Formula for Murder (30 page)

“Kat, we’ve got to talk!”

“Who is this?”

“Sorry, it’s Abner Prosnerian. Kat, I’ve got to talk with someone. Meet me, please.”

“Now?”

“Yes, it can’t wait. They’re after me.”

“Who is?”

“Later. Meet me at the park near campus. By the sculpture garden.”

“Wait, wait!” she shouted, to be met with silence on the other end.

Now what? Nick would skin her alive if they found she’d gone off in the night to meet one of the suspects. But he wasn’t here.

She grabbed her purse and coat and ran to the car, carefully locking the house first. Abner was a pussycat. There’s no way he killed Charlie, she convinced herself. Besides, she’d call Nick from the cell phone on the way to the park.

She drove swiftly, hating the beginning mist and the curves in the dark, though they were all as familiar as her own backyard. What a rotten, secluded place for Abner to have chosen! Why the park? Kat grabbed the cell phone as the roads straightened near the meeting place. She dialed Nick quickly, while looking ahead. The park was on the right and she pulled over. The call wouldn’t go through. She couldn’t remember when she’d last recharged the battery. How stupid! Why now?

She wasn’t going to cancel this meeting. She evaluated the situation carefully as she sat in the car. She’d just have to keep aware; play it safe. Too bad she hadn’t thought to bring that knife. It gave the illusion of safety if nothing else. On the other hand she took heart remembering the all-clear sign she’d given Maddy when she’d studied Abner’s handwriting. Well, OK, she’d hinted at a little emotionalism and some secrecy. But who was perfect?

“Am I nuts?” she asked herself as she bravely stepped from the car.

She moved slowly toward the monolithic sculptures in the center of the park. The angular, gravel paths were meant to create a blend between naturalistic parkland and the block-on-block sculpture garden. All around loomed the geometric abstractions, supposedly a fusion of marble and earth, looking more like expressions of artistic rage to Kat. The rage was all Kat could ever sense while here. She didn’t come often even in the best of times. She wished she wasn’t here now.

But she was, standing in the faint drizzle of a cold autumn rain, a drop splashing from the felt brim of her fedora to the tip of her nose. Her eyes swept across the circle of sculptures once more. She jumped when a shadow moved, became a man. It was Abner. The pussycat all of a sudden looked tiger-like in the faint glow from the spotlight above the largest stack of marble blocks.

His approach was straightforward. He did not look sinister. Kat prayed looks were not deceiving.

“Thank God you came!” Abner said.

“What is so important Abner? What’s going on?”

He glanced around furtively. “You know the police have been investigating my whereabouts the night of the murder. I’ve refrained from informing them on a privacy issue, but they’re breathing down my neck like I’m the killer. They won’t leave me alone.”

“So tell them where you were; ask their discretion in keeping it quiet.”

“Kat, I can’t! If it got out, my reputation would be lost; certainly my hopes for tenure.”

“OK, so what is it you want from me?”

“I heard students talking. That you wanted information about the night of the murder. Later, Simon told me you’d been asking about me.”

Abner literally rang his hands and looked suspiciously about before continuing. “Then Detective Burrows called again. Asked where I was that night.”

She wished she could put him out of his misery but didn’t know how. She merely looked steadily at him, waiting. He became more aware of the dark rustlings around them, his anxiety straining his voice.

“You shouldn’t have come out here at night!”

“You’re the one that called me, Abner!”

“I should have had more sense. I’m sorry. What if I was the killer?”

“I doubt if you’d be cautioning me if you were. What can I do?”

“I’ve heard good things about you. People say you’ve helped them out of bad spots. I was hoping if I told you where I was, explained, you’d understand and could help clear me with the police. I can’t have them following me around.”

“I can’t promise that, Abner. But I’ll try.”

“What I say tonight cannot be repeated. There is no way you can tell anyone.”

“That I’ll promise, but if you’re the killer all promises are off,” Kat said, hoping to relieve some of his anxiety. He was dripping with it.

Abner frowned instead, too deep into his concerns. “I’m a member of the Hearth Sun Club. Have you heard of it?”

Kat shook her head no.

“I’ve only joined recently. I haven’t come to grips with how I’ll fit my new beliefs in with my profession. I can’t seem to find a way.”

Kat merely looked perplexed.

“It’s a Christian naturism place. You know—natural living, free body culture? Nudism?”

Her eyes widened as realization dawned.

“He quickly explained. “I don’t walk around campus nude, Kat. It’s strictly in my own home and at the club. I was at the club that night.”

Kat attempted to stutter a response but quickly clamped her lips shut until she was more coherent.

He continued. “I truly think it’s a sound belief. Naturists are the most happy, healthy individuals in the free world. Even a government study supports that. The human body is perfect in its natural state. Why hide it? But even believing that, I can’t see changing our conservative university to my thinking. Hundreds of years of tradition defeat me.”

Kat nodded in understanding, trying not to imagine Abner naked.

He explained his fears that the faculty and administration would withhold tenure if they heard. “I was afraid that Charlie knew, but he never said anything. I finally decided he was just curmudgeonly for no reason. He defeated my tenure in life and, now, his death may do the same.”

“Did anyone see you there?”

