Shadows on the Ivy (17 page)

Maggie ate the bread and cheese on her way back to campus. She loved the richness and texture of a soft blue cheese, but it was messy. Before she left the car, she wiped her fingers, and then the steering wheel, with a tissue and dusted the bread crumbs from the driver’s seat. “You’d think I was old enough to eat without making such a mess,” she said to herself. But the bread and cheese had been good, the garage sale had been terrific, and she felt more in control of life than she had an hour before. There was food in her house; she had no classes scheduled for the afternoon. And she’d made a major purchase for Shadows.

Maggie felt a pang at the wave of self-satisfaction. How could she feel good about life when Sarah was still in the hospital and Tiffany was dead? Life could change so quickly. And for those two young mothers…She hoped Tyler’s grandparents had arrived to smother him with hugs and take care of him. She’d never heard Tiffany say anything negative about her parents, other than that she was too old to have to depend on them. But there was no statute of limitations on parenthood. Today Tiffany’s parents had most likely become de facto parents to their two-year-old grandson.

After a stop in the ladies’ room to wash up and check her sweater for lingering crumbs of blue cheese, Maggie headed for Max’s office.

She walked quickly around the corner and almost ran into the large tank of tropical fish Max had installed in his reception area. Above the tank was the late-nineteenth-century print of a goldfish that she and Michael had given Max for his birthday two or three years ago. They’d meant it as a bit of a joke, but Max had triple-matted it and hung it in a place of honor.

Jennifer waved Maggie in.

“Maggie. It’s about time. I’ve been trying to contact you all morning.” Max’s usually complacent round face was lined by wrinkles, and the dark shadows under his slightly pink eyes implied he’d had a rough night.

She looked past him at the medium-folio Currier & Ives
Windsor Castle and the Park
on the wall behind his desk. Max was proud of that lithograph. Every time Maggie saw it, she remembered reading that the reclusive nineteenth-century poet Emily Dickinson had an identical one hanging in her home. She’d always felt there was a strange connection between those two very different people. Emily Dickinson’s home and Max’s office were each private castles. Few people were allowed to climb the battlements of either.

“I was teaching one of Linc James’s courses; we trade off once or twice a semester. Seeing a different face keeps the students interested. I called as soon as I got your message.” Maggie didn’t mention that by then Max had been out having lunch. Or that she’d gotten in some grocery shopping while he’d been having what his slightly rosy nose hinted had been a drink or two
with
his lunch.

“Jennifer told me. I know.” Max sighed and held out his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “Have you seen the headlines in today’s paper?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know it’s all over the media. Every newspaper and television station and wire service out there is carrying a story about Tiffany Douglass. And most of them mention Sarah Anderson, too.” Max sighed again. “Have you any idea what this is doing to the reputation of Somerset College?”

Maggie almost mentioned what it might be doing to Tiffany’s family, and to Sarah, who had hoped the foster father from her past would stay in her past, but for the moment she held her tongue. Clearly Max had other issues on his mind.

“I’ve had calls from several members of our Board of Trustees questioning how we could allow this to happen, and asking about their own liability for it, should either of the girls’ families sue. The mayor is talking about the possibility of new zoning regulations to prevent our locating dormitories off-campus…even if they’re just across the street and had already been approved last year. Two of our biggest donors are threatening to cut off funding if we can’t pull this together. Not to mention the students who are talking about dropping out of school. Or the high school guidance counselors who’ve called to tell me they can’t recommend our campus until we can assure them Somerset College provides a safe and healthy environment.”

Maggie paused. What was there to say? “You’re right. We need to provide a safe environment for the students. And for the professors and administrative staff,” she added, thinking of what Jennifer had said earlier. “I was at Whitcomb House this morning. The police were there, and the students were shocked and scared. Angry that this has happened. We need to promise all our students, especially those at Whitcomb House, that this was an aberration. It won’t happen again. We need to take an active role in working with the police to make sure Tiffany’s killer, and the person who poisoned Sarah, are caught and punished. Soon.”

“We’re doing all that, of course, Maggie. Don’t you think we are? We talked about that early this morning. I’ve hired extra security guards for the campus buildings, especially the dormitories, and the police have agreed to patrol the campus more often. But until they find the killer, or killers, or until this incident dies down, the entire campus is going to be affected.” Max banged his fist hard against his desk and several pencils rolled off the other side. “After what I’ve done, what we’ve all done, over these years to make Somerset College the respected institution it is, we give an opportunity to six unwed parents and they ruin a reputation that’s taken decades to build.”

“Max.” Maggie was shocked and couldn’t control the anger in her voice. “It’s hardly Sarah’s or Tiffany’s fault that they were victims. We’ve been giving them a chance most colleges wouldn’t have even considered—a chance to pull their lives together and give them, and their children, a better future. That’s what you’ve been telling the media all fall. We can’t turn around and blame these horrors on the victims!”

