The Grim Steeper: A Teapot Collector Mystery (15 page)

Chapter 14

G
eek god . . . Paul Wechsler, who had crashed Jeanette’s car while rubbernecking at the scene of the crime. Maybe making sure he didn’t leave any
i
undotted, any
t
uncrossed? Had he killed the dean on his own, or perhaps at Jeanette’s command? Her words overheard by Laverne hinted that Mrs. Asquith was involved, and Paul was right there, on the scene. Maybe she called Paul, giving him the go-ahead; they were running out of time, it was now or never. He could have made some excuse to meet the dean later, perhaps, and killed him.

“Kimmy, you seemed a little tense last night, and you pulled Mac aside. Was everything okay? What were you talking about?”

The girl stood and picked up the remedial book she was buying for Mac, a simple guide to literary theory. “What an odd thing to ask,” she said, staring down at Sophie. “Anyway,
I have to go. I’m meeting with the MacAlisters. I think I’ve got them talked into hiring tutors so we can get Mac up to snuff with his grades.”

She picked up the other books she had ordered and left Peterson’s in a hurry.

It was possible that it was Kimmy who upped Mac’s grade, but Sophie didn’t think she would kill the dean to hide that fact. Sophie sat for a moment, collecting her thoughts, then was about to emerge from her hidey-hole, when Dana charged back, finger to her lips.

“I did it. I told you I had a gift for you, and I do,” she whispered. “There is someone who has just come in who I think you ought to try to talk to.”

“Who is it?”

“Brenda Fletcher, the assistant registrar. One snarky student who comes in here all the time calls her the Ass Reg. That’s what her desk nameplate says.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. The assistant registrar; when would she ever have another chance to meet her on such informal, anonymous terms? Who would know more about Vince Nomuro, the best suspect they had, than his assistant? “How did you get her here?”

“I ordered some books for her. They came in last week, but I don’t like her much, so I was going to wait until my day off to have her come in while Cissy was here. But I’ll tell you this; if anyone knows what’s going on at Cruickshank about the grading thing, she will. So, voilà . . . she’s here to collect her books.”

“What should I say? How can I talk to her?”

Dana thought for a second, then said, “It shouldn’t be that hard; the woman is a gossip. Follow my lead.” She moved toward the textbook section, waited for a few seconds, then
said loudly, “I don’t care, Sophie, I will
not
help you figure out who is framing Jason Murphy for the grading scandal!”

Sophie gasped. What the heck was Dana doing? But she had to play along and assume that her friend knew what she was doing. Trailing her, she said, “But Dana, I don’t know what else to do. With the dean gone now, I’m afraid the college will railroad Jason, and he doesn’t deserve that.”

Dana had led her right to Brenda Fletcher, but there was no sign of recognition on the woman’s face when she eyed Sophie.

“Maybe he did it,” Dana said, turning, with a malicious sparkle in her eye. “Have you ever thought of that? Maybe your golden boy Jason actually did it.”

“He did
not
!” Sophie said fiercely, glaring at Dana. How could she say that, even in jest? “If there is one person in this world I’d trust, it’s Jason.”

Dana glanced over at the assistant registrar. “Oh, hey, Brenda. Do you know Sophie Taylor? She’s chef at Auntie Rose’s Victorian Tea House, and she’s going out with Jason Murphy. I’m trying to tell her there is no way to know who changed Mac MacAlister’s grade at Cruickshank, but she won’t listen to me. You’re the assistant registrar; maybe
you
can convince her.”

Sophie switched her attention to the other woman, who looked surprised and a little disgruntled to be accosted in such a way. Sophie thought she’d better tread carefully. It was smart of Dana not to directly address the dean’s death, but rather the less-explosive topic of the grade-fixing scandal. If she handled it right, it would allow her to talk about both. “People keep saying that the dean was going to tell everyone this morning that he had caught the grade fixer, and it was Jason. I say there is no way for anyone to know
what
he was going to say. Do you agree?”