“Of course, but privacy is of utmost importance. People who go there are sworn to secrecy. It’s the only place most of them can embrace their lifestyle outdoors, enjoy the pool, and the woods, without retribution. I can’t just provide their names as an alibi. Couldn’t you help me with an alibi for the police?”

“What could I tell them?”

“Anything but the truth. Once it’s written down in their files I’m sure it will get out. I love my work Kat, and this university. Help save me?”

She agreed to try. Her mental gears churning as she drove home considering options in dealing with Burrows. It wasn’t till she was miles from the park and campus that she suspected someone was following her. It was after midnight now, and cars on these old country roads were few and far between. Why, of all times, hadn’t she remembered to recharge her cell phone?

Her normal curiosity was overridden with fear as she tried to contrive ways to lose the person. Heading home didn’t seem a safe alternative. She attempted to press the accelerator slowly, gaining speed, but recognized that her anxiety was overriding her common sense as she watched the speedometer rise way past the safe limit for these roads.

Fear bubbled up in her throat like bile. “Was he still there? Who could it be? What did he want?” The questions ricocheted in her mind as she struggled to control the car.

She realized she was just a quarter mile from the turnoff to Albright, and Connie and Jerry’s shop and home. They were always home this late at night. If she could speed up, wake them, and get safely inside, maybe it would discourage her follower. She attempted just that, skidding to a stop behind the shop and racing to their living quarters. Her banging on the back door instantly awakened their faithful dog, sleeping nearby, and he added to the racket with his sentinel bark. Jerry opened the door and she slipped in as a car drove quickly past. The shop blocked her view and she couldn’t see, but was certain it had been the car following her. She explained her fears to the Wynnes’. Though they encouraged her to call the police she demurred, knowing that they could do nothing. She hadn’t recognized the car or driver, and had no proof that anyone was even following her. She did agree to stay the night in their son Paulie’s old room.

Chapter 28

The amount of right slant tells how much the writer is willing to spontaneously show feelings, but even a moderate slant to the left shows an oppositional attitude toward the world in general. The more rightward, the more passion
.

“The Complete
Idiot’s Guide to Handwriting
Analysis” by Sheila Lowe

Though the hour was late after they left Kat’s, Nick followed G.
 
L. back to his place to trade information they hadn’t felt free to reveal to her. They settled down in G.
 
L.’s den with a couple of beers and a notepad. The dark paneled walls, bare of decoration, provided an appropriately somber setting for their discussion. Nick was displeased, though not surprised, to hear about Kat’s other threatening note.

G.
 
L. reported Kat’s visit to Maria and Carlos’s hate-filled demeanor upon seeing her leave.

Nick paced, Yuengling in hand, as they dissected alternative plans. He stopped abruptly in front of G.
 
L. “Okay, let’s switch around. You need to be free to do some investigating. Can you and your men stay on Carlos round the clock? I’ll fill in Burrows and keep track of Kat, God-willing.” His friend nodded agreement, grateful to be off the Kat detail. She moved around too much for his peace of mind. He also wanted to check out Carlos’s garage. He’d glimpsed a second car in there but hadn’t had time to investigate, since he needed to follow Kat. Nick took his leave, vowing to call Kat before dawn to invite himself to breakfast. She might balk at the early hour but wouldn’t turn down the chocolate confections he intended to use for a bribe.

Morning brought more confidence
to Kat and just after dawn she headed home. Jerry Wynne insisted on following her safely to her door and checking out the house before she entered. Kat felt sure she could handle any problems but knew Jerry needed to feel helpful. She had to admit having someone there made her feel a little more secure. A more serious concern was when to tell Nick and Richard, and exactly how much to conceal.

The blinking light on her answering machine glowed in the dark room as she locked up after Jerry. She’d cleared her messages yesterday. The light meant someone had been calling her very late last night or early this morning. She knew it brought bad news. Nothing at that time of day could be good. She listened to a series of messages, each with more rising urgency than the last. The final message had the most impact, with Nick shouting, “You’d better be a heavy sleeper. I’m worried sick. I’ve been calling for hours. I’m heading over there now.”

Sheesh! It was only eight a.m. and a Saturday. Didn’t he have any common decency? Could she claim she’d been sleeping? Should she? She raced to the shower as she debated it, pulling her sweatshirt over her head as she ran. He’d probably be here any minute. He didn’t have a key to the house but he sounded angry enough to break down the front door. The last thing she needed was Nick banging on the bathroom door. After sleeping in her clothes and yesterday’s makeup, it was a better choice than having him find her looking like yesterday’s spaghetti.

The shower, though invigorating, gave her time for second thoughts. With the hot spray came doubts. She’d just done something pretty stupid in meeting Abner. She should also be cautious with Nick. He’d never revealed much of his background. She’d never bothered to investigate. Now that President Ludlow was back maybe she could discreetly inquire about Nick.

First she needed to talk her way through this confrontation with Nick. As she reached for the towel and rushed through the rest of her preparations she realized she felt guilt at even considering Nick could be involved in a murder. On one level they seemed much more than friends. How could she feel that way and still suspect him of something?

She finished drying her hair just as the doorbell rang, and rang, and rang. “Must be Nick,” she joked, trying to lighten her mood. Maybe the lighthearted approach with a plea of insanity and a ply for pity would work. First, she could find out what had him so frazzled that he was calling before dawn.