“Don’t be so simplistic and sentimental, Maggie. This isn’t a romantic little drama where everyone walks off into the sunset hand in hand. We’ve never had this sort of problem before. If we hadn’t opened our doors to those sorts of people, this wouldn’t have happened. Right now, because of two irresponsible young women, the name Somerset College is synonymous with fear and violence and distrust and is known for promoting the advancement of unwed parents.”

“Max!” Maggie was incredulous. “Stop talking about them as if they’re criminals! As if one mistake has colored their entire futures! You’re being totally insensitive and unfeeling.” She steadied her voice a bit. “And besides, it’s temporary. As soon as the police have this tied up, people will forget.”

“They’re going to forget now, so far as I can make them.” Max stood up and pointed at her. “Maggie, you’re in charge of Whitcomb House. I want you to tell everyone still living there to leave. I want the house closed.”

Maggie stood up, too. She was slightly taller than Max, but he had the power advantage of his position, and of the wide mahogany desk between them. “You can’t do that! Some of them have no other place to go!”

“That’s their problem! I don’t care what you tell them. I want the students out of there this week.” Max sat back in his chair. “They have tuition scholarships. They’re welcome to continue as students. But I don’t want them living on campus. I don’t want any children in our dormitories! Dorms should be for adult students, not for preschoolers. We have a day-care center. That’s already going a bit too far. If someone has children, then they’re responsible for caring for them. Not us. Not me. Not Somerset College.”

Maggie was silent for a moment. “Have you talked with Dorothy and Oliver Whitcomb about this?”

“Right now I’ve had enough of Dorothy Whitcomb’s plans for the morally deficient of the universe. The last I heard, their home was considered a crime scene. Right now the Whitcombs are not exactly an asset to Somerset Community College either.”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Max? Throw these poor students, who are already scared and nervous, out on the street? With their children?”

“That’s exactly what I want to do. Dorothy Whitcomb talked me into this crazy program. She said it was the right thing to do. That Somerset College would be respected for it. Well, those students have been here a little over two months, and we have reporters and photographers swarming all over our campus asking, ‘How could it happen here?’ I want to make sure it never happens again.” Max stood up again. “Maggie, I want Whitcomb House empty by Friday afternoon. I don’t care how you do it.”

“Max…”

“And I don’t want to hear any sentimental reasons why it shouldn’t be done. Whitcomb House was a mistake. As intelligent, educated human beings, we know mistakes can’t be erased. But they can be corrected. And I want this situation corrected. Now.”

Maggie turned and started for the door, her mind spinning. At the door she turned around. “But, Max—”

“That’s it! No discussion. My decision is made! And if you can’t take care of this, then you can look for another job at some college where insubordination isn’t taken seriously.” Max’s round face was red and his eyes bulging.

“Max, I can’t—”

“And what do
you
want?” Max yelled at someone behind Maggie. She turned. It was Claudia.

“President Hagfield, Professor Summer, please don’t be upset, but I wanted you to know as soon as possible. I must have been in the cafeteria, and no one was in any of the offices. Mr. Turk found it. But I called the police. It’s just awful. On top of everything else that has happened. I’m so sorry. But I thought you both should know as soon as possible.”

“Claudia, what happened?” Maggie put her hand on the woman’s arm to try to calm her.

“Who’s been hurt—or killed—this time?” Max asked, coming toward them.

“No one’s been hurt, President Hagfield. Not that I know of. It’s Maggie’s office. It’s been trashed.”

Max stayed in his office, no doubt stewing, but Maggie and Claudia ran to the American Studies department. Paul was standing off to one side. He’d run his hand back through his hair, leaving it standing up in a manner far from its usual careful arrangement.

Two policemen were standing in the door of Maggie’s office. Not Luciani and Newton this time, she noted. Thank goodness. At least her office didn’t merit the attention of homicide detectives.

“What happened?” she asked, trying to look between the two of them. Their bulk filled most of the doorway, but not enough for her to miss the condition of her office. She gasped. “When? Who?”

In the little over an hour since Maggie had left her office, it appeared to have been hit by a tornado. Her file cabinet drawers, which she had neglected to lock, had been opened, and the files randomly tossed on the floor. Student papers that had been on her desk were now on the floor, along with the contents of her wastebasket, which had been overturned. Most of the books in her ceiling-high bookcases had been dumped. Her snake plant was upside down, the dirt creating a small hill on top of student papers. Uncle Sam was happily scratching in the dirt, scattering small stones and pieces of leaves and roots in various directions. The center drawer of Maggie’s desk was open, and the half-empty can of diet cola she’d left on the desk had been poured into the drawer and on top of the papers on the floor.

Thank goodness none of my portfolios were here, Maggie thought. “Oh…hell.” Maggie squeezed her way between the two officers. Her Currier & Ives
Maggie
had been taken off the wall and hit or kicked so that the glass was broken. She picked it up and looked at it carefully. Luckily, the streams of cola had not gotten this far. The frame was damaged, and the glass was broken, but the print was intact. Maggie hugged it to her chest, as though that would make a difference. Then she turned to the policemen.

“Assuming you’re Professor Summer,” the taller of the officers asked, “can you tell if anything is missing? Were there any valuables in here?”

