Poison Ivy (4 page)

Jodi closed her notebook. “Thanks, Mrs. T.”

“How do you like your graduate advisor?” Victoria asked after Jodi had stowed books and notes into her backpack and was about to leave.

“Professor Chadwick? She's great. I call her Roberta now. You know her, don't you, Mrs. T?”

“By reputation only. I've never met her.”

“She's never married. She says her students are her children.”

“I saw your boys this morning at the school bus stop. They have lovely manners.”

“Thanks. Jonah can be kind of strict with them, but he wants them to grow up right.” She buckled the straps on the backpack. “Roberta is just wonderful. She's interested in my research on signing, and asks lots of questions that get me thinking in new directions.”

“I'm glad she's giving you that kind of support.”

“It's exciting, Mrs. T. You know, I dropped out of school in eighth grade, got into drugs, married a loser, had three kids, got divorced, got clean, met Jonah, and had Matthew. Jonah made me get my high school equivalency.”

“I'm not sure I could pass the test.”

“It was pretty hard. Then Dr. Wilson, Thackery Wilson, encouraged me to get my degree at Ivy Green College, and”—she flung out her arms—“Ta, dah! The rest is history. Here I am. Thinking graduate degree and a future.”

“Wonderful,” said Victoria. “Thackery Wilson tells me you're setting an example for the college, a pioneer.”

“Well, anyway. Roberta Chadwick. I just love her. She's almost like a big sister.” Jodi hoisted her heavy backpack onto her shoulder. “I gotta go. And let you get back to work. Again, thanks a million, Mrs. T.”

*   *   *

The day after the decomposed body was identified as Professor Harlan Bliss, the Ivy Green College Oversight Committee convened an emergency session to appoint a new member to replace the deceased professor.

Five of the six remaining members of the committee, known as IGCOC, had come over on the eleven-thirty ferry from Woods Hole. On the ferry, they discussed, at length and with no consensus, the meaning to them of the untimely death of Professor Bliss. They were now walking the short distance from the ferry dock to the Ivy Green campus.

Hammermill Jones and Dedie Wieler, both brisk walkers, had outdistanced the other three professors.

“It's good to get away from the university for a few hours,” said Dedie Wieler, assistant professor of engineering and the lone female on the oversight committee, which she privately called BIGCOCK.

“Frankly, Dedie,” said Hammermill Jones, professor of business administration, “this college is a joke. A waste of our valuable time.”

Hammermill was a thickset man, six foot one, a former linebacker for the University of Arkansas Razorbacks. Dedie, also six foot one, had been a rower at Williams College. Unlike Hammermill, she had kept herself in shape.

“It seems to me, Hammermill, this college is doing exactly what I, for one, dreamed of when I went into teaching. Making higher education available to everyone.”

“At the risk of sounding politically incorrect, my dear Dedie, not everyone deserves a higher education. This so-called college”—he gestured in the direction they were walking—“Ivy Green whatever, is wasting your time, my time, and your ‘everyone's' time and money. Raising unrealistic expectations.”

Because she had less than one year to go before facing the dreaded tenure committee, Dedie said nothing further. Hammermill might be on that committee, she couldn't be sure. She had already alienated two of the six men in the engineering department, both of whom had dismissed her teaching as being populist. Over the past six years her students had awarded her the highest marks the Division of Engineering Science had ever recorded.

Dedie was so intent on Hammermill's attempt to out-walk her, that she didn't pay much attention to the view of the harbor to their right. The golden September day had brought out a fleet of boats ranging from day sailors to schooners, white butterflies on the brilliant blue harbor.

At the outskirts of town, a road led off to their left. Hammermill sucked in his gut. Dedie assumed to catch his breath. “We take a left here on Greenleaf,” he stated.

“Yes, I know, Hammermill.” Dedie turned and looked back. The others were lagging behind a full two blocks. “Let's wait for them.” Despite her feelings for Hammermill, she didn't want him to have a heart attack on her account.

