The Grim Steeper: A Teapot Collector Mystery (14 page)

“He just . . . I don’t understand Wally. All I was doing was talking about how Eli is going to propose to Dana, and he got all bent out of shape.”

“He seemed fine this morning, just businesslike,” Sophie said. Though in truth he did appear on edge for Wally, the most even tempered of fellows. “Do you want me to talk to him if I get a chance?”

“Would you?” Cissy said, dropping her feet to the carpeted floor. “I don’t understand him. I was just . . . I know how Eli is going to propose, because he checked in with me to make sure Dana could get the day off. He’s going to take her on a cruise on Seneca Lake; he’s booked the boat special so they can do a sunset cruise, which they don’t usually do this time of year, you know, being autumn. He’s going to wait, and as the captain points the boat toward the sunset, he’s going to get down on one knee and tell her she’s his choice until the sunset of their lives!”

She clasped her hands together and sighed. “I was telling Wally, and saying how romantic it was going to be, how sweet Eli was. How I’ve never seen Dana so happy. He got all moody and asked me if I was going to talk about Eli and Dana all evening. I asked what his problem was, and then he stomped out.”

“Where did he go?”

“To work. I mean, he came back, like I said, but he was grumpy.”

“But he did tell you about the murder when you asked, so he’s talking to you.”

Cissy sighed in exasperation. “Yes, but he was still upset. I could tell. I don’t understand why!”

Sophie had a suspicion of why Wally was upset, and
would explore it with him when she had a chance. Her cell phone chimed. “That’s Dana,” Sophie said, checking her phone. “She said she’d send me a text message when Kimmy was coming in, and that’s right now. Can I follow you back to the bookstore? If that’s where you’re going?”

“I’m going to get that manicure first. I can’t stand my nails ragged like this. I feel like everyone’s looking at my hands.”

“Cissy, no one is looking at your hands. I barely look at my own.”

“You ought to. They’re a mess.”

Sophie looked down at her hands: square, hardworking, dry skin from being in hot water repeatedly, with blunt short nails. “They look all right to me.”

Cissy wrinkled her nose, grabbed her purse and said, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Sophie found her keys and checked in with Nana and Laverne, who were still doing inventory in a leisurely fashion as they worried at a solution to the crime that had assaulted their doorstep. She raced out to the parking lot and jumped in her Jetta, driving down the lane to the street. The cars from the fender bender were gone, but there was still a heavy police presence. She shuddered as she paused; was the body even gone yet? A chill raced over her as she thought about someone killing the dean right outside their house, while her grandmother slept just yards above.

This could not go on. Jason needed to stay well out of all of it, but
she
didn’t. She drove out of the lane, turned right and headed toward the town’s common, patterned somewhat after Ithaca’s center of town, with cafes and restaurants, cute shops, and brick-paved streets for walking. But she turned left before the common, down Cayuga Street, where the bookstore was.

Peterson Books ’n Stuff took up the main floor of the house in which Cissy and her brother Phil had grown up. It
was a large redbrick Queen Anne, too big for a modern family, with picture windows along the front protected by the wide porch. Sophie parked on the street and dashed up the steps and into the bookstore, a string of silvery bells tinkling to announce her.

As her eyes adjusted, she could see that there were a few people inside, at least one a student, from the looks of him, with a backpack and glasses, shaggy hair falling forward, concealing his eyes. He sat on the floor in the literature section reading a copy of
The Bell Jar
. Dana made her way to the front through the shelves, paused by the young man and said something sharp to him, after which he lumbered to his feet, put the book back and trudged out, followed by another customer who had just finished paying.

“Kimmy is in the used textbooks section,” Dana whispered, sidling up to Sophie. “She’s looking for a guide to literary theory while I get her order rung through. It’s probably for Mac, something that explains
Light in August
in one-syllable words. Now that his grades are all being reexamined, he needs to get them back up to snuff with a series of exams, or something.”

“I’ll go talk to Kimmy.”

Dana caught her by the arm and glared into her eyes. “She’s my friend; don’t you upset her. She’s distressed enough as it is. The dean was just murdered, for heaven’s sake!”

Sophie sighed. “I’m not going to upset her. What kind of a creep do you think I am?”

