Snipped in the Bud (20 page)

But once I was in the back hallway, I had another problem. Other than leaving through one of the professors’ offices, which I couldn’t do without a good explanation, the only exit was the elevator, which meant I’d have to go down to the first floor, then come up the stairway. But as I reached for the Down button, the hydraulic lift kicked in and the elevator began to rise.

Someone was coming up. And I had a strong hunch it was Puffer.

I
glanced wildy in both directions, then darted down the hall to Myra Baumgarten’s office. Locked! My heart pounded as I sped back to Reed’s door, but before I could slip inside, the elevator dinged, the door opened—and the Dragon emerged. Puffer took one look at me, my hand on Reed’s doorknob, and flames practically shot from his nostrils. “What are you doing in this hallway? Students are forbidden up here.”

He hadn’t recognized me! “I—I—” I didn’t have a clue as to how to answer that, and the elevator door had just shut, leaving me no escape hatch.

“Wait there!” he ordered. “I’m calling security.”

That was all I needed. “Please don’t call. I came up by mistake. See? I’m leaving now.” I ran to the elevator and pounded the Down button with the heel of my hand, and the door slid open.

Before I could jump inside, Puffer made a grab for me. I ducked and he latched on to the wig, only to have it come off in his hands. For a moment he stared at it, then he took in my costume, saw my red hair, and went ballistic. “You!”

“I can explain, Professor. Wait.”

He burst into his office, flipped on the light, and lunged for the phone on his desk. My brain went into overdrive as I desperately searched for a way to talk myself out of the situation. I couldn’t let him make that call. Prosecutor Mel would have me arrested in five minutes flat.

Remember what your dad told you,
that little voice of reason whispered in my mind.
The best defense is a good offense.
If ever there was a time to test that theory, it was now.

“Call the cops,” I said, following him inside. “I have nothing to hide. I came here to use the computer lab. Besides, I’d like to tell them about your rifling through Professor Reed’s files. And while I’m at it, I’ll clue them in on your motive for wanting him dead.”

Puffer slammed the phone onto the base, the vein at his temple throbbing so hard I thought it would burst. With my luck, he’d drop dead from a stroke and I’d be accused of killing him, too. I could just see the headline in tomorrow’s newspaper:
MS. BLOOM-AND-DOOM STRIKES AGAIN
.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” he snapped.

“I saw you in Professor Reed’s office. I know what you were looking for—and found—and I’d be happy to share that information with the police.”

Puffer’s eyes narrowed, a sure sign of an impending blast of fury. What had I been thinking? I was alone with a man who most likely had murdered his associate—in that very room. Trying not to show fear, I started edging toward the front door, hoping Dustin was near enough to hear me if I had to shout for help.

But there was no blast, just a sly smile that was more unnerving than his anger. “Tell me, Betty Boob,” he said, folding his arms across his poplin shirt as though he were doing a cross-examination, “how did you end up in the back hallway?”

“I took the elevator—b-by mistake.” We both knew it was no mistake.

“I was in the lobby downstairs getting coffee. No one got on the elevator. Are you sure you want to stick with that story?”

I drew a deep breath and said bravely, “I don’t need to explain anything to you. I’ll save my story for the cops.”

Puffer made a temple of his fingers, tapping them against his chin as he eyed me. “So you came here to use the computer lab. Why? You’re not in law school anymore. But you
are
in disguise. What does that mean, I wonder, that you’re sneaking around here wearing a disguise?”

Time to use Dad’s method again. “It means that, thanks to your insinuations, everyone in town thinks I killed Professor Reed. I can’t step outside without being hounded by the press or fearing for my life. Now, are you going to make that call or shall we just forget the whole thing and let the detective draw his own conclusions about your motive?”

There. I had given him a way to save face—and save my own skin while I was at it.

His cold eyes studied me for a long moment, then he said evenly, “Let’s forget it.”

I didn’t trust him, but I had given him the option, so now I had to live with it. “Okay, then. It’s forgotten.”

