine. Friendly dog like that, someone’s bound to adopt him pretty soon.”

Scout wagged his tail as if to agree that yes, he was very friendly, and looked anxiously from the chief to me and then back again.

“Let’s get back to business,” the chief said. “So you had no idea the body was in there?”

“If I’d known there was a body in there, do you think I’d have gone in?” I asked.

Chief Burke looked as if he wouldn’t put it past me.

“I was just trying to find Karen,” I said. “I figured if Jasper was staying here, even if I couldn’t talk to him, maybe I could find something that would give me a clue to where she went. Instead, I found him.”

“Would have been nice if you’d found him yesterday,” the chief said.

“I know,” I said. “But it was just me and Timmy yesterday. I couldn’t very well leave him outside while I went into the house—he started crying whenever he lost sight of me. And it’s a damned good thing I didn’t take him in with me, isn’t it?”

I refrained from saying that most people would have given up after finding Jasper not at home the first time, and that the police would probably still be looking for Jasper if I hadn’t been nosy enough to come back and poke around some more. If you ask me, he was lucky I’d been the one looking for Jasper, but I suspected he wouldn’t quite see it that way.

“So did you find any clues to Ms. Walker’s whereabouts?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I just went in far enough to see the body, and then I got right out.”

Even though I knew the temperature was in the 90s, I suddenly felt briefly and irrationally chilly.

Chief Burke must have noticed.

“That’s all for now,” he said. “I guess I know where to find you if I have any more questions.”

“Or if you learn anything about Karen’s whereabouts,” I suggested.

He nodded, rather distractedly.

Or was he only pretending to be distracted? I realized that the chief was acting oddly. More restrained than usual.

Maybe it had something to do with the guys in the plain cars. I suspected they were law enforcement of some sort, though not under the chief’s jurisdiction. From the State Bureau of Investigation, perhaps? Whoever they were, I had the feeling that either the chief hadn’t invited them or he had come to regret doing so.

I walked back to my car and began the tedious process of getting out of Hiram Bass’s yard without running into any other vehicles, living or dead. I did pretty well until I came to the fork in the road. Aubrey Hamilton’s red pickup was stopped there, motor still running, while he leaned out, staring at the police activity with visible dismay.

“What’s going on?” he asked, craning his neck to see past me.

“There’s a reason you haven’t seen Jasper Walker for the past few days,” I said.

He frowned and looked at me.

“Someone killed him.”

“Holy—when?”

“They don’t know yet. I bet at least a couple of days ago.”

“Damn.”

He looked ashen. Did he know Jasper better than he’d admitted? Or was I being overly suspicious—after all, I think I’d be more than a little shook up if someone was killed next door to me. Then he narrowed his eyes.

“How come you know all this?”

“I’m the one who found him.”

“Damn,” he repeated. “A couple of days?”

“At least. The police are probably going to want to talk to you,” I added. “Have fun.”

In fact, two officers were already approaching us. Hamilton pulled the truck up a little farther, so I could get by, and cut the ignition. When I glanced back in the rearview mirror, I saw him talking to one of the officers as he stepped out of the cab.

I headed for town. If I were a better person, I’d have hurried home as soon as Chief Burke let me go, to relieve Rob of Timmy-sitting duty. But I was in such a low mood that my mind rebelled at the thought.

“I’ll go in and see if Michael wants to do lunch,” I said aloud, and felt almost immediately better. To everyone else, I was determined to put on a brave front and pretend that it didn’t bother me, finding the days-old dead body of someone I had actually known, however slightly. And in front of the police, I didn’t think it was a good idea to show any doubt of Karen’s innocence. But I could share it all with Michael.

Of course, when I actually got to his office, it was empty, and the department secretary had no idea where Michael had gone or when he’d be back. When would I learn to use my damned cell phone?

As I was turning to leave, I heard voices behind me.

“Meg!” a male voice called

“Meg, dear!” a female voice added. “How are you?”

Probably symptomatic of my mood that I tensed on hearing my name. But when I turned to see who was calling, I relaxed.

Henry and Phyllis Blanke. Dr. Blanke was one of Michael’s colleagues in the drama department, and Phyllis volunteered tirelessly for whatever jobs needed doing backstage at the theater. I’d told Michael not long ago that the Blankes were two of the few sane people in the department.

“I agree,” he’d said. “But don’t tell them that. In theatrical circles, sane is a bit of a put-down.”

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I wasn’t in such a rush that I couldn’t stop to chat for a minute with the Blankes. They’d been very nice to me, not to mention vigorous supporters of Michael’s quest for tenure. I strolled down the corridor to Henry Blanke’s office.

“Come in, come in,” he said, while Phyllis hurried to move a pile of books from one of the guest chairs. As I sat down I realized that while it didn’t make up for missing Michael, seeing the Blankes did help my mood a little. Phyllis handed me a cup of green tea that she had apparently just brewed on the hot plate on the credenza. I leaned back, sipped my tea, and soaked in the mood of Henry’s cluttered but comfortable office, where
theatrical memorabilia fought for center stage with relics of the 1960s counterculture.

“How are you?” I asked.

“A little shaken up,” Phyllis said. “Meg, what in the world is your grandfather up to?”

“I have no idea,” I said, taken aback. “Why? What has he done to upset you?”

“He hasn’t upset us,” Phyllis said. “The FBI did that.”

“DEA,” Henry put in.

“They weren’t DEA,” Phyllis said, in a rather cross tone. “You’re just being paranoid.”

