Scent of Murder, page 19
After a couple of minutes, she came back on the line. “He’s in tomorrow morning between ten and twelve.”
“Elsbeth’s telling me she can’t go tomorrow because she has to take her kids to the d-e-n-t-i-s-t. I’ll feel more comfortable if I don’t have to go on my own,” I shouted into the phone because of the bad reception in the mountains. Besides, I wanted to get Olivia alone so she could straighten out details about her and Eddy’s relationship.
Olivia’s voice came faintly through the phone, mixed with static. “Gotta run…deliver programs…tent…gala at…College Club. See…tomorrow. Bye.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“La mentira tiene patas cortas”
“The truth will out.” — Spanish Proverb
Since it was getting on toward five o’clock, I asked Elsbeth to drop me off at Taco Loco. Exams had sneaked up on me, and I needed sustenance to inspire me to write tests. As a graduate student, I’d been accustomed to sitting on the other side of the podium. Now I realized that devising exams and grading them fairly, as well as considering factors like class participation, creativity, and improvement wasn’t a slice of tres leches either.
I entered the bright yellow-walled fast-food joint with the red-tiled floor. Harried-looking students crammed into the lime-green vinyl booths, slurping sodas and stuffing burritos into their mouths while they team-studied.
I recognized Suzanne sitting alone, hunched over her computer, alternating between sucking an electric-pink-colored smoothie through a straw and chewing her nails. The queen of the TA bullpen was concentrating so hard she didn’t notice me. Recognizing that the Fates had dealt me a golden opportunity, I wasn’t going to waste it. I made a hasty order at the window, picked up my bag of goodies, and sauntered over to Suzanne’s table.
“Hey,” I said in a cheerful, surprised tone as if I’d just noticed her. “I didn’t know you came here.”
It took Suzanne a beat to focus. When she registered that I was the one talking to her, she curled the edge of her upper lip in a scowl. “Yeah, I hang here when I’m trying to get something done. So?”
“So, nothing,” I said and dug deep to muster an ingratiating smile. “I drop in here for a quick meal from time to time, too.” Feigning curiosity, I said, “Is that a spreadsheet of the exam rooms, times, and proctors?”
“Yeah, and as you can tell, I’m busy with it,” Suzanne said with the air of someone brushing off an insect.
“I see, but do you mind if I sit for a minute?”
The woman shrugged her shoulders, embarrassingly exposed in a tank top the shade of a Florida orange. “It’s a free country.” She focused on her computer and proceeded to ignore me.
Slipping into the seat opposite, I set down my bag of food and purse. “Listen, Suzanne, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot because of Eddy.”
Suzanne harrumphed but didn’t look up.
“Believe me, I never would’ve accepted a date with him if I’d known he was already taken. I assumed that since you’re married, you weren’t interested.”
Suzanne shot me a viperous glance. “Never assume anything around here. You’re better off that way.”
I kept my lips firmly pasted into a smile. “Now that Eddy’s passed on, I’d like us to bury the hatchet.”
“Whatever.”
“Excellent!”
I paused, uncertain how to proceed. The smell of old grease burning on the tortilla griddle wafted toward us, causing me to briefly reconsider my recent dinner selection. Do not let yourself get distracted. Concentrate!
“Since the cops haven’t given up on me as a suspect,” I said, “I’m still trying to reconstruct the events of the night Eddy was killed. Maybe you can help me remember.”
Suzanne pressed the exit button and clamped her computer shut. “Alright. I’ve lost my train of thought anyway. What d’ya wanna know?”
“I was wondering if the four of you left rehearsal that night together or separately. And did everyone go straight to Dolores’ office to wait?”
“You mean Dolores, Miguel, Javier, and me? Sure, we left together.”
“But Miguel wasn’t with you when you arrived at Eddy’s office.”
Suzanne’s eyes darted to the left, and she pushed her pointy-rimmed glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. She took a swig of her smoothie before answering.
“Yeah, I forgot. Miguel left us at the crosswalk to the department. He went off toward the parking lot.”
“You think he went home?”
“How should I know? I’m not the boss of him.”
I said, “You didn’t see him again that evening?”
“Nope,” said Suzanne with a bitter laugh. “I only saw Dolores, Javier, you, and Eddy dead on the floor.”
I thanked her, picked up my dinner bag, and left. Somebody was lying about how they spent the time after leaving the theater on the night Eddy died, Suzanne or Javier. But, which one? Or both? And why?
* * *
As I headed in the direction of my condo, I realized I’d left a memory stick that held my exam information in my office. With a sigh, I went back to retrieve it. Tired from my long day, I chose to walk home a faster route that would take me past the College Club. I checked the time on my phone and noted that the gala must be in full swing by now. Maybe I’d catch a glimpse of Michael’s parents.
Padding along in the comfortable running shoes I’d changed into to go to Nederland instead of my usual toe-pinching sandals, I was struck again, as I had been on the night of Eddy’s murder, by how quiet campus was. The light evening breeze, which always cools things off in high-altitude Colorado no matter how hot the day, poured balm over my troubled thoughts of jealousy, blackmail, and suspicions toward friends. On this tranquil summer evening, the colors of the grounds and buildings became muted, and everything stretched out in peaceful repose. The perfect environment for research and study. I sniffed the piney mountain air and savored academic life.
