Medieval Murders (8 page)

14

R
ay spent Saturday in his office doing catch-up on the paperwork. It was the kind of task he hated. First he had to review and sign several dozen purchase orders. Then he read through and approved leave requests. And last he had to respond to dozens of memos, most coming via e-mail, many requiring a carefully written response. Without the interruptions of the normal workday, Ray was able to complete most of the work that had piled up as his attention had been directed at the investigation of the death of Sheila Bensen.It was early evening by the time he returned home. He settled on his deck with a microwave dinner and the
Times
, the sun low on the horizon. The sound of voices in the Chesterton’s yard indicated that the English Department party was already in full swing.

Ray was almost through the Op Ed section when he was startled by Stephanie’s sudden appearance out of the shadows.

“Are you coming over, or are you just going to sit here?”

“I thought maybe I’d sit here. I’m awfully tired and not feeling very social.”

“Come on Elkins, you’ve got to stop this. You can’t become a hermit. You’ve got to get on with your life.”

“I’d have to shower and shave and….”

“You look fine. If you want, you can throw on a sport coat, but even that isn’t necessary. You know how the men in the English department dress. Half of them won’t wear a coat. Come on.” Stephanie was behind his chair, pulling it back from the table and herding him into the house.

“I’ll get you a coat.” She disappeared into the house. Stephanie had been Ellen’s best friend and knew Elkins’s house almost as well as her own. He could visualize her marching into the bedroom, opening the walk-in closet, and looking through his sport coats, quickly rejecting most of them.

She reappeared with a blue, lightweight blazer.

Ray looked at it. “That’s fairly wrinkled.”

“It’s the best there is. Everything in there should be sent to the cleaners.” Pulling the coat off the hanger she said,

“Come on Elkins. You’ll look terrific in it.” She helped him into the jacket, then stood in front of him and straightened the collar. She kissed him, full on the mouth. “You’re a good man, Ray. Good men shouldn’t be wasted.” Taking him by the hand, she led him out of the house and across the lawn to her house. They pushed their way into the living room.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Scotch.”

Ray watched her fight to the bar. When she got back, she handed him two glasses and said, “Thought I better get you a couple of drinks while I was there.”

Elkins sipped one of the drinks. “This tastes like straight Scotch.”

“Shouldn’t ruin it with water. Besides, you’re behind the rest.”

Stephanie got a look of delight as she surveyed the crowd. “This party is something. Everyone comes, gets drunk, and forgets that they hate each other. I love seeing Clifford’s distinguished colleagues get all cleaned up and then act like a bunch of animals. Free food and booze makes them crazy.”

She pointed to two waiters, one clearing the way, the other carrying a large punch bowl filled with shrimp. Before they got to the serving table, people were reaching over and around one another, picking handfuls from the bowl. Eventually the waiters set the bowl on the table, but their retreat was made difficult because the crowd surged forward to snatch the last remnants from the bowl.“Note the blood frenzy,” continued Stephanie. “It’s common to sharks, piranhas, grizzly bears in heat, and down-at-the-heels humanities professors.”

“It’s quite astonishing.”

“The first few years I found this embarrassing, but now I’m amused.”

Reda Rudd slid her arm through Elkins’s and playfully bumped a hip against his. He noted that her party uniform was a far cry from her undergraduate, activist/editor garb. The Birkenstocks, T-shirt, and shorts had been replaced by a more sophisticated persona, chic and tailored. The Scotch was starting to hit. Elkins looked at the fashionable Reda, seeing her in a different way.

The sensation passed. Reda seemed to be with someone, older then her, but still quite young. She introduced the man, Gus Ginopolis, as a member of the English department. Over the noise he picked up bits and pieces of the conversation.

Stephanie liberated him from the triangle. With charm and skill she led him toward the kitchen. She was stopped along the way by a man who, in Italian, launched into a long, highly-animated speech; he was tall, thin, African-black, with James Baldwin eyes and hands that moved with each inflection. Stephanie rattled back in Italian; she smiled, but Elkins sensed that she was trying to extricate herself. She pulled someone new into the conversation, a woman—short, round, wrapped in brightly painted material, face layered with powder, chopsticks jutting from a gray-black bun. Once they’d started talking, she pulled Elkins away. He passed his drinks to a waiter.

From the kitchen, she guided him through the basement door. As they went down the steps Elkins asked, “Who were those people?

“Faculty. The woman’s Bobby Jo Hendrickson,” Stephanie replied.