“They know the way.” Hammermill held up a hand to an SUV that was heading toward West Chop, and when the vehicle stopped, strode across in front of it. The driver beckoned to Dedie as well. She waved thanks and hurried across, embarrassed and annoyed that Hammermill had halted traffic, namely a lone car, for his own convenience.

When they reached the other side of the street she said, “I was thinking we should present a united front to Dr. Wilson, the college president.”

Hammermill snorted. But he stopped, sighed as though it was Dedie who needed the rest stop, folded his massive arms across his chest, crossed one thick ankle over the other, and leaned on a nearby stone wall.

The three laggards eventually caught up.

The slight man with a pencil-thin white mustache who was in the lead said, with a touch of sarcasm, “Thank you for waiting.” He was Professor Phillip Bigelow, chair of IGCOC and a tenured professor of American military history. “You two taking a power walk?”

“Something like that,” said Dedie.

The full committee hiked the remaining block to the college at a more sensible pace.

Thackery was waiting for them on the porch of Catbriar Hall. “Nice to see you again, Professor Bigelow.” They shook hands, and Thackery nodded to the other committee members. He wore a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches over a black turtleneck, collegiate looking, but too warm for the summery weather. “Sorry it's under such unfortunate circumstances.”

“You remember the other members of the committee, of course,” said Professor Bigelow. “Dedie Wieler is with the engineering department, Dr. Hammermill Jones is professor of business administration, Dr. Noah Sutterfield is associate professor with the department of African-American studies, and Dr. Cosimo Perrini is professor of romance languages.”

Dedie stepped forward and stuck out her hand. “I'm Dr. Wieler, Dr. Wilson. “Assistant professor of engineering. We met last month at the August IGCOC meeting.” She'd almost put the
B
in front of the acronym.

*   *   *

Thackery said, “Shall we go into Catbriar Hall? A light lunch is laid out. Sandwich makings and fruit.”

“We don't have a great deal of time,” said Professor Bigelow, checking his watch. He stepped up onto the wide porch and the others joined him. “Why don't you give us a quick report on the unfortunate circumstances of Professor Bliss's demise before we go inside.”

“There's not a great deal to say,” said Thackery. “Professor Bliss had been dead for some time.”

“My understanding is that his death was dated to around the time of our last meeting,” said Professor Bigelow. “Mid-August.”

“Correct,” said Thackery. “His body was found in the cellar under the new part of this building.”

“I assume the police are working on the case?”

Thackery nodded. “The state police want to interview the committee members today.”

“Please ask them to get here as soon as possible.” Professor Bigelow darted his small pointed tongue out and in again. “We'd like to leave no later than the three-forty-five ferry. Earlier, if possible.”

Thackery glanced around to see if there was someone to whom he could delegate the summoning of the police, but Linda was out sick again and the only class that was meeting now was Mrs. Trumbull's. She was sitting in a green resin lawn chair and her class was gathered around her on that singular patch of green grass. He heard a burst of laughter, then another.

“We'll be discussing the appointment of Professor Bliss's replacement on the committee,” said Professor Bigelow. “You needn't be present, Thackery. After that, we'll call on you to give us a full report on the new semester, your faculty, your courses, and your facilities.”

Thackery flushed at the polite dismissal. He took out his blue-bordered handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “Before I call the police, I'll go in with you to make sure everything is in order, then I'll let you have your privacy.”

He opened the door. A faint unpleasant odor that the cleaners hadn't been able to eradicate hung in the air. Professor Bigelow wrinkled his nose. “If you don't mind, Thackery, we'd prefer to meet in a different venue.”

Thackery led the IGCOC committee to Woodbine Hall where he made his call to the police, fussed around a bit, finding chairs and setting up a card table.

“Walter will bring the luncheon here to Woodbine Hall. Actually, this will be more convenient as this building has kitchen facilities. Is there anything else you need?”

The group of five stood awkwardly in the middle of the former living room.

“Thank you, Thackery, that will be all,” said Professor Bigelow.

Feeling more like servant than college president, Thackery bowed slightly, marched with dignity to the front door, and closed it gently behind him.

