Snipped in the Bud (19 page)

“Protecting myself,” I said as she ushered me inside. “Not only have the police made me their prime suspect, but also I’ve become a very unpopular person in town. This is the only way I can get around safely.”

“I’m sorry to hear you’re having so much trouble.”

I expected a hug followed by an offer of organic bean curd cookies and chai tea—or at least some kind of display of sympathy, since it was what she did best—but she simply stood there shaking her head in commiseration. She didn’t even invite me to sit. Obviously she wasn’t
that
sorry to hear about my troubles.

“Tell me what I can do for you, Abby.”

That was my opening. “Actually, since I’ve decided to conduct my own investigation, I was hoping I could ask you about your recollection of the day of the murder.”

Bea hesitated, then said with noticeable reluctance, “Have a seat. I’ll get you some tea.”

“Please don’t go to all that trouble. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

She led me into the small sitting room done in shades of lilac and green. Her decor had a 1960s feeling to it, with sofa and chairs covered in a tie-dyed pink and purple cotton, hanging beads in her doorways, a collection of oddly shaped mirrors framed in dark purple satin, and a self-contained waterfall in one corner that trickled down stone ledges into a pebble-filled basin.

Beside a lava lamp on a drum table were silver-framed photos of Hannah at various stages of her life. Seeing them, I felt unexpectedly sorry for Bea. With no children of her own, she had found a substitute daughter in Hannah.

I took a pen and notepad from my purse. “I hope you don’t mind if I take notes.”

“Of course not.” She sat in a chair adjacent to the sofa, her hands in her lap, her back straight, as though ready to take dictation.

I referred to the list of questions Marco and I had made.

“Before you left for your appointment on Tuesday at noon, did you see Jocelyn Puffer in the building?”

Bea thought for a moment. “No. However, I did see her car in the parking lot.”

“Have you seen Jocelyn at the school at all in the past few weeks?”

She shook her head, so I asked, “Have you heard any gossip about Professor Reed seeing a married woman?”

She looked down at her hands. “I make it a policy not to listen to or repeat gossip.”

I figured as much. “Did you see Kenny Lipinski in the building that morning?”

“Kenny came in around ten o’clock, as usual, to work in the computer lab.”

“So he’s normally at the school at that time?”

“For the past week or so he has been. You can check the log for the exact time he arrived that day.”

“Did you know that Kenny had been chosen for a federal clerkship?”

“I hadn’t heard yet, but I’m not surprised. Kenny is a bright young man and has been an invaluable assistant to Professor Reed.”

“What about the other students who applied for the clerkship?”

“Professor Reed kept that information to himself, along with their applications.”

“Can you tell me how students are notified of the results?”

“By letter. I don’t have a copy of that, either. Professor Reed always handwrote those himself. He felt a personal note would make the rejections a little easier to handle.”

“He was kind of a control freak, wasn’t he? Do you know when he sent the letters?”

“I’m not aware that they
were
sent, or that he’d even written them, but one of the other secretaries might have done the mailing for him.”

“Did Carson Reed have any enemies at the school that you knew of?”

“No one comes to mind.”

“Professor Puffer is claiming that he and Professor Reed were close friends, but I never saw that when I was attending school there. In fact, they seemed more like adversaries to me. Had their relationship changed in the last year?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“Would you say they were cordial toward each other?”

Another glance down at her hands. “I couldn’t say.”

What she meant was that she
wouldn’t
say. As a loyal employee, it probably went against the grain to say anything negative about her bosses. I had to push harder. “Do you know if Professor Reed was dating anyone new?”

Once again, she wouldn’t meet my gaze, but I caught a grimace of dislike in the downward curve of her lips. “Other than working for him, I really didn’t know the man, so I doubt I could be of help in that department.”

I had a feeling she was finished with that topic, so I asked, “How is Hannah doing in school?”

Bea lifted her gaze, her eyes wary. “She’s doing fine. Why?”

“I ran into her on campus yesterday evening and she seemed distraught. I thought perhaps she was struggling with her classes, or had just broken up with a boyfriend.”

Judging by the sudden clasping of her hands in her lap, I knew she wasn’t pleased by the news. “What did Hannah say?”