Who was that man speaking Italian?”

“That was Seneca Carducci.”

“What does he do?”

She paused at the base of the steps and turned to him; she put her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “His dissertation was on the writers of the Harlem Renaissance. He was hired to expand an Afro-American lit program. But a few years after he got here he had a Fulbright in Italy. There he discovered—don’t ask me how—that his true ethnic heritage was Italian. When he came back he changed his name and refused to teach any more Black lit courses, saying he was being discriminated against. Now he says he’s a Dante and Nabokov specialist.”

“Interesting combination. And the Italian?”

“When he’s had a few drinks, he loses his capacity to speak English. He says that was the final proof—in his last life he was in Renaissance Italy. He’s sure he was a Medici. Always wears those black suits. The man is very taken with Italian gangsters—Italy, not Chicago. I know this all sounds crazy—being slightly drunk makes it more plausible.”

“No,” Elkins shook his head.

Stephanie opened a heavy door, pulled him forward and pushed it shut behind them. She turned off the lights. He saw rows of bottles on racks before the room went black. He felt her opening his shirt and running her hands over his chest. She pulled away from him, and then he felt her naked breasts, her tongue slowly sliding back and forth between his lips.

She pulled away. A few seconds later the lights went on and she was dressed, looking unruffled. He reached for her, but she moved beyond his grasp. Then she turned and buttoned his shirt.

“You have a nice chest,” she taunted.

“So do you.” Then the anger hit. “What the hell are you doing? This isn’t fair to me, it isn’t fair to....”

“Isn’t fair to whom...to Clifford? You know about us, he doesn’t care. To Ellen, she’s dead, Elkins. It’s been a year. You want me, and you don’t know how to deal with it.”

“But this kind of teasing...”

“I want to tease you. I want you to get angry. I haven’t seen any affect for months. I’m going to push you until I know you’re alive again.” She playfully slapped him a few times, two hands, one on each cheek.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along, turned and kissed him quickly at the top of the steps, and then said, “Come on, there’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

She guided him through the chaos, moving toward a group in the living room and extracted a woman—petite, attractive—from the group. Stephanie introduced them. “Jane, this is Ray Elkins, the man I told you about. Elkins, this is Jane Arden.” Stephanie tried to get a conversation going, but was pulled away by a member of the catering staff.

After a few minutes of trying to talk over the noise, Jane suggested they go out and get some air. She led the way toward the front door. They paused and looked into the library. Chesterton was holding court, a circle of junior faculty members hanging on every word.

They found the smokers in the front yard, clustered in small groups. Reda Rudd was standing off to the side with Father Bob. She motioned them over. Elkins noticed how she was standing, suggesting an intimacy between them that he wouldn’t have expected.

“Do you....” she gestured toward Father Bob.

“Yes, we’ve met.” They shook hands.

Elkins started to introduce Arden. She cut him off. “We’re all acquainted. Nice to see you again,” she said as she shook hands with Reda. “I’ve enjoyed reading your pieces in the
Daily.”

Reda turned to Elkins. “Is there anything new....”

Her question was cut off by a long horn blast from an eighteen-wheeler, the scream of rubber against cement, the report of metal against metal and exploding glass. As they turned in the direction of the sound, a small tongue of yellow flame began to illuminate the wreckage. Ray ran toward the entrance of the subdivision.

The scene was lit by the yellow flames. The crushed remnants of a small car were just behind the tractor wheels of a large truck. Burning fuel poured across the road into a ditch. A man in tan work clothes, his face lit by the flames, stood looking at the wreckage.

“Are you hurt?” asked Elkins

“There was nothing I could do. It ran the stop sign,” he yelled. The car was now a pillar of fire, there was no sign of its occupant.

Lights flashing, siren screaming, a sheriff’s car braked hard and came to a halt, headlights on the wreck. The deputy climbed out, pulled an extinguisher from his trunk, and emptied it on the blaze. Then the first fire engine rumbled to a stop. The crew, in full protective gear, jumped from the rig and deployed hoses, covered the burning vehicles with foam, the spotlights from their truck reflecting off their heavy coats, helmets, and facemasks. Several more emergency vehicles arrived on the scene before the fire was completely under control. Minutes ticked past and things started to slow down again. Ray kept hearing the name Bobby Jo Hendrickson repeated in the crowd of spectators that had formed behind him.

He gave his name as a witness to the accident to one of the deputies, and then walked through the crowd and in the direction of his house. The air was heavy with the smell of burning rubber, plastic, oil, gasoline, and flesh.

