The Skeleton Takes a Bow (A Family Skeleton Mystery) (5 page)

I still had a few minutes before students started showing up, so when I heard movement from next door, I knocked on the adjoining door. Charles answered as promptly as if he’d been waiting for me.

“Dr. Thackery, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’d like to consult you about something, if you’ve got a minute.”

“Of course.”

“A grad student I know got a letter from a group called the Sechrest Foundation. They’re inviting people to apply for grants for conferences. Have you ever heard of them?”

“Had you asked me just a few hours ago, I would have answered in the negative, but just today Dr. Goodwin mentioned that she’d received a similar letter.”

“She’s in your department, isn’t she?”

Charles nodded. “Her period is Colonial America.”

“Interesting. My friend is in anthro, and she says grad students in other departments got letters, too. You didn’t get one, did you?”

“Not as of today. And you?”

I shook my head. “Maybe it’s a new foundation. Is Dr. Goodwin going to call them?”

“She wasn’t sure—like your friend, she was hoping to learn more about the organization first.”

“We’re a cautious bunch, aren’t we? Let me know if you hear anything else about them, okay?”

“With pleasure.”

There was a knock on the other door to my office, the one leading to the hallway. “Students await,” I said. “Any bets on how many will be asking for extra credit?” There were always students who spent more time begging extra credit than they would have spent doing a decent job on the original assignments.

“This late in the semester . . .” He rubbed his chin speculatively. “I would venture forty percent, plus or minus five percent.”

“I’m betting it’ll be more like sixty, but that’s only because I saw the last batch of grades. Whoever is furthest away brings doughnuts tomorrow?”

“It’s a wager.”

We shook hands, and I went on to my meetings. When the last student left, I told Charles that I wanted mine chocolate iced, with sprinkles.

M
adison must have been hungry that night. By the time I got home, she had thawed out some stew we’d frozen a couple of weeks back and had rice ready to serve. She hadn’t done anything with the salad fixings that had also been intended for the night’s meal, but I wasn’t about to criticize her. It might discourage her from doing it again.

I was glad when Sid joined us at the table, even though I knew he’d be slipping illicit scraps to Byron again, because it was the first chance I’d had to talk to him about what he’d overheard at PHS. I had checked my phone several times during the day, and there had been no messages, but since he’d promised to text only in case of emergency, I still had high hopes. “So what was the scoop at school today? Did you hear anything?”

“I heard so much I was afraid I’d forget stuff,” he said. “Tomorrow I’m taking a pad and pencil with me.”

“Well?”

“First off, Dante and Mina broke up.”

“You’re kidding!” Madison said. “They were such a cute couple.”

“I know, right? But she said he wasn’t paying enough attention to her. She texted him Friday night, and he didn’t reply until Saturday morning, so she knows he was out with somebody else.”

“Maybe he went over his texting limit.”

“The perennial problem of the age,” I put in.

Sid went on. “No, because he texted Nikko Saturday afternoon to check on a homework assignment, which proves he still had minutes. So she texted him that night and broke up.”

“That’s harsh!” Madison said. “The least she could do was to break up in person.”

“It gets worse,” he said. “They were both invited to a party Saturday night, and she took another guy.”

“You’re kidding! Did Dante freak?”

“He would have, but he was with Rhonda. So apparently he was seeing her all along.”

“Wow,” Madison said. “What else?”

“Tristan wants to quit the softball team because he really doesn’t like it and he feels tired all the time trying to keep up the schedule, but his father says he needs a sport on his high school resume to get into college.”

“Mom! Do I need a sport?”

“You have drama and choral ensemble, plus a part-time job with your aunt and good grades. You’re fine.”

“That’s what I wanted to tell Tristan,” Sid said, “but under the circumstances . . .”

“Anything else?” I said impatiently.

“One of the teachers is sneaking out every chance she gets to smoke. I couldn’t see which one it was, but I could smell the smoke on her when she came back. Just tobacco, though.”

“That’s Ms. Gilstrap,” Madison said. “We all can smell it on her, so it’s no secret, and everybody knows she’s trying to quit.”

“Good for her. Anyway, that’s all I got while in the locker. When I was backstage I heard Becca on the phone telling somebody that she’s having second thoughts about casting Holly as Ophelia because she isn’t sure she’s up to it.”

“I could have told her that,” Madison muttered.

“And I didn’t see who it was, but somebody was doing some serious kissing in the dressing room while you guys were doing act four.”

“Really? Now I’ve got to think about who’s not in that act.”

“Excuse me,” I said, “though this is undoubtedly valuable information, can we focus on whether or not you heard anything that might apply to the murder?”

“Well, we don’t really know what could be important, do we?” Sid said defensively.

“Did any of the voices you heard sound like the murderer? Or the person who came to help the murderer get rid of the body?”

“No, not really.”

“Was there any mention of anybody being missing? Like a teacher or any other adult who didn’t come in to work?”

“No.”

“Then how likely is it that any of this gossip is meaningful?”