“Have a nice day,” he said with a sneer, “Betty Boob.” He tossed the wig onto his desk, picked up his phone to make a call, and turned his chairback to me, so I hurried toward the front door.

Oops. The wig. I wasn’t about to lose it and have Jillian after my hide, too. I darted back for it, tucked it under my arm, then stopped dead in my tracks.

The phone. That was what I’d been trying to remember. When I’d found Reed’s body, a black handset had been in his lap. But Puffer was holding an ivory receiver. Where had the old phone gone?

At that moment, the Dragon spun around to see why I hadn’t left, so I quickly stepped out and pulled the door shut. My legs were still quivering like wet spaghetti, so I paused to draw a few steadying breaths, then caught sight of a blond guy striding toward me—the same guy I’d seen with Kenny at Professor Reed’s memorial service. I made a mental note to ask Reilly about the black telephone, then smiled as though I didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re Dustin?”

“Yeah. And you’re—?”

“Abby. I need to use the computer lab for five minutes, so if you could just let me in?”

He glanced at the wig in my hands, then at my hair, which was probably a twisted pile of red straw by now, then gave me a skeptical look. “Do you have a student ID?”

“Not anymore. I wrote a resume on this computer and I just need to print a copy. I’d download it onto a disk but, stupid me, I forgot to bring the disk.” It wasn’t a total lie. I did write a resume once. “If you don’t trust me, call Kenny. He’ll vouch for me.”

Dustin hesitated, still unsure, then finally unlocked the door and turned on the light. “You have to sign in,” he said and pointed to a clipboard hanging on a nail by the door.

I signed my name to the top sheet, already dated for that day. There were two squares after the signature line where I was to mark the time I logged in and out, so I checked my watch and wrote
11:30 a.m.
Now I needed to find Kenny’s entries for the day of the murder, but I didn’t want to start flipping through the pages in front of Dustin because he’d surely want to know why. So I returned the clipboard to the nail, trying to come up with another way to get a peek.

“Sit wherever you want,” he said.

There were five computer stations in the room, so I went to the farthest one. Dustin plunked down next to the door, logged on, and started playing a game. I opened the word-processing program and typed whatever came to mind, which turned out to be
Who killed Professor Reed and why?
Followed by,
Abby Knight + Marco Salvare = Abby Salvare. Mrs. Abigail Salvare. Mr. and Mrs. Marco Salvare
…Wonderful. I was regressing to a seventh-grade mentality.

I sent the page to the printer, retrieved it, and sat back down, pretending to study it while I cast surreptitious glances at Dustin, who seemed engrossed in the game. I dug in my purse for my Evian water and took a swig.
Think, Abby. How can you get him out of the room? What can you use as a diversion?
My gaze landed on the bottle in my hands.
Voila!

I set the Evian beside the keyboard, put my hands on the keys, and gave the bottle a little nudge with my elbow. But instead of tipping neatly over the edge of the desk, it tipped into my lap, the water soaking my pants and the seat of the chair,
then
spilling onto the tiles beneath.
Note to self: Never cut down a tree; it will fall on you.
With a yelp of surprise, I jumped up and looked around for something to absorb the water.

“I’ll get paper towels from the restroom,” Dustin said and took off.

Shutting my mind to the huge wet spot on the crotch and rear of the expensive, dry-clean-only pants, I stuffed the printed page into my purse, ran for the clipboard, turned back the pages until I found Tuesday, and skimmed the names. There was Kenny’s signature, logged in at ten o’clock, just as Bea had said, but there was nothing to indicate that he had left the lab in answer to my call for help, and nothing to indicate that he had returned. Given the emergency nature of the situation, it wasn’t surprising. It also wasn’t helpful. In other words, I’d gone through this silly charade for nothing.

I hung the clipboard up and was hurrying back to the computer station when I heard “Hey, Abby. What are you doing here?”

Startled, I spun to see Kenny standing in the doorway. “Oh, hi, Kenny. I had to print out something I’d left on the computer.” Noticing that he was staring at the huge wet spot on the front of my slacks, I casually crossed my hands over it. “So, what are you up to?”