Brenda Fletcher huddled into her ancient coat, a dark green bomber-style jacket that was frayed at the cuffs and worn in spots along the sleeve. It must have been an old favorite, spotted with pins and badges: an apple, a Sagittarius zodiac sign and a smattering of little pins with acronyms. She wound her dark woolen scarf more closely around her neck, blinked and examined Sophie for a long moment. She was a plain young woman, with glasses, a habit of squinting, and her curly brown hair scraped back in a bun; the best thing about her looks was creamy, perfect skin, with a mole by her mouth. But her dark eyes betrayed intelligence, and her pause indicated a certain amount of thoughtfulness. Sophie wondered if Brenda had her own suspicions but didn’t want to share them.

“I suppose there are notes of what he was going to say,” she finally said. “He must have investigated. And he probably told
someone
. Wouldn’t you, if you had made a decision and were going to announce it?” She blinked and tilted her head to one side. “He must have at
least
told the president, right?”

“The president?”

“Cruickshank’s top dog, President Schroeder.”

“I haven’t even heard his name come up yet,” Sophie said.

Brenda shrugged. “He’s a hands-off kind of administrator, hoping to coast through his last three years without much trouble. He leaves a lot to do with the professors, teachers and grad student TAs up to Dean Asquith. I guess he figures the dean of faculty should look after the faculty, right?”

“I guess. So maybe the dean didn’t tell him?”

Brenda shrugged.

“Who else might Dean Asquith have told?”

“No one, really. There’s the provost, I guess, Dr. Ruta Vilansky, but she’s away right now, so not her.”

“It all seems so complicated. I went to a technical school for cooking, and the administration was so much simpler.”

“You’re out of your league,” she said with a sly smile. “Never going to a real college has crippled your understanding.”

Sophie sighed inwardly, but nodded. “I suppose you have a point.”

“I did wonder this morning if someone killed the dean to stop his announcement,” Brenda said, frowning and tugging at her scarf, twisting the fringe around her fingers. “But it seems awful extreme. At its worst, what he had to say would have been just an accusation of grade fixing. Despite what folks were saying, whoever did it would likely just be reprimanded.”

“I thought he or she would be fired. Or charged. Something!”

“It’s unethical, but not a criminal offense,” Brenda replied evenly. “I did a little research for my boss looking for precedents, but it’s a tricky topic. If the grade fix was limited in scope, then there wouldn’t be any action beyond a reprimand. I don’t think it was even in the dean’s purview to fire Jason or anyone, if they simply faked a grade.”

“I can’t believe anyone would do that to help an athlete stay on the team.”

“I guess you not going to a regular college . . . you wouldn’t know how important the athletes are to a school. I was on a team in college, and it was a great moment to stand with my friends on the podium. It’s important stuff.” She shifted impatiently. “Look, I have to go. Don’t worry; Jason will be okay, I’m sure.”

“Do you mind talking to me for just a few more moments? I’m kind of freaked out about this all.”

“I’m in a hurry,” Brenda said. “I came in to pick up some books I ordered.”

“It’ll take me a minute to get everything together anyway, Brenda,” Dana said, glancing their way. “My computer has been acting up this morning,” she continued, with a wink to Sophie, “And I have to get it to boot up again before I can process your order, or you’ll be charged twice. We don’t want that to happen! Have a cup of coffee on the house.” She fluttered her hand toward the coffee machine. “I have that caramel mocha blend you like.”

Brenda sighed. “There is nothing like a bookstore that serves coffee, am I right?” she said to Sophie, heading toward the back. The coffee machine was right by the alcove Sophie had shared with Kimmy Gabrielson just minutes before.

“Oh, sure,” Sophie replied, following the young woman toward the alcove, even though her own idea of heaven was a kitchen and tea.