“You don’t want to know,” Dana replied, but with a wink and smile. She nudged Sophie. “You can be as single-minded as a terrier with a rat down a hole when you’re focused on a problem. Anyway, I’m also working on something else for you, a little gift. But first, go on, talk to her. The sooner this is solved the better.”

Sophie still paused for one moment. “Do you think Eli can find out any information for me?”

“Captain America?” Dana said. “No way. He’s careful about stepping on anyone else in law enforcement’s toes, and this is not his town, even if he was born here.”

“Okay. Just thought I’d ask.” Sophie rambled through the dim bookstore. Fortunately for her, the cookbook section was right near the used textbook section where Kimmy was perusing a stack of texts. Cookbooks; how could she resist! She actually found a couple of collections of recipes by well-known mystery authors that she thought her grandmother would enjoy.

But she was not there to shop. She cradled the books in her arms, glanced around and backed—purposely—into Kimmy, dropping the books she held. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I . . .” She stopped and stared. “Kimmy Gabrielson, right?”

The girl’s dark eyes widened. “Oh . . . uh, Jason Murphy’s girlfriend, right?”

“Sophie Taylor,” she said, avoiding an affirmation. “I hope you enjoyed the tea stroll.” She paused for a beat, then said, “It’s so awful about the dean. It happened right outside our place, and I’m the one who found him.” The falter of her voice was genuine, and so were the tears that filled her eyes. “I’ve been trying not to think about it. That’s why I’m here; I needed to get away. Cookbooks always soothe me. But it’s hard to stop picturing it.”

Kimmy’s uncertain expression mellowed into warm concern. She picked up Sophie’s books and took her by the arm, guiding her to a little alcove off the main area of the store, where there was a soft love seat in a quiet, dim corner. Beauty, the Persian bookstore cat, ambled over to them and leaped up on Sophie’s lap, settling himself.

“You poor girl,” Kimmy crooned, patting her arm and
setting the cookbooks at Sophie’s feet, topped by the book she was reading. “How awful that must have been for you. I think if I found a body I’d never sleep again.”

“I didn’t,” Sophie said. “I mean, I haven’t slept yet. My grandmother and godmother seem okay, but then, they didn’t see the body. I did!” Sophie felt a little bad overstating her angst as she was. Kimmy was empathetic, and Sophie was playing on her emotions, but it was for a worthy purpose. “Did you notice anything at all last night during the tea stroll?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, anyone following the dean?”

Kimmy shook her head.

“Have the police spoken to you yet?”

“No, why would they?”

“I imagine they’ll be talking to everyone who was at the tea walk last night. Just for witness accounts, you know. Did anyone have an argument with him?”

Kimmy was about to shake her head again but paused. “There was something.” She looked down at the carpet, tracing the pattern with the toe of her loafer. “His girlfriend. That woman doesn’t know when she is being dumped good and hard.”

“You know about Sherri Shaw?”

“Sure, I’m surprised you do.
Everyone
at the college knew. Did Jason tell you?”

“Jason doesn’t pay attention to that kind of thing. No, I overheard them at the tea convention, arguing,” she said. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw her at the tea stroll. What was she thinking?” She cast a sly look up at Kimmy. “My first thought was that he had a new girlfriend lined up and that’s why he was dumping her.”

“Hmph. Maybe someone less obvious than Cleavage for Brains.”

Sophie snorted in unexpected laughter, then felt bad about it. “I shouldn’t be laughing. The poor man is dead.”

“As bad as I feel about it, I’d say he brought it on himself. The guy was unbelievable, willing to help anyone take a forward dive off a cliff as long as no one saw him shove from behind.”

That was a very vivid image, Sophie thought, and indicated a nasty trait of self-involved cruelty. She eyed Kimmy with interest. “Is that what he was doing to Jason? I feel like the dean was targeting him. I’ve heard that he didn’t like Jason’s support for Professor Dandridge and Dr. Bolgan’s hope to make the humanities department stronger.”

Kimmy gazed at her, a startled look on her round face. She plucked at her hair and draped a curl over her forehead with quick, agitated movements. “You sure seem to know a lot about Cruickshank politics!”

“I’ve been listening to Jason and Julia talk, I guess.” She eyed the girl, who now seemed nervous, when she hadn’t at first. “Am I right?”

