Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel (42 page)

Lindsay shook her head. "No, it isn't. In his dream Luke
wore a red cape. `Red' again. Gloria may have mentioned
something about red, too. Maybe the arsenic that makes the
red color is part of the formula. Hercules had a poisoned
cape. Suppose she knew that and it was on her mind?"

"That still doesn't help Luke."

"It might. Why would he tell about the dream? He
would feel uneasy just mentioning the name Hercules if he
had read Gloria's stuff and tried it out. Maybe Gloria was
going to tell me she thought the whole thing was a tragic
accident on Shirley's part. First, I have to establish whether
Shirley knew Gloria. But that shouldn't be hard."

"You're looking for a coat that ignites, not one that poisons," Sinjin reminded her. "However, I would like to see
Gloria Rankin's formula. I'll go with you tomorrow."

Lindsay felt good when she arrived at work-optimistic.
So when she found the letter on her desk and ripped it open,
she was unprepared for the contents.

"Dear Dr. Chamberlain," it read. "Unfortunately, we
have decided not to renew your contract for the coming
year." Lindsay read no farther. She wadded up the paper
and threw it across her office. She bit her lip, determined not to let the tears that were already starting to sting her
eyes spill over. She would bite through her lower lip if necessary, but she wouldn't let anyone see her cry.

Sinjin stood leaning against the wall by the door, watching her. "What is it?"

"Pink slip," she managed to say.

"Oh, Lindsay," he said, starting to come to her. Lindsay
stood up, her body stiff and her chin out. He stopped.

"Probably Einer's handiwork. I'm sure he's furious
about my visit yesterday. I'll bet all the other untenured
faculty got renewals today. Separating me out would be his
style. I have to take some student records to the main
office. When I come back, we'll go to Park Hall."

"You all right?"

Lindsay looked him in the eye. "I'm fine."

She scooped up a couple of folders from her desk and
walked upstairs to the office. Most everyone must have
known, because they all were reluctant to meet her eyes.
Trey was there. He greeted her sheepishly, looking guilty.
His contract must have been renewed, she thought. She
gave the file folders to Edwina, who smiled sweetly at her.
Lindsay smiled back and went into Frank's office.

"Lindsay, sit down," he said.

She closed the door behind her and sat in the chair by his
desk.

"Einer called me this morning, gloating, so I knew what
the letter said before it was brought over. I put it on your
desk rather than in your box." Frank's blue eyes were kind.
"I'm going to talk to the dean," he said.

"I don't think it will do any good, but I appreciate your
willingness to try."

"Lindsay, if you hadn't ..." He didn't finish.

"Frank, it wouldn't have made a bit of difference. I'm
glad he acted out of spite. It makes things easier for me."

"What do you mean?" He looked wary.

"I hope you don't think I'm just going to go home and
lick my wounds."

"No, Lindsay, I would never think that."

She rose to leave. "Don't worry about me. I'll land on
my feet."

Lindsay and Sinjin walked to Park Hall. They crossed
the street where the faded X's marked the place where
Gloria Rankin had lain, had passed LeConte, and had
walked across to Park.

"What are you going to do about your job?" asked
Sinjin.

"I don't know. I told Frank I'm not going to take it lying
down, but in reality there's not a lot I can do."

"What are you going to do about a new job?"

"I've been toying with the idea of being a full-time consultant. Maybe become a garage archaeologist."

"Garage archaeologist?"

"Work out of my home. You know, respond to a few bids
on salvage archaeology jobs."

"Will that pay the bills?"

"I don't know. I don't really want to move, but I may
have to. We'll see."

Lindsay went straight to Gloria's old office and knocked
on the door. Theodora was there reading an article; in fact
she looked like she hadn't moved since Lindsay's last visit.
She didn't look glad to see Lindsay.

"I would like to take a look at Gloria Rankin's thesis.
Would you mind?"

Theodora shrugged. "Go ahead."

Lindsay took the thesis from the bookshelf and sat at
Gloria's desk. Sinjin pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
She flipped to the abstract. The thesis combined Gloria's
interests in chemistry and classics. Lindsay looked at the
review of literature first.