 

C
HAPTER
5

Hammermill was first to speak. “They call this a college? We're supposed to waste our time overseeing this?” He waved a hammy hand around the room with its wallpaper of faded pink roses on a pale blue background, the stained ceiling, the cracked windowpane.

Professor Noah Sutterfield, a tall man with cropped white hair, a white mustache, and ebony-black skin, spoke up. “Many of our leaders were educated in one-room schools, Hammermill. I endorse Dr. Wilson's efforts to bring higher education to those who couldn't otherwise afford it.”

Professor Bigelow rapped his knuckles with an ineffectual thump on the padded plastic surface of the card table. “Your attention, please. We're not discussing the merits of this educational institution. Cape Cod University appointed our committee to provide oversight. Period. Academic standards, faculty credentials, student qualifications, and facilities condition.” He pulled up one of the mismatched chairs and sat down. “Be seated, please.”

“Where is Professor Cash?” asked Dedie. “He missed the August meeting, too.”

“He's teaching a field course,” said Hammermill Jones.

“His field course is in Death Valley,” said Dedie. “He'd hardly take a class into Death Valley in August and September. That's why it's called Death Valley.”

Hammermill puffed up slightly, and turned away. “My dear Dedie…” he said and didn't finish.

Professor Bigelow slapped his hands on the tabletop again. “We can't waste time discussing nonessentials. We have a quorum and we need to name a replacement for Professor Bliss.”

Cosimo Perrini, a shy, pale man with rimless glasses, crossed himself. “Bless him,” he murmured. He was wearing sandals and a blue seersucker suit over a white T-shirt.

“Thank you, Cosimo,” said Professor Bigelow. “Any suggestions as to a successor?”

Dedie Wieler piped up immediately. “Dr. Petrinia Paulinia Kralich, mathematics.”

The tip of Professor Bigelow's tongue protruded as he noted the name on the white pad in front of him. “Other suggestions?” He glanced around.

“Ms. Kralich is a mathematician. No experience in overseeing anything,” snorted Hammermill Jones.

“
Dr.
Kralich,” Dedie corrected.

“We are listing names at this point, Hammermill,” said Professor Bigelow. “We'll go over qualifications once we've done that. Any other suggestions?”

“Dr. Kamil Chatterjee of the sociology department,” said Noah Sutterfield.

Bigelow noted that and looked up again. “Others?”

“Ron Smith of the Department of Psychology.”

This went on until Professor Bigelow had a list of eight names. “If there are no other nominations, we'll go down the list and discuss the qualifications of each.

The list was narrowed down to Dr. Petrinia Paulinia Kralich and Dr. Kamil Chatterjee.

“We already have one female on the committee,” said Hammermill. “And one black.”

“Dr. Chatterjee is not black,” said Professor Sutterfield. “He's a person of color.”

Dedie stood up and leaned both hands on the rickety card table. “One female! If we're going by quotas, the committee should have three of us, at the very least.”

“Please,” said Professor Bigelow, patting the table. “We are looking for qualified persons regardless of gender, race, religion, or sexual preference.”

“Baloney,” said Dedie. “One token female. One token black.” Her voice was louder than she'd intended.

Professor Sutterfield held his hand up to his mouth so only Dedie could hear. “Tenure,” he whispered.

“Oh, shit,” said Dedie and sat down.

*   *   *

Victoria was still sitting in the green resin chair making notes when Jodi approached. Victoria looked up. “Hello, Jodi. I didn't realize you were still here.”

“Yeah, well, I should've thought of this before.”

Today Jodi was wearing cut-off jeans with ragged legs that stopped above her knees. Her midriff T-shirt exposed yet another gold ring in her navel, and the missing sleeves gave Victoria an opportunity to examine the tattoos.

Jodi continued, “I got back to the parking lot and I thought, you know, I go right by your house on my way to the college. I can, like, give you a lift to class, if you don't mind riding in my Jeep.”

She crossed her arms, and a colorful corn snake writhed around a vine. Or possibly a coral snake. The two had similar markings.

“Thank you,” said Victoria, looking away from the tattoos. “That would be wonderful.”