Poison Ivy (9 page)

“But you're leaving her name off entirely.”

“I've given her credit in the acknowledgments.”

“She's spent more than a hundred hours interviewing families. Don't you think that deserves more than an acknowledgment? I can't see that you will suffer by having the name of the true researcher on the paper as senior author. I can see some justification for an advisor being listed as junior author.”

Roberta stood. “I can't take any more pressure, Mrs. Trumbull. I'm getting it from the university, from my department head, from the tenure committee chair, from my fellow academics, from my students, and now from you. I came here thinking we could talk as fellow professors, and instead, you're giving me a hard time. I have to publish.” She slapped the table for emphasis. “With three students to mentor, I don't have a minute to myself. I'll do whatever I have to do to get published, and that's it. This has always been the way things are done in academia.” Roberta reached down and lifted up her wineglass, gulped down the rest of her wine, and set the glass down. She looked at her watch. “You know, I'd forgotten an appointment I have this afternoon. I'm afraid I have to forego our lunch and our little talk. I guess I'm not hungry.” She pushed her chair back under the table. “Thank you for giving me your opinion, Mrs. Trumbull. I hope Jodi hasn't been trying to influence you against me.”

“Surely you know Jodi better than that,” said Victoria, also standing. “I hope you'll at least think over what I've said. As I'm sure you know, there are laws against plagiarism.”

Roberta's face got quite pink. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Trumbull.” With that, she strode out of the cookroom in her lime-green-and-pink kitten socks, through the kitchen, pushed her way through the door, scooped up her boots and jammed her feet into them, threw her foul weather jacket over her shoulders, and ran for her car.

The curtain of rain hid her from Victoria, who watched from the window with a sick feeling that she'd accomplished exactly what Jodi had warned her against.

*   *   *

Two days later, Jodi stormed into Victoria's kitchen. “Mrs. Trumbull, how could you do this to me!”

Victoria got up from her chair in the cookroom and went into the kitchen. “I'm so sorry, Jodi.”

“You spoke to Roberta Chadwick after I asked you, begged you, pleaded with you not to talk to her.” Jodi pounded her fist on the table. Her face was covered with red blotches and she was weeping. “You've destroyed me. Totally destroyed me. I have no chance now of getting my master's. I'll never be able to sign for court cases. Ever. I told you, Mrs. Trumbull…”

“Please, Jodi, sit down. I'll make tea.”

“Tea!” shouted Jodi. “You think tea is going to fix the damage you've done? You knew the situation, Mrs. Trumbull. You knew she stole my research. You knew if I ever challenged her she'd win. You knew…”

“Stop that, Jodi. Sit down.” Victoria handed her a paper towel.

Jodi limped into the cookroom blotting her face and slumped into a chair. In a few minutes, Victoria joined her with two mugs of hot tea and a plate of graham crackers.

“I know you were trying to help, Mrs. Trumbull,” Jodi sobbed. “But you've destroyed me. I'm dropping out of school and…”

Victoria slapped her hand on the table. “Stop that! Drink your tea and listen to me.”

“There's nothing you can say.” Jodi dabbed the paper towel gently around the stud in her nose.

“Has Roberta spoken to you?”

Jodi nodded miserably.

“What did she say?”

“She said…” Jodi hiccupped and ran her fingers through her spiky hair. Her purple nail polish was chipped. “She said, it's academic policy, as she had informed me earlier, for an advisor to put her name on an advisee's work, and if I was unwilling to work under that policy, I didn't belong in a university, and every college has that same policy.” She plucked at the paper towel. “And in any case, the abstract of the article had already been submitted. And if I thought I would get any sort of recommendation from her”—another hiccup—“ever, I had another think coming.” She blew her nose and Victoria winced as an edge of the paper towel caught in the nose stud. Jodi pulled the towel loose and wadded it up.

Victoria handed her another paper towel.

“Thanks,” Jodi sobbed. “I tried so hard.” Every swipe she made with the towel left a smear of black eyeliner across her cheek, like a nasty bruise.