“Nothing of value to anyone but me,” answered Maggie quietly. She looked around again. Had someone been looking for something? Tiffany’s briefcase! She made her way through the mess to the back of her desk and saw marks, maybe from a knife, around the lock to the drawer she’d hidden the briefcase in. But the drawer remained locked. “My drawer holding student records,” she explained. “Someone tried to get into it, but it’s okay.” She looked at the police, and at Paul and Claudia, who were standing helplessly outside her office door. “Didn’t anyone see anything? How did this happen in the middle of the day?”

“Everyone was out. Mr. Turk found it when he got back from lunch. Your secretary arrived just after him. She called campus security and us.”

“Maggie, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine who would have done this to you! And with Tiffany and Sarah, and everyone being so cautious just now, I thought we had to call someone!” Claudia looked at her. “I should have been here. Usually I eat my lunch at my desk, but today I needed to get away from the phones. I went to the cafeteria. And look what happened!”

“Maybe it’s just as well you weren’t here. Whoever tossed the office must have been pretty angry,” said the policeman closest to Claudia. “Professor Summer, can you guess who might have done this? Anyone you’ve had trouble with recently? A student you gave a low grade to?”

“I wish I could think of someone.” Maggie looked around her devastated office, still holding her print. “If it was one of my students, that student had better drop my class. Now!” She attempted a smile. “I suppose a student might be looking for papers, or records. Something might be missing. But it will take days to sift through everything.”

“A student might be looking for your grade book.”

“That’s the drawer I checked first. It’s still locked.” And still holding Tiffany’s briefcase.

“You’re sure you can’t think of anyone?”

“I have no idea. I’ve been so busy with Whitcomb House, and with my business, and my classes…but there haven’t been any personal problems recently.”

“No threatening notes or e-mails or phone calls?”

Maggie shook her head.

“Wait—you said you’ve been busy with Whitcomb House?” The taller policeman was paying attention. “What do you have to do with that situation?”

Maggie sighed and kept looking at her office. It would take hours, maybe days, before she could get this straightened out. Hours and days she didn’t have. Someone had violated her space. The shock began to wear off, and she felt her anger growing. “Don’t you people compare notes? I’ve already talked to Detectives Newton and Luciani about Whitcomb House. Twice in the past two days!”

“It might be important,” said the cop nearest to her, gently, trying to keep her calm. He was holding one of those black notebooks they must issue along with badges.

“I’m the adviser to the students at Whitcomb House.” Or at least to the students who
thought
they lived at Whitcomb House, Maggie reminded herself. She still had to deal with Max Hagfield’s latest inspiration. How had she ended up in the middle of this whole mess? Why did everyone count on her to make things right? Students; Dorothy; Max; and now she had this disaster to cope with. Even if someone was looking for something…even if they were looking for the briefcase…why would they go to the trouble and take the time to trash her office?

The two policemen took a few notes and then conferred in the hallway. Claudia took advantage of their leaving Maggie’s doorway to remove Uncle Sam, who meowed plaintively as she took him away from the lovely pile of dirt and snake plant leaves on Maggie’s floor.

“I’m sorry, Maggie. I went for lunch and I didn’t see anything, and then when I came back…” Paul shook his head. “Who would do this to you?” He moved closer to her, as though to touch her arm.

“I don’t need your sympathy, Paul!” He was trying to be understanding, but what she needed was for everyone to leave her alone. Life had turned into a kaleidoscope; events were happening too fast for her to think them through logically. She depended on logic to keep her life in focus.

Nothing was in focus right now.

The shorter policeman returned. “Professor Summer, when something like this happens, we usually assume it’s some sort of prank, or a student who’s upset because you didn’t give them the grade they felt they deserved. But in light of your connection with Whitcomb House, we’d better dust for fingerprints. We’ll share our notes with Detectives Luciani and Newton, just in case there’s some connection between the two situations.”

Maggie nodded, concentrating on not falling apart in front of the police and her colleagues. She felt light-headed and confused. She’d always been so capable, so organized. She’d been able to cope with Sarah’s illness, and even with Tiffany’s death. But right now she felt like screaming. This time the attack was personal.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your office for now. We’ll close it off. There is a key, right?”

Maggie sighed. If only she’d used that key before she left to do her errands! But faculty office doors were often left unlocked, and even open, during the day. She tried to remember to lock hers at night, and sometimes didn’t even do that. She wouldn’t forget again.

“You can use my office if you need to make any calls,” Paul said. “Until you can get back into yours.” He turned to the police. “How long will you need?”

“By tomorrow morning she should be able to get back in and clean up.”

“Tomorrow morning I’ll help you, Maggie. If you’ll let me,” Paul said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Maggie looked at him numbly. “I’ll take you up on the offer to use your telephone.” She couldn’t do anything here now. But maybe she could still help Kendall, Maria, Kayla, and Heather. She’d call Dorothy. If anyone could convince Max to reconsider the fate of Whitcomb House, it would be Dorothy. Or Oliver.