“She told me I was lucky to have been kicked out of law school.”

Bea looked away, her fingers still twisting against each other, clearly not wanting to share her thoughts. I put my hand on hers and summoned up all the tact I’d promised Marco I had. “Hannah also seemed concerned about you, Bea. She asked me if you were at the school when I made my flower delivery. When I mentioned that you had been on your way to an appointment, she began to cry. Are you all right? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t know why Hannah would react like that. I’m perfectly fine.” Bea eased her hand out from under mine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get over to the law school and catch up on my work. One of the secretaries is on vacation, and it’s all I can do to keep up with my own dictation, let alone hers. I hope you understand.”

I understood that she wanted me to leave. She was good at tact, too. I also understood that she was hiding something, for which Hannah was the key. For my own peace of mind, I decided to follow Bea to see whether she was at least telling the truth about her work.

I
sat low in the Corolla, my gaze fixed on Bea’s front door, praying that she had been honest with me. Within minutes she came out, turned right, and headed toward the university.
So far, so good.

Keeping my distance, I followed her to the campus, where, instead of entering the law school, she turned left toward Simpson Hall.
Damn. She’d lied after all.
I pulled into a nearby parking lot and watched as she went inside the dorm. There was only one reason Bea would enter that building—to see Hannah. So much for catching up on her work. I wondered what else she had lied about.

Five minutes later Bea came hurrying out, and I could tell by her expression that she was in distress. What had caused it? An argument with Hannah? My curiosity was too strong not to investigate, so as soon as Bea was out of sight, I strolled into Simpson Hall and asked the student volunteer behind the checkin counter to ring Hannah Boyd’s room.

“She’s popular today,” the volunteer said, barely giving me or my punk-rocker costume a second look. Then again, she had yellow and green striped hair, a silver stud in each nostril, and a dog collar around her neck. She checked a list, punched in a few numbers, spoke into the phone, then asked me for my name.

“Just tell Hannah I’m a friend of Professor Reed’s.”

The girl repeated my message, then hung up. “Put your name on the sign-in sheet at the end of the counter. Hannah’s on the third floor, room three fifteen.”

Pretty lax as far as security went. I signed in as Jane Smith, then had a brainstorm. “Excuse me,” I said to the girl. “Do you have a register that shows visitors from this past Tuesday?”

I was fully prepared to give her a reason, but she merely shrugged, then pulled out a loose-leaf notebook and slid it down to me. I flipped back a few pages and checked the names. No Beatrice Boyd listed, but she wouldn’t have signed in if Hannah hadn’t been in her room. Then where had Bea gone instead?

“Thanks,” I said and slid the notebook back, then took the stairs to the third floor. At my knock Hannah opened the door a crack to peer out at me.

“Hi,” I said cheerily. “It’s me again. Abby Knight.”

“You’re not a friend of Professor Reed’s,” Hannah said accusingly. “Did my aunt send you up here?”

“No. Please don’t shut the door. I actually came to talk to you
about
your aunt. I’m very concerned about her. Is her health okay?”

Hannah snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with my aunt’s health. Go ask her if you want to know what’s going on.”

“I did ask her, but she didn’t want to share.”

“Then why should I tell you anything?”

She started the shut the door again, so I blurted, “Why did your aunt lie about having an appointment at the time Professor Reed was murdered?”

Hannah stuck her head out and looked down the hallway, then said in a harsh whisper, “Would you go away?”

Time for a bluff. “I’m sorry to keep hounding you, Hannah, but I’m trying to find out who killed Professor Reed, and right now your aunt’s behavior is looking highly suspicious. I’m betting you don’t want to see Bea accused of murder any more than I do.”

“Sh-h-h!” Hannah grabbed my arm, dragged me inside, and shut the door. “Look, I don’t know where my aunt went for her appointment Tuesday. She said she came here to talk to me, but since I was at the library, I don’t know if it’s true.”

“Did you ask her where she went after she came here and found you gone?”

“No, and I don’t care, either.”

Yeah, right. “Okay, then. Next question. Why did you go to the memorial service?”

She immediately bristled. “What does that have to do with my aunt?”

“You didn’t sit with her, so it made me wonder. Did you know Carson Reed well?”

“I was
acquainted
with him,” Hannah said warily.