“Research.” He spotted the puddle under my shoes. “Drink too much coffee today?”

“Ha. Funny. No, it was just me being a klutz with my water. Dustin went to get some paper towels.”

At that moment Dustin loped in with a wad of towels and both guys helped me sop up the spill. “Thanks for the help,” I told them as I started for the door. “I’ve got to get home. These slacks are dry clean only. See you around, Kenny.”

“Hey,” Dustin said. “You have to log out.”

I took a quick look at my watch, scribbled the time next to my name, and headed for the staircase.

“Abby, hold up a minute,” Kenny called, striding after me. “Any word on how the police are coming with the murder investigation?”

“As far as I know, they’re still focusing on me.”

“I thought of something this morning that might help you. When I was in Professor Reed’s office Monday morning, organizing his files for the day, his phone rang, so I answered as I always did, ‘Carson Reed’s office, Kenny speaking,’ and the caller hung up. Just out of curiosity I did a call-back search on the number and it went to the Books of Olde bookstore. I figured someone had dialed wrong and didn’t think anything more of it, but it happened again Tuesday morning, before Professor Reed arrived. I did the call-back again and—same thing. The bookstore. It might be nothing, but I thought it was worth mentioning.”

Books of Olde—where Jocelyn Puffer worked. Hmm.
Were the calls mere coincidences, a case of two misdialed numbers? Was it someone from the bookstore phoning about a book Reed had ordered? But if that were the case, why not leave a message? Or…was it possible that Reed and Jocelyn
were
having an affair?

As unlikely as that seemed, in light of those phone calls, I had to consider that Reed might have been dallying with Jocelyn
and
Hannah. It probably wouldn’t have been the first time he’d had two on the line. But I was betting it was the first time he’d plonked someone’s wife while trying to ruin her husband’s career.

“Kenny, can you tell me anything about the status of Professor Puffer’s bid for tenure?”

“I really can’t, Abby. I don’t have the authority.”

Damn.
“Okay, then, how about this? Can you think of a reason Professor Reed might have recommended that Puffer be denied tenure—hypothetically speaking, of course?”

“Everyone knew the two men didn’t get along. Other than that, I couldn’t say.”

“When Professor Reed made a recommendation to the committee, did they usually follow it?”

“From what I’ve seen so far, yes.”

“How do you think Puffer would react if he were turned down?”

Kenny imitated the sound of a bomb dropping. “I wouldn’t want to be around to witness the explosion.”

“Okay, suppose Reed
did
recommend that Puffer be denied tenure. Do you think he would tell Puffer to his face?”

“And risk provoking the Dragon? Why would he do that?”

“It would be ultimate power trip, wouldn’t it? I know you thought highly of Professor Reed, but I can attest to the fact that he was in a taunting mood that day. He was essentially holding Puffer’s future in his hands. He might have enjoyed goading him into a rage.”

“Giving Puffer a reason to kill him.” Kenny rubbed his chin as the attorney-in-training began to muse. “With the Dragon’s history of violent outbursts, I could see that working as a legal defense for him. Diminished capacity…temporary insanity…it’s a plausible theory. How will you prove Puffer’s the killer?”

“I’m still working on that. Plus I still have a few other suspects to check out.”

“If I can help in any way, let me know.”

“Ditto, if you remember anything else.” I turned to go down the steps, then remembered one other question. “Hey, about that clerkship? Can you think of any applicant who might be so angry at not being selected that he or she would go ballistic?”

“Not really. It’s so difficult to snag a clerkship with a federal appellate judge that most students don’t even aspire to it. Many of them would rather stay close to home and get jobs in local law firms than be absorbed into the huge Seventh Circuit Court. Besides, none of the applicants had been notified about the selection because Professor Reed never had a chance to write their letters. He told me privately on Monday afternoon only so I could begin to make plans for next year.”

I crossed that theory off my list. “Okay, Kenny. Thanks for your help.”