Kimmy nodded, slowly. “If we can assume Jason didn’t alter the grade, and that the dean knew that, I’d say Dean Asquith was holding a threat over Jason’s head, kind of . . . mmm, emphasizing his control, you know?”

“So he knew it wasn’t Jason, and he already had his target set, but he thought he’d throw some shade on Jason to try to bring him in line.”

Kimmy nodded and rolled her shoulders. “If I had to guess.”

“Would the dean have done anything stupid, like . . . oh, telling the real guilty party that he was going to expose them this morning?”

“I don’t know the dean that well, but my
guess
? I’d say
he wouldn’t have been able to help himself. He would have relished the idea that the person would sweat all night.”

“Sounds like he didn’t have a lot of common sense.” Sophie thought about all the people the dean could have talked to. Every possible grade alterer that she knew of was nearby, and there were folks who had other motives for murder, too, like Sherri Shaw and Jeanette Asquith. It was a nightmare investigation, but the police would be able to question people and get to their real alibis, while she didn’t have that ability.

It was not her problem to investigate, and she should do as she was told and stay out of it.
However,
the police would most definitely be looking square at Jason, since he admitted to having an argument with the dean that very evening. “I wonder, did Mac know his grade had been falsified?” Sophie asked.

The other woman’s gaze was becoming less direct. “He says he didn’t, but I don’t know. Mac is one of those guys who thinks that anything they get, they deserve.”

There was a faint impression of bitterness. She longed to ask if Kimmy was fond of Mac beyond the adviser role she played, but that was a delicate subject, and Sophie didn’t want to appear to accuse the woman of unethical behavior. It was tricky when she didn’t know what the ethics of the situation actually were. “What is Mac like? As his adviser you must work with him closely. I know we talked about his brains, but what is he like, I mean, his personality.” She was a very intelligent woman; would she defend him or not?

“He’s not my only student, you know. I don’t spend
that
much time with him, but I try to do the best I can for every single one of my students. He can be a sweetheart, but . . .” She shrugged. “He’s okay.”

“You said he was a sweetheart.”

“Comparatively speaking, he is. Some of my students are real pains in the butt.”

So that didn’t get her anywhere. “Do you think the dean’s death is related to this whole grades thing?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but it doesn’t seem likely.”

“I heard that there were many more grades falsified.”

“The idea should shock me, but it doesn’t.”

Sophie paused for a moment, trying to find a way to phrase what she wanted to say. She watched the young woman, examining her dark eyes, made up carefully with pale blue shadow, navy eyeliner and thick mascara. “I’ve been wondering if it was some kind of grades for dollars scheme. If that was true, who would you suspect?”

“Hmph. Brenda Fletcher,” she said, her pink glossed lips twisting in a grimace. “I can’t stand that . . . that witch.”

Well, that was vehement. “I don’t know much about her. Why don’t you like her?”

“Nobody needs a reason to dislike Brenda.”

“Why do you say she’d falsify grades, though?”

Kimmy shrugged. “I don’t really know anything, but she’s the kind of person who would do it. I have to deal with her on occasion when one of my students has a problem that can’t be resolved by the student services office. She’s got such a crappy attitude about stuff. When I went in to talk about Mac’s problems, she told me if he couldn’t cut it, he should go somewhere else, but then said no college would have him. I can’t
stand
her!”

But that didn’t mean Brenda changed the grade. In fact, it rather argued against it, in Sophie’s estimation. If she was worried about being exposed, she’d likely be more diplomatic to someone who could potentially do some digging and point the finger at her. Her dislike of the assistant registrar seemed to say more about Kimmy than Brenda.

“Anyway, who would kill someone over a grade?” Kimmy went on. “I will say, Dean Asquith’s wife won’t be shedding any tears but the crocodile type over his coffin.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She’s been wanting to be rid of him for years . . .
hates
the collegiate life. She’d rather live in a condo in Manhattan overlooking Central Park. But their families are too closely entwined for them to have ever divorced. Their fathers were in business together, and other family members still are; the company assets are so closely lashed together that if one of them left, the whole boat would sink. This way, Jeanette is free and can sail off into the sunset with her Geek god.”