"She mentions Shirley Foster," Sinjin said.

Lindsay whispered so she wouldn't disturb Theodora.
"Shirley is prominent in her field. If Gloria wrote about
textiles at all, she would have to mention Shirley's work. It
doesn't mean she knew her."

Gloria's literature review described two legends whose
primary characters suffer very similar deaths. One was the
legend of Hercules, the other of Glauce, the Corinthian
princess who met her death at the hands of the sorceress
Medea.

"His cloak wasn't poisoned," whispered Lindsay. "It
caught fire."

According to the account by Sophocles, wrote Gloria,
Hercules shot the centaur Nesus with an arrow dipped in
the poisonous blood of the Hydra. Seeking revenge, the
clever dying centaur Nesus told Hercules's wife how to
make a love potion by collecting some of the centaur's
blood and mixing it with oil. The potion was to be kept in a
sealed jar. If Hercules ever were to fall in love with anyone
besides his wife, she was to weave him a cloak and treat it
with the potion. Once the cloak was treated, she must keep
it in a box and allow neither sun nor heat nor water nor
anyone but Hercules to touch it.

The potion was not a love potion at all, of course, but a
deadly concoction. And as these legends often go, Hercules did fall for another woman, and his wife sent him the
magic cloak that supposedly would bring him back to her.
To the great surprise and dismay of everyone, except the
centaur's spirit, when Hercules put on the cloak sent to
him by his wife, his perspiration caused it to burst into
flames, burning his skin and boiling his blood. He tried to
rip off the cloak, but by this time it had become part of his
flesh. He jumped into water, but then the fire burned even
hotter. Finally, Hercules could no longer take the pain, and
he lay down on a burning altar. There he was consumed
and his spirit rose to Olympus.

"Never trust a dying centaur," Sinjin said.

The death of Hercules, wrote Gloria, was almost identical to the fate of Glauce as described by Euripides. Jason,
husband of Medea, fell in love with Glauce. Medea treated
a gown with a potion that was like liquid fire. She sent the
gown to Glauce in an airtight container. When Glauce put
on the gown, she immediately burst into flames. The gown
clung to her skin, and she sought water from a fountain, but
the flames grew hotter, killing Glauce and eventually burning down the palace.

One scholar identified critical similarities of the events
in the two myths. A garment treated with a potion had to be
sealed in a container that kept it from water, heat, and air.
The garment was to be given only to the one for whom it
was intended, and only they could touch it. When donned,
the garment burst into flames, melted into the skin, and
water caused the flame to burn hotter. She also identified
chemicals she believed were used.

"Jeez," said Sinjin, "that does sound exactly like what
happened to Shirley Foster."

Lindsay flipped to the methodology chapter, which went
on to describe Gloria's experiments with different substances suggested by Mayor and chemicals she added herself, all of which, she said, were used in the dyeing and
cleaning of ancient fabrics. When describing her results,
Gloria stated that she would list the chemicals involved in
the process but would not reveal the critical amounts, nor
would she reveal the exact steps in treating the fabric.

"That means whoever used her formula probably knew
her and got the formula from her," Lindsay said. "They
didn't get it from her thesis." Lindsay moved her finger
down the pages, looking for the list of substances that Gloria
finally came up with. "Here." She pointed to the list of the
major ingredients. "Mainly sulfur, quicklime, and bitumen.
Interesting, Lila Poole talked about fire and brimstone. Isn't brimstone sulfur? I wonder if that's what she smelled."

Sinjin stared at the page a long moment. "It might work.
Add water and you could get spontaneous combustion from
the quicklime," he whispered. "More water would make it
worse. As it burned, you'd create sulfuric acid, which
would dissolve human tissue. The petroleum would add
fuel and give the substance clinging properties. You could
make something mean with that. I'm glad she didn't publish the exact process in her thesis. Who would know the
exact process? Wouldn't her committee have to?"

"Yes," Lindsay said, "they would have to know that she
really did the work before they would sign off. This is a
master's thesis, so there are probably three faculty members on her committee. But she could have told anyone she
trusted, and they might have told other people." She
paused. "So, water would ignite something like this?"