“It’s a lot more likely than a walking, talking skeleton.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Tell you what. Write it all up tonight so we can keep track of everything.”

“Can I create a spreadsheet? Or would a database be better? Maybe a word processing file with tags, or—”

“However you like.”

“Oh boy,” he said, rubbing his bony hands together in anticipation. Then he gave me a look. “You’re not just assigning this as busywork, are you?”

“Maybe a little, but the fact is we know so little now that we can’t afford to ignore anything. If you get it all down, we might find a pattern later.” I didn’t know if that made sense from an investigative perspective, but the technique had worked pretty well in the past when I was working on research papers.

“If nothing else,” Madison said, “it would be a great column for the school paper.”

From there, the conversation evolved into a discussion of the ethics of spreading gossip, even gossip confirmed by an impeccable source. By the time that was done, dinner was over, so after cleaning up, we headed for our respective computers: Madison to do homework, Sid to write up notes, and me to grade another couple of late homework papers and answer e-mail about the current week’s assignment. On the whole, I thought Sid had more fun than either Madison or I did.

M
onday set the pattern for the next couple of days. Each night at dinner Sid would regale us with the latest goings-on at PHS: shy flirtations, torrid romances, and dramatic breakups; tests failed, papers aced, and memes shared; teachers who blamed all their problems on the administration, administrators who blamed the students’ parents, parents who blamed teachers, and students who either blamed everybody else for everything or were sure everything was their own fault. It was entertaining, to be sure, but wasn’t really moving our investigation along.

Thursday morning I was considerably better dressed than my usual combo of slacks and a decent top or sweater because as soon as my class was over, Charles and I were going to head to the funeral of that adjunct who’d died. I’d tried to rise to the occasion by wearing a navy dress with a charcoal blazer and a pair of heels. Charles met me outside my classroom, and he took me up on my offer to drive.

Though he was perfectly polite on the way, and of course impeccably dressed for the funeral, Charles was not his usual buoyant self. I even wondered if Sara had gotten something right for a change. Maybe Charles and Patty Craft had been an item. Of course it wasn’t really my business, any more than it was Sara’s, but sadly I was just as curious as my office neighbor. I managed to restrain my curiosity until I’d had to ask Charles three times how many were expected at the services.

“Please forgive me, dear lady,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m preoccupied.”

“Don’t apologize. I know this is hard for you.” I hesitated, but then asked, “Were you and Patty very close?”

“In all honesty, not close at all until she became ill. We’d worked together, and were collegial, but I never spent that much time with her until her distressing diagnosis. It was then that I saw that many of her friends were drifting away, as happens when times are difficult. So I offered as much support as I could.”

“Charles, you are such a sweetie.”

“No, Georgia, it was not from sweetness or anything so noble. It was guilt. I’d known that Patty was starting to . . . Let us say that I saw that she was heading down the wrong path in her life, and I did nothing to stop her. Though her poor choices had nothing to do with her illness, I know she had regrets later, and she carried those regrets to her grave. My own regret is knowing that I failed to act.”

“Poor choices?” I prompted.

But he shook his head. “These are not my secrets to share. All I can tell you is that I hope that the next time I have an opportunity to intervene and prevent a friend or colleague from making a mistake, I shall do so immediately.”

I patted his hand in a way which I knew Sara would misinterpret, but which I knew Charles would understand. With most of my friends, I’d have followed up with a hug once we arrived at the funeral home, but Charles just wasn’t the hugging kind.

Given what he’d said about Craft’s family and circle of friends, I wasn’t surprised that the services were being held at the smallest chapel of the Spadina Funeral Home. Charles excused himself to go find his friend’s sister Phoebe as soon as we came in, but after I signed the guest book, I spotted several other adjuncts from McQuaid and we found an empty pew to sit in together.

None of us talked much—I gathered none of the others had known Patty Craft that well, and of course I’d never even met her. Soon enough the music started playing and the funeral director asked us to stand.

Charles was one of the pallbearers, and the coffin was followed by the saddest funeral party I’d ever seen: one lone woman, looking frazzled and confused in a dress that I guessed had been bought specifically for the funeral. She had to be the dead woman’s sister Phoebe, though as far as I could tell, she looked nothing like her sister. There was a blown-up photo of Patty Craft on a stand by the coffin, and the late adjunct’s features had been so delicate that, especially with her short, asymmetric haircut, she looked almost elfin.

The service was given by a pastor who clearly hadn’t known the deceased and who either hadn’t bothered or been able to find out enough about her. His words sounded as if they’d been cribbed from a rack of sympathy cards.

At least Charles was able to do his friend proud with his eulogy, speaking about her devotion to academia, her gifts as a teacher, and the courage with which she faced death. Probably everybody in that room knew that there was a good chance that the woman had killed herself, but she still sounded heroic when Charles pointed out how hard she’d worked to keep her job and to stay current with research in her field. Since I hadn’t really known her, I hadn’t expected to need the package of tissues in my purse, but I ended up using several and sharing the rest with my colleagues.