“I’m sure we’re still in their files,” Henry said. He was gazing up at a framed vintage “Impeach Nixon Now!” poster.

“And in the FBI’s files, too,” Phyllis said. “The DEA wouldn’t be interested in us now—our normal days were a long time ago.”

I blinked in surprise. I’d have called the Blankes eminently normal, at least by drama department standards—though I suspected normal, like sane, wasn’t considered praise in theatrical circles.

Phyllis noticed my expression.

“The National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws,” she said. “NORML. Henry and I were quite active in our student days.”

“And they’ve got long memories, those Feds,” Henry said. “We haven’t heard the last of this, you mark my words.”

“We really should have insisted they give us names and badge numbers and explain more clearly what agency they were from,” Phyllis said.

“We will, when they come back.”

“They won’t be coming back,” Phyllis said. “They weren’t interested in us; they were looking for Meg’s grandfather.”

“So they said,” Henry muttered.

“My grandfather? Why?”

“They didn’t really say, dear,” Phyllis said. “They asked a lot of questions about where we were on various days and times, and didn’t sound as if they believed us. And then one of them said, ‘Look here, Dr. Blake,’ and we realized they had the wrong people. Blake and Blanke, you see.”

I nodded. Yes, that was an understandable mistake. But why would the FBI or the DEA or any other federal agency be trying to interrogate my grandfather?

“And they didn’t say what it was they were investigating?” I asked.

Henry shook his head.

“It was all very furtive,” Phyllis said. “They apologized for the mistake, but they didn’t look all that contrite—just annoyed that they’d wasted so much time with us. Anyway, we thought you should know.”

“Thanks,” I said. Clearly my reputation for being the practical one who should deal with crises had spread to the drama department as well as my own family. “When did this happen?”

“Last night,” Henry said. “They showed up just as we were sitting down to dinner.”

“Crab soufflé,” Phyllis said. “It was ruined; there’s no way to reheat a soufflé.”

I shook my head in sympathy. Phyllis was legendary for her fabulous gourmet meals, so I could well understand the outrage in Henry’s voice.

“You look as if you were on your way somewhere,” Henry said. “Sorry to interrupt you.”

“No problem,” I said. “I just stopped by on the off chance Michael was free for lunch. Let me know if anything else happens. Or if you think of anything else.”

As I headed for my car, I realized that I still hadn’t eaten. And it was nearing two o’clock. No wonder Michael wasn’t around—he was probably back at his meetings. I hadn’t felt the least bit hungry during the nearly four hours I’d been waiting for the police or answering their questions—given how my stomach reacted to finding Jasper, I had wondered if I’d ever want food again. But suddenly, I was ravenous. Might as well take care of that while I was here. I changed course, heading for the college cafeteria, and pulled out my cell phone to see if I could kill two birds with one stone. I called Sandie.

“Meg? How are you?” she exclaimed. “How’s Timmy? And has Karen turned up yet?”

“Fine, fine, and no,” I said.

“You sound down,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone killed Jasper Walker a few days ago,” I said. “I just found the body today.”

“Oh, my God,” she said.

“Look, I’m going over to grab a quick bite in the cafeteria. I know Nadine makes it tough for you to get away but—”

“Meet you there in five minutes,” she said.

Sandie was the perfect person to tell about finding Jasper’s body. Well, no—Michael would have been the perfect person, but since he wasn’t around, Sandie filled the gap nicely. She ooh’d and ah’d over everything I told her, exclaimed that she would never have had the nerve to do what I’d done, and generally made just the right amount of fuss over the whole thing. She even struck the right balance between concern for me and frank curiosity about the murder scene.

I found myself wondering, briefly, if Sandie might be part of the reason Karen and I had drifted apart. Not in a bad way—but with Karen’s marriage breaking up while Michael and I were getting more and more serious, we were definitely at very different stages of our lives. Probably good for both of us if Karen had found a friend nearby with not only a sympathetic ear but also some idea of what she was going through with Jasper.

“Don’t be silly,” Sandie said, when I tried to apologize for talking her ear off and possibly grossing her out. “You think I mind getting the inside scoop on the hottest story to hit Caerphilly in years? I can’t wait to
run down to the personnel office and tell everyone there. If they’re in today,” she said, her face falling a little. “For all I know the police shut them down just like us.”

“Shut you down?”

“They took away all our files and computers yesterday,” she said. “So it’s not like we can do any work to speak of. I thought maybe Ms. Sourpuss would give us the day off, but no—someone has to be in the office to field calls.”

“Nadine can’t do it herself?”

“Nadine called in this morning to say she’d be in after lunch,” Sandie said. “Then she called just before you did to say she probably wouldn’t be in at all. And she complains about her staff taking advantage.”

“Maybe she can’t help it,” I suggested. “Maybe she’s down at the police station and can’t get away.”

“You think maybe they locked her up?” Sandie asked. She looked ready to break out the confetti and champagne at the thought.

“I think we’d have heard if they’d arrested her, but maybe they’re still questioning her.”

“Well, it’s a start,” Sandie said.

We both sat for a few moments, lost in our thoughts.

“How well did Nadine know Jasper?” I asked finally.

“Jasper?” Sandie said. “I don’t know that she did, outside of work. And she wouldn’t have known him that well at work—she’s big on doing what she calls facilitating lateral communication between decision-makers, which basically means if you’re not a vice president or a full professor, she doesn’t give you the time of day.”