"Possibly, but I think you'd need a heat source to set it
off, something like the heat from the sun, or a campfire, or
a fireplace. Then the water would act as a catalyst and
make the fire hot and uncontrollable."

"Wouldn't the fabric smell suspicious after being treated
with those chemicals?" Lindsay asked.

"Yes, but it could have smelled like cleaning fluid or
mothballs. Both are derived from hydrocarbons, which is
what bitumen is. This is similar to the problem you get with
storing oily rags in the basement, only you never know
when oily rags are going to spontaneously combust. Gloria
figured out how to make it quicker and perhaps more controlled. But she still needed an ignition source."

"Smart girl," Lindsay said.

"Yeah, but apparently it was the death of her."

"If it weren't for Gloria's death, I'd think Shirley's death
might have been an accident that she brought on herself. I
believe that if she read this thesis, she would want to try
these formulas. It's the kind of thing she would do. I wonder if Gloria's death could have been just an accident. The
bruise was very small, and the umbrella is just suggestive."

"What are you going to do with this information?"
asked Sinjin.

"Give it to the medical examiner. Maybe he can run tests
for these particular chemicals in Shirley's remains," she
said.

Lindsay looked up and Theodora was staring at them.
Lindsay grinned at her. "Thanks for letting us look at the
thesis."

"Sure," she said, not taking her eyes off them.

"I think that's all I need. I won't trouble you again."

"Good." She watched them put the thesis back on the
shelf and go out the door.

"I think we may have upset her," said Sinjin.

"Yeah, I think so."

Students were gathered outside Lindsay's office when she
returned: Sally, Brandon, Liza, Bobbie, Bethany, and
Robin.

"We heard," Brandon said.

"It's not fair," added Bethany.

"You are going to protest, aren't you?" Bobbie asked.

"We're going to write a letter to the dean," Sally said.

"I appreciate your support, I really do. I won't take it
lying down, but don't expect them to change their minds.
Bureaucrats don't often do that."

"This is just spite," Bobbie said. "Surely the administration won't let it happen."

"It was the dean himself and not Einer who signed the
letter," said Lindsay. "There is more to it than just spite."

They all turned just as Gerri Chapman rounded the
corner. She stopped abruptly, frozen by the hostile stares.
"I'll come back," she said.

"No," said Lindsay, gesturing toward her open door. "Please, I want to talk to you." The students stepped aside,
giving her a path, but not a wide one. Gem looked as if she
were running a gauntlet. She almost jumped inside when
she reached the door. "Excuse us," said Lindsay as she
closed the door.

Inside, Gem looked even more uncomfortable. Lindsay
had a good six inches in height on her. "Listen," said Gerri,
running a hand through her auburn curls, "I know what you
are going to say."

"Did you take my letter opener?"

"What?" Gem stared at Lindsay open-mouthed.

"When you were in my office the other day, did you take
my silver letter opener?"

"Letter opener? What are you talking about? No, of
course not. Is that what you brought me in here for?"

"Do you know Ellis Einer?"

"No, should I?"

"Who is Lewis's backer on campus? It's not Einer?"

"No, it's the dean-and the vice president of the university. The vice president and 'Cisco were at Oxford together.
I don't know any Einer."

Gerri looked as if she were telling the truth. Either she
was a good actress, or she was genuinely baffled by Lindsay's questions.

"And what are you doing down here? Come to measure
my windows for curtains?"

"I know you must feel bitter," Gerri said.

"Bitter? No. Mostly puzzled, but I'm working it out,"
Lindsay said.

"I just came to tell you that we can give you a lot of consulting work," said Gerri.

"Consulting work? You're kidding, right?"

"No. I have no ill will toward you. With everything that's
going on, I know it will take you a while to find another job."

"What do you know about what's going on?"

"I know about the cloud you're under because of the
missing artifacts."

"You wouldn't, by any chance, have been making those
clouds, would you?"

"No, I'm trying to be friends. I know this is hard for
you. I'm trying to make it easier."