Later, as he was standing in the shower, trying to wash the stink of the fire from his body, he remembered Jane Arden. He had left her standing on the lawn with Reda Rudd and Father Bob. He wondered if he would ever see her again.

15

On Monday, Labor Day, Ray was in the office from mid-morning until late afternoon. On his way home he stopped at the health food store near central campus and picked up some fresh bread, two soft avocados, a lime, and some alfalfa sprouts in a plastic, cube-shaped container.

He laid out the ingredients on a cutting board. First, he quartered the lime, squeezed one of the quarters into a tall glass, added ice, and filled it to the top with quinine water. Then he halved both of the avocados, cutting to the pit and twisting the halves, one in each hand, until they came apart. He scraped the flesh away from the skin into a stainless steel mixing bowl. He squeezed lime juice from the remaining three quarters over the avocado. With a whisk, he mashed the pulp, mixing in the lime juice. Tasting the mixture with each addition, he sprinkled in salt, and garlic powder. The concluding touch was seven shakes of Frank’s Hot Sauce.

Using a serrated knife, he lopped the heel off the loaf, and then cut two thick slices, noting with satisfaction the thick crust. He spread part of the avocado mixture on one slice, added a layer of alfalfa sprouts and the second slice, and then cut the sandwich on the diagonal.

As Ray stood over the sink and ate the sandwich, he was startled by the sound of the door to the deck sliding open.

Stephanie stepped in. “What are you doing?”

“Dinner.”

“You should come over, we still have tons of leftovers. The accident brought the party to an end. You didn’t come back.”

“I went home. Didn’t feel like being social anymore.”

“But you must have seen that kind of thing before.”

“Too many times. I don’t need to do it again.”

“It’s Ellen, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve never really dealt with death before, have you? I mean, the death of someone you’re close to, someone you loved.”

“My father died a few years ago,” he offered.

“Important, but not the same. Your grief was not the same as your mother’s.”

Ray nodded.

“Do you know what you need?” she asked.

“What?”

“You need a woman.”

He reddened. Stephanie could feel his anger.

“Don’t say anything.” She cut him off before he could start. She knew what he was going to say. “I know how much you still hurt, and I know that you think this is too simple of a solution. But you’re never going to get through your grief if you don’t start seeing people. ”

Elkins made a sweeping motion with his hand in her direction. “We’re not alike.”

“True. You find me a bit outrageous, you might even think I’m a bit of a tramp, or you feel sorry for Clifford. Don’t. He’s a realist, and so am I. If he could be my lover, I wouldn’t be out there. He understands me and my needs. Other than sex, we have a workable marriage, more than most people.” She moved closer to him.

“Ray, you can take a lover without feeling guilty, and maybe it would get you back with the living.”

“When did you become my self-appointed….”

“We’ve known each other a long time. You’re bright and funny and a joy to be with, but since Ellen’s illness I’ve watched you pull in, and I don’t see signs you’re making any attempt to come out. I’ve appointed myself to kick you in the ass because I can’t stand extended grief and self-pity. What are you drinking?”

“Tonic water, diet tonic water.”

“Gin?”

“No, just tonic water.”

“Got any?”

Elkins pointed to the cabinet that held the liquor.

As Stephanie rifled through the bottles, he asked, “You want a sandwich?”

“What is it?”

“Avocado and sprouts on whole wheat.”

“God, you buy cheap gin,” she said as she started making a drink. “I see why you’re sticking with the tonic.” She reached around him, pulled a tumbler from a shelf and splashed in some soda. “Sure you don’t want to come over for leftovers?”

“No, I’m happy with this. Where’s Clifford?”

“He’s at the office trying to get the schedule covered. He’s moving people around, trying to cover the classes that had been assigned to Hendrickson and Bensen. Then he’s got to hire adjuncts to teach uncovered sections. And this has all got to happen by tomorrow morning when classes start.” She paused, “You’re cleverly changing the subject. You need a woman.”

“Are you offering yourself, selflessly, in an attempt to save me?”

She looked coy. “I’ve always found you attractive, but I kept my hands off you because of Ellen. Plus, I don’t think it’s good to have lovers in the neighborhood. That said, I’m available, but if it’s not me, it should be someone.”

“You’re a regular Mother Teresa, aren’t you?”

“Okay, be a bastard about it. Spend your time working and sleeping. It’s your life you’re wasting.”

Elkins watched her leave, carrying her drink with her. He wished she had stayed.