Brenda fixed up her coffee, chose the biggest brownie from the tray of goodies for sale and curled up on the sofa. The brew did smell good, like a mocha caramel dessert. The woman seemed pretty relaxed for someone whose colleague had been murdered the night before, but Sophie didn’t know enough about her relationship with the dean and how his death would affect her. It would affect Vince Nomuro more, since he was probably the one who was more directly involved with the dean.

“I’m going to sound like an idiot, but even though Jason works as an instructor at Cruickshank, I don’t understand much about the actual workings of a college. The only time I went to the registrar’s office in my school was to pay my tuition and register for classes. But what all does the registrar do?”

Brenda smiled and sipped her coffee, the expression holding more than a whiff of condescension. Fine, let her
underestimate Sophie; that was often a good thing. She didn’t feel the need to impress anyone with her intelligence.

“We plan and implement registration, a big job even for a college the size of Cruickshank. So many conflicts!” She took a big bite of her brownie, then carefully wrapped it back up and stowed it in her patchwork hobo bag. She swallowed, and took another long drink. “We keep track of the curriculum, not just scheduling conflicts but prerequisites, that sort of thing. We compile enrollment statistics for the dean’s office, collect tuition and resolve issues with credit attribution.”

“And you maintain academic records.”

She sipped. “Well, sure. That’s an important part of what we do.”

And why they had access to grades, which meant either her or Vince Nomuro could have changed Mac MacAlister’s grade. “What kind of training do you need for that?”

“You need a degree, at least a bachelor’s, but a master’s is better. It can be in accounting, or social work, like mine. Vince was in pharmacy but flunked out, so he switched to accounting. I kid him because he sure did pick two fields that require precision! There are so many facets to the job, it can be approached from many angles, but you have to be good with technology.” She wrinkled her brow and stared at Sophie. “What does this have to do with anything? I thought you were worried about Jason.”

“I don’t understand much about college life at Cruickshank, so I’m trying to get a general feel of Jason’s environment. You’re helping so much! My cooking school was a lot different,” she replied, downplaying her double major and graduation from one of the toughest culinary courses in the country, as well as her private school background, from which
she graduated with excellent grades. With her background and grade point average, she could easily have gotten into any school she wanted; she chose culinary school out of love for the subject. “What kind of man was Dean Asquith?”

“What kind of man was Dean Asquith,” Brenda repeated, in a musing tone. “Let’s see, an egomaniacal, philandering, mean-spirited, obtuse, obstreperous megalomaniac? Does that cover all the bases?”

So Brenda Fletcher was not a fan of the dean. “I take it you’re not sorry he’s dead.”

“I didn’t say that! I’m
very
sorry he’s dead. I may not have liked him much, but I care about Cruickshank. I’m a PhD candidate in social work as well as being assistant registrar. I’ll get my doctorate and move on from the job, but that won’t be for a while. This throws the whole place into turmoil, and who knows what kind of a jerk we’ll get next? Sorry to be blunt, but just because I didn’t like the man, doesn’t mean I wanted to see him dead.”

The vehemence surprised Sophie, but she could see where it was coming from. It gave her some idea of the extent to which the dean’s death would rattle the Cruickshank community. A student might not notice a disturbance, but the teaching and administrative staff most certainly would, especially since he was the dean of faculty. And as Brenda pointed out, who knew what they’d get next in that position? “So Mr. Nomuro is your boss, right?”

She nodded.

“He was along for the walk last night.”

“A lot of us were; it was mandatory to attend Dale’s little scheme to link town and gown. Even the president asked us to go, though I noticed he didn’t deign to attend.”

“What does that mean, town and gown?” Sophie asked,
distracted, wondering if that command explained Paul Wechsler’s presence.

“Well, town, obviously, all of you here in Gracious Grove. And gown means the academic gown, nowadays the graduate’s gown, but way back when academics wore clerical garb, and I suppose that was the gown indicated, you know, a priest’s or monk’s robe.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose.

“Oh. Okay.” Sophie paused, unsure of how to use the information Julia had given her without giving away her source, or exactly what was said between Vince and the dean. “What is your boss like?”