“I take the blame. It was a good plan that backfired. However”—she held up her hand to stop Jodi, who was about to launch into another diatribe—“however, Roberta Chadwick has shown herself for what she is and she's now on record for threatening you.”

“It's her word against mine, Mrs. Trumbull. Who's going to listen to me?”

“She has three student advisees on the Island. One of them came to me because she stole his paper, too.”

“Yeah, I know. Christopher something.”

“Christopher Wrentham. I remember his name because of the churches.”

“What?” said Jodi, looking up.

“Just a way I have of recalling names. She can't intimidate Christopher. He can afford to take this case to court, if necessary, on behalf of all three of you.”

“She's stealing from all of us?”

Victoria nodded. “Publish or perish, and she is unwilling to perish.”

*   *   *

The second body had taken longer to identify than the first had. Eventually the autopsy and forensic entomologist's reports came back. The body was that of Dr. Journeyman Cash, professor of geology and member of IGCOC, the oversight committee. Professor Cash had been dead for more than two months, which would place his death around mid-July, shortly after the July IGCOC meeting.

Because he was often in the field and out of touch by cell phone, his friends and colleagues had not been concerned about his lack of communication. He had no family.

 

C
HAPTER
10

At the state police barracks, Sergeant John Smalley laid out reports and photos for Casey and Victoria. They were sitting at the conference table, Victoria at the head, Smalley on her left, Casey on her right.

Trooper Tim Eldredge came into the room and set down lined yellow pads and a pen at each place.

Smalley looked up. “Thanks.”

“I really don't belong here, John,” Casey said to Smalley. “This is way out of my territory.”

Smalley allowed himself a tight smile. “It's your deputy I want to talk to, Chief, not you. She's at the college and may have some insight into what's going on there.”

Casey folded her arms across her chest. “O-kay.”

“Don't be offended, Casey,” said Smalley. “Mrs. Trumbull knows a hellava lot more about what's going on around this Island than both of us put together. I haven't even called in the Tisbury cops.” He sat back. “Victoria is related to half the Island, and knows where the skeletons are buried—so to speak,” he added with a grim smile.

Victoria folded her hands on the top of her yellow pad and waited to hear more. Casey sat back.

“This is what we've got,” said Smalley. “Two Cape Cod University professors dead. Both members of that Ivy Green College Oversight Committee. Both strangled. Both found on the campus.” He shrugged. “And now we've got a third body.”

“A serial killer,” said Victoria.

“Looks that way.” Smalley pulled his pad toward him and sketched a wavy line. “We'll know more after forensics has examined this third victim.” He added two more lines.

Smalley's last doodle had started with a few wiggly tendrils and developed into a full-blown drawing of a grapevine entwined on an elaborate arbor. Victoria was curious to see what would emerge this time.

Smalley continued. “Same modus. Three victims. Dr. Bliss killed roughly six weeks ago, Dr. Cash roughly two and a half months ago.” He drew two more wavy horizontal lines. “Condition of the third victim indicates he was likely killed six months ago or more.”

“Serial killers have a pattern like that, don't they?” Victoria asked. “A specific time lapse between killings before they're compelled to kill again.”

Smalley nodded and tossed his pen down. “Killdeer, the forensics guy, seems to think it's worthwhile to have Walter's dog sniff around the campus.”

“Couldn't hurt,” said Casey.

Victoria tilted her head to see Smalley's yellow pad better.

Smalley said, “Dogs have a far, far better sense of smell than we humans. Some dogs are uncanny in their ability to sniff out specific odors. Usually, they have to be trained. Could be Brownie is a natural.”

“I understand dogs are being trained to sniff out bedbugs,” said Casey.

“Yeah.” Smalley grunted. “Drugs, bugs, corpses.”

Victoria picked up her own pen. “The two professors who were killed supported Ivy Green College.”

“Thackery's had a tough time getting both financial and academic support,” said Smalley. “Aside from the fact that three corpses have been found on his campus, losing the support of those two is going to hurt.”

“He's certainly got the support of Islanders,” said Victoria.