At the end of the services, the funeral director announced that there would be no graveside service, because the remains were being cremated according to the wishes of the deceased, and invited us to join the family for refreshments in the room next door.

The receiving line was just the sister Phoebe with Charles staying by her side to introduce those people he knew. I offered my condolences without explaining that I hadn’t even met the deceased. I’d have left after that, but I was Charles’s ride and he didn’t look as if he was going to be leaving anytime soon.

So I made a beeline for the refreshment table. There’s something about awkward social situations that makes me crave salty snacks and sweets. At least eating chips and dip and fudge brownies gave me something to do with my hands.

I joined a couple of McQuaid adjuncts, who introduced me to a trio of adjuncts from other New England colleges. We all nodded cordially. There was no secret handshake for adjuncts, but we generally tried to play nice because chances were that sometime over the course of our careers, we’d be sharing the adjunct lifestyle at the same college.

We talked a little shop, and eventually Charles finished with his self-appointed duties and joined us. He knew all the adjuncts present—he’d been making the rounds even longer than I had and was better at maintaining networks.

After he made sure everybody had been introduced, a sharp-nosed brunette named Dolores said, “Did Bert not even show up? I know he and Patty broke up, but they lived together for, what, three years? The least he could do was show up at her funeral. Or did he not know she’d died?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Charles said, “but I did my best to inform him. I left a voice-mail message for him and sent an e-mail, but he never responded. I understand he’s been job hunting, and he may have relocated, so perhaps my contact information is out of date. I haven’t attempted to stay in touch with him.”

I was surprised by that last comment. Charles stayed in touch with everybody—he’d probably keep in touch with Sara if they ever worked for different universities. For him to drop a colleague told me that the guy must be a real loser. Or maybe he was one of the fair-weather friends who’d deserted Patty Craft when she became ill.

“That’s right—I forgot that his career had nose-dived,” the brunette said with a smirk. “He’s teaching high school. Can you imagine? Reading ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation’ and ‘My Favorite Character in
Romeo and Juliet
’ essays?” She actually tittered.

I shouldn’t have, but I’ve met a lot of Madison’s teachers over the years, and I had a lot of respect for the vast majority of them. So I said, “I know, right? I mean, why would anybody give up the halls of academe to take a job with sick days and health insurance? Where you get your own permanent classroom instead of a shared office? And you know his brain will just rot without having to write all those research grant proposals and rushing articles out the door so he can make quota. Who wants all summer off anyway?”

The brunette blinked, and I saw a couple of the others hide grins.

After that, the conversation wandered a bit, mostly stories about how annoying college administrators could be, which was always a good topic for adjuncts. The room started to clear out, and finally Charles said, “I think it is time for us to take our leave. If you don’t mind, Georgia, I’d like to have another word with Patty’s sister.”

The woman was standing by herself with a cup of coffee in one hand, looking more awkward than mournful.

“We must be going,” Charles said. “Please do let me know if there’s any assistance I can offer in your time of need.”

“Thank you, Charles,” she said, “but I couldn’t ask you for anything else.”

“Then there is something else?”

She looked embarrassed. “I was going to go to Patty’s place today to pack up her things, but I won’t be able to take much back with me on the plane, and I’m not sure what to do with the rest. I’d like to ship things to my house, but my flight leaves tomorrow before the post office opens.”

“I would be honored to help with both packing and any necessary shipping.”

She made a token attempt to refuse, but I could see how relieved she was—apparently there was nobody else she could ask. They made arrangements to meet at the dead woman’s apartment that afternoon.

She did make one last protest, saying, “Are you sure you don’t mind? You’ve done so much already! I mean, helping with the funeral and all. I couldn’t have afforded to do things nice like this.”

“Think nothing of it. We took up a collection at the university to raise funds, so it’s really all of Patty’s friends and colleagues who have helped.”

“Really?” she said. “That’s so nice. I know adjuncts don’t make much money and—”

The funeral director approached discreetly, and we said our good-byes and let them finish their business.

“Jeez, Charles,” I said, “you didn’t tell me you were passing the hat. Is it too late for me to add to the pool?”

“It’s all covered,” he said.

“What about the flowers and—”

“All covered.”

I looked at him. “Charles, did you pay for this out of your own pocket?”

He held the door open for me. “It’s turning out to be a lovely day, don’t you think?”

That was all the answer I needed, and I resolved to have him over for dinner as often as I could manage for the foreseeable future. It wouldn’t make up for paying for a funeral, but I figured it was as much repayment as he’d accept. I did offer to help him over at his friend’s apartment, but was just as glad when he turned me down. Rifling through a dead stranger’s belongings didn’t sound like a good way to spend the day.

Instead I treated myself when I got back home and out of my good clothes. The house was empty except for me and Byron, so after I’d graded a couple of essays that had actually been turned in ahead of the next day’s due date, he and I curled up together on the couch and took a nice, long nap. It was terribly self-indulgent, but I would have been happy to nap longer if Madison and Sid hadn’t come bursting in.

Something had broken at last!