“You weren’t seeing him?”

“You’re insane.” She reached for the doorknob. “You need to go now.”

“Then you
were
seeing him. Otherwise you would have denied it.”

“Leave now, or I’ll call security.”

She was jittery. With a bit more of a push, I knew she’d crack. “Your aunt must have raised quite a stink when she found out. I’ll bet you told her to bug off, then Reed was murdered, and now you’re afraid she did it because you know how protective she is of you.”

Bingo. The dam burst and tears flowed down her cheeks. Hannah collapsed onto her bed, sobbing into her hands. “We were in love! What’s so wrong with that?”

“Other than the fact that he was twice your age and a player, I can’t think of a thing.”

“Now you sound like Aunt Bea.” Hannah grabbed a tissue from her desk and blew her nose. “Neither one of you knew the real Carson Reed. He was sweet and romantic…. He even wrote me poems. We were going to be married.” At that, she cried harder.

“Married?” My jaw nearly hit the floor.

“Yes, in H-Hawaii, d-during semester break.” She plucked a new tissue and blew noisily. “Carson knew Aunt Bea would have a fit, so he asked me to keep our relationship a secret until after we had married.”

Oh, brother. I didn’t even want to imagine how often Reed had used that excuse on gullible women. “How did your aunt find out?”

“She overheard him in his office talking to me on the phone. She called me afterward and demanded to know what was going on, but I pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then she said she was going to confront Carson, so I had to tell her about our plans.”

I could only imagine Bea’s horror. “When did this take place?”

“Tuesday morning.”

“The day Professor Reed was murdered?”

She nodded, more tears filling her eyes. “After I told her, she got really quiet—I thought she’d hung up—but then in this calm voice she thanked me for being straight with her and said she would handle it. I told her there was nothing for her to handle and that she needed to stay out of it or I’d never speak to her again. Then she got all emotional and begged me to meet with her so we could discuss it. But I said no. I was really angry, you know? I’m an adult. She can’t tell me what to do.”

“She wanted to meet you Tuesday at noon?”

Hannah sniffled as fresh tears filled her eyes. “Yes. But I was too angry to talk to her so I went to the library.”

My heart took a dive. I hated to admit it, but Hannah had just given Bea a motive. Still, I had to ask myself to what extreme Bea would go to keep her niece safe from a predator like Reed. Would she be so enraged, so frightened for Hannah, that she would commit murder? The little bird defending its nest against the hawk? It didn’t sound like the Bea I knew. But did I really know her?

I decided to ask Hannah nothing more until I had talked to Marco. I put my arm around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll be in touch.”

Just before I went out the door, Hannah called, “What would happen to my aunt if she did kill him?”

“She’d go to prison.”

I left to the sound of Hannah sobbing.

I stopped at the student union to get a bottle of water from the soft-drink vending machine, then checked the time. Since it was only eleven o’clock, and I was near the law school anyway, I decided to examine the log at the computer lab to verify Kenny’s alibi. Fortunately, although classes had been canceled, the building remained open to students and faculty who wished to use the facilities, so I had no trouble getting inside.

I tucked the water bottle in my purse, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and looked around. None of the secretaries had come in to work and no lights showed through the glass door panes of the professors’ offices—except for Puffer’s. Seeing that glow, I felt a
gi-normous
shiver go up my spine and I nearly headed back down the stairs when that little voice of reason in my head whispered,
So what if he sees you? You’re in disguise, remember?

Right. Whew.

The computer lab was locked, but someone had posted a sticky note on the door that read:
If you need entry, call Dustin.
His dorm phone number was listed beneath, and he answered on the first ring, promising to be there in ten minutes. Translated into college time, that could mean anywhere up to an hour. So, after first checking to be sure Puffer wasn’t on the move, I snuck over to Bea’s desk for a quick look around. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but it never hurt to take a peek.

Usually her desk was tidy, with not even a stray pencil out of its cup. But today it was heaped with files, letters needing signatures, and envelopes waiting to be stamped and taken to the mail drop. At least she’d told me the truth about her workload.