“Thackery may be a pompous ass, but you can't fault him for trying to educate us.” He picked up his pen and flicked the button that retracted the point. “Stubborn guy. He's been working on founding that college as long as I can recall.”

“At least ten years.” Victoria sat back in her chair. “Apparently some members of the oversight committee think Thackery's college is too small to be considered.”

Smalley looked up. “Too small? Hell, I went to a one-room school not that long ago and I'll bet you did, too, Mrs. Trumbull. Good education, lots of personal attention.”

“I agree. But there seems to be some kind of personal agenda within the committee. I don't know the committee members and so I can't pinpoint the problem.”

“I'll give you a list of the committee members,” said Smalley. “To the department they're all ‘persons of interest.'” He leaned back in his chair and called to Tim. “Would you make a copy of the IGCOC member list for Mrs. Trumbull?”

“From what I know, the committee was given considerable power,” said Victoria.

“Enough to kill the program?” said Casey.

Victoria nodded.

“Sounds as though they're killing one another,” said Smalley. He clicked the button on his pen again and drew a series of
V
s above the wavy lines. “This personal agenda on the committee. Is it directed toward Thackery? He can be abrasive.”

“I don't believe so,” said Victoria. “I'll invite myself to an oversight committee meeting and see what I can find out.”

Tim laid a paper with the IGCOC names and contact addresses, phones, and e-mails in front of Victoria.

She looked up. “Thank you, Tim.”

“Be careful, Victoria,” said Casey. “Someone's playing for keeps. You don't want to get in the middle of whatever.”

Smalley nodded. He added a triangle above the wavy lines and a storm cloud above the triangle, and Victoria saw the sea, gulls, and a sailboat on Smalley's yellow pad.

*   *   *

On Tuesday, the day after the second body had been identified, the oversight committee announced its intention to return to the Island.

The committee now consisted of Phillip Bigelow, professor of American military history, and chair of the committee, and the other four of the seven original members—Hammermill Jones, business administration; Cosimo Perrini, romance languages; Noah Sutterfield, African-American studies; and Dedie Wieler, engineering. The Reverend Bob White, professor of theology, the sixth member, was newly appointed after the death of Professor Harlan Bliss.

The committee's job now was to appoint yet another new member to fill out the slot left by the death of Professor Journeyman Cash.

Although the odor in Catbriar Hall had faded so it was almost imperceptible, Professor Bigelow, chair of the committee, had decreed that they meet in the administration building, now called, at least by students in the know, Poison Ivy Hall.

The group had not yet arrived.

Walter set six chairs around the card table and was kneeling down, steadying the table's wobbly leg with duct tape.

Thackery bustled around giving directions. “Can't you find chairs that match?”

“No.”

Thackery ran his hand over the top of the table. “You haven't dusted this.”

Walter got to his feet and threw the roll of duct tape onto the table. It bounced off and rolled under a bookcase. “How about you letting me do my job?” Walter stood by the card table, hands on his hips, feet apart.

Thackery waved an arm. “The committee will be here any minute.”

“Soon as you get out of my way, I'll get to work.” Walter stood firm.

“For God's sake!” Thackery paused briefly, then, defeated, turned and left the building.

Outside, he almost ran into Victoria. “Now, what?” he snapped.

“I see you've had another confrontation with Walter,” said Victoria, unruffled.

“That man is a mule. I don't know why I didn't fire him long ago. What can I do for you?”

“I'd like to sit in on the oversight committee meeting today,” said Victoria.

“Bigelow won't let me sit in.”

“He'll let me,” said Victoria.

“Have it your own way,” said Thackery, and stalked off.

*   *   *

IGCOC members waited to seat themselves around the card table until a seat was found for Victoria. Dedie returned from the kitchen, carrying a chrome-legged chair with pink vinyl upholstery and then they sat.

“We're delighted to welcome you, Professor Trumbull,” said Professor Bigelow. “We're honored to have such a well-respected poet as an adjunct professor.” He introduced the others. “Professor Bob White is our newest member, a Baptist minister. His field is theology.”