From the corner of my eye I caught a quick flash of light. I glanced at Puffer’s door, but the glow through the glass panes was steady. Reed’s office was dark, as was Myra Baumgarten’s, so I chalked it up to my imagination. Then a light flickered again, like a flashlight beam. Keeping low to the ground, I crept over to the glass and peered inside, where I saw Puffer rooting through Reed’s desk. Snapdragon was on a hunt.

At once he glanced toward the door, as though he sensed someone watching. I ducked down and held my breath, praying he hadn’t seen me. When nothing happened I raised my head for another look. This time Puffer was sitting in Reed’s chair, rifling through an open filing-cabinet drawer. I watched as he pulled out a long, manila folder, leafed through it, and removed what appeared to be a letter. As he read it, his thin lips curled into a look of pure hatred. Then he jammed the paper back into the file, fighting with a bent corner so he could close the cover. He stuck the folder into the drawer, shut it, then rose.

Instantly, I dropped to the carpet and crawled over to hide behind Bea’s desk, fearing he would leave through the front exit. A moment later I heard the faint sound of a door closing, so I raised my head for a look. Reed’s window was dark, and Puffer was nowhere in sight. Obviously, he’d completed his mission and left through the back. Now if only I dared sneak into Reed’s office to see whether I could find that letter, but the thought of Puffer catching me there was enough to stop that idea in its tracks.

Puffer’s light went out, followed moments later by the ding of the elevator. If that wasn’t a sign I should do a little snooping, nothing was. I moved quietly across to Reed’s office, tried the door, and found it locked. Damn. Did I dare take the elevator up to the back door? What if Puffer hadn’t left the building? Hmm. Maybe Bea had a key.

I searched inside her desk drawers, then felt beneath the desk. Nothing. I looked around, tapping my fingers on the desktop. On a hunch, I grabbed Hannah’s photo in its rosewood frame, removed the backing—and a key fell into my hand. Wow. Another sign. My karma was in top form today.

Moving swiftly, I unlocked the door and slipped inside Reed’s office. It was stuffy from being closed up for so long, and smelled of his musky aftershave. I put his green glass lamp on the floor behind the desk before switching it on, hoping the glow wouldn’t be noticeable from outside. Then I crouched in front of the desk and opened the file-cabinet drawer—only to have my long silver necklaces bang into the metal cabinet. Yikes. I grabbed the chains and held my breath. When nothing happened, I tucked them inside my blouse, shivering as the metal touched my perspiring skin.

All the file folders were neatly labeled, with headings such as
Supreme Court Decisions, Federal Court Decisions, Research, Law Reviews
—nothing that looked particularly damning. With minutes ticking by, I flipped through the folders again, until there was only one possibility left—a file marked
Tenure Committee,
of which Reed was the chair. Since Puffer had been seeking tenure, I hoped there was a connection.

Inside the folder I found copies of recent correspondence between committee members, along with a short list of professors being considered. I ran my finger down the entries and a tingle of excitement shot through me. The last name on the list was Z. Archibald Puffer.

All the papers in the file were neatly aligned but one. I pulled it out and found a letter from Carson Reed dated the previous Friday, four days before the murder, addressed to the other committee members. In it, Reed strongly recommended that Puffer be denied tenure for reasons he’d previously outlined. A final decision would be made the following Monday.

Hmm. The very next day, Reed had been murdered. Coincidence? Or had I found Puffer’s motive?

I tried to picture what might have transpired after I’d rushed out of the building that day. Seeing that Puffer was already in a temper from my visit, Reed might have sauntered into his office, hinting that he had news on Puffer’s bid for tenure, just to see him squirm. He would have come around the desk to stand eyeball-to-eyeball with Puffer. Reed might have taken a seat in Puffer’s chair, put up his feet, and smugly dropped the bomb—no tenure—provoking Puffer into a rage. I could easily picture him knocking Reed out cold, then, in a panic, realizing that he’d be fired once Reed came to and reported him. So Puffer had finished the job, then fled out the back door and down the elevator.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

I nearly toppled over in my reach for the lamp’s off switch. Replacing the folder, I quietly closed the drawer, repositioned the lamp, then crawled to the front door to peer out the glass window. To my left I saw a tall, blond man walking toward the computer lab. It had to be Dustin. I crawled to the rear door, slipped out, and eased the door shut behind me.