I was so engrossed in these ruminations I didn’t realize I’d reached the College Club until I was almost upon it. A large, white tent had been erected on the green lawn, and blue folding chairs were set in neat rows in front. Colorful balloons gently bobbing in the breeze festooned the club’s walkway railings, and people were milling around.
On closer inspection, I realized something was amiss. The people weren’t guests, but workmen, busy taking down the balloons and folding up the chairs. Puzzled, I walked to the tent. The only person inside was Olivia, who was gathering what looked like programs for the event and storing them in a box. Her eyes held a glazed look, and her face was paper-white as she set about her task.
“What happened?” I asked. “Where did all the people go?”
Olivia gave me a gray stare. “They went home,” she said. “The gala has been cancelled. Michael Kent is dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“La muerte es la segadora que no toma una siesta del mediodía.”
“Death is the reaper who doesn’t take a midday nap.” — Spanish Proverb
Stunned into silence, I gaped at Olivia. When I found my voice, I croaked, “Dios mío! A drug overdose?”
Olivia’s gaze slid away toward the summer-green quad. “No.” She spoke so softly I had to lean forward to catch her words. “It wasn’t a drug overdose, although it may have been an accident—or not. The police are at Michael’s apartment now.”
“An accident or not?” I echoed. “The police aren’t sure? Why not?” Perspiration broke out on my forehead, and a dizzy wave of nausea passed over me.
Still staring blankly at the placid landscape where birds were flying home to roost, Olivia said, “A neighbor saw a flashy car speed away from Michael’s apartment last night. He noticed because it’s not the kind of neighborhood where anyone, but Michael would drive a high-end vehicle. After the body was discovered, the neighbor came forward.”
“If it wasn’t an overdose, then how did Michael die?”
“The hot water heater,” Olivia said as if it were obvious. “Either it was faulty, or somehow tampered with.” She turned back to the programs, smoothing each one, and placing it tenderly in the box.
“Faulty or tampered with?” My voice darkened with sinister patience. “What do you mean by ‘faulty’ or ‘tampered with?’”
Olivia turned her reflective eyes on me and spoke as if to a child. “Somehow, it filled the entire apartment with carbon monoxide. Michael died in his sleep. He never knew what hit him.”
“Ay, no! Carbon monoxide like your husband!”
I clapped my hand to my mouth, but too late. The words had escaped before I could prevent them. Now, they hung in the early evening stillness like a dirty layer of smog.
Olivia picked up the box. As she brushed past, she said, “Excuse me, I have to get these back to the department.”
* * *
Dios me perdone! I didn’t mean to upset her with my big mouth. I know very well that “wounds from the knife are healed, but not those from the tongue.” Now I’d spoken out of turn and couldn’t take it back. Worse, on the slow walk home, niggling doubts about Olivia crept into the dark corners of my mind like spiders finding refuge from the falling autumn temperatures.
Could she be a double murderess who killed her husband for reasons unknown? Then, panicked at Michael’s insinuation that Roger’s death hadn’t been suicide, she did away with him, too? I remembered how Olivia had ranted about wanting to give Michael a grade lower than an ‘F.’ If she had killed her husband, perhaps she found carbon monoxide a convenient weapon and decided to use it twice.
Why stop there? The devilish voice in my head fueled my imagination. Remember how Olivia closed up Eddy’s journal when you tried to take a look at it? Maybe she once had, and still was engaged in an affair with Eddy, and he wrote about it. When he started to take up with you, she killed him in a jealous fury. That would make her a triple murderess.
“Pipe down!” I demanded aloud, then glanced around to make sure nobody had seen me talking to myself. Whew! Only a couple of errant magpies were strutting about, and they sidled away from me cautiously.
It was a ridiculous assumption. Olivia couldn’t have killed Eddy, or her husband, or Michael. Olivia was one of the good people. She was a friend until I stuck my foot in my mouth.
* * *
By the time I arrived home, my dinner from Taco Loco was beyond rescue by microwave; in fact, it had collapsed in on itself. The crisp, fried tortillas had gone soggy as sponge cake, and the guacamole was turning black around the edges like it had been stricken with blight. Fuchi! Obviously, I wasn’t going to get anything substantial to eat tonight. I didn’t feel like eating anyway because my stomachache. So, I threw the whole mess into the bin and made myself a double espresso.
Shaking so much that I could barely hold the tiny cup and saucer, I took my coffee into the living room. Not bothering to turn on a table lamp in the gathering dusk, I collapsed on the sofa. Enough backlighting streamed in from the kitchen for me to see what I was doing, which, at the moment, wasn’t much. I stared out the picture window, mesmerized by the line of car headlights crawling along the road up to Flagstaff, our city’s signature mountain. They resembled a shimmering strand of pearls as they snaked up the 2,000-foot climb.
What a revolting development! The recent deaths had unhinged me so much that I’d entertained the notion that one of my friends could be a serial killer. How could I even consider such a thought?
Speaking of thoughts, how could I assume I was a good enough detective to solve these murders? Even with help from my friends. I was a Spanish teacher, not Mis Marple of Agatha Christie fame.
What must my family be thinking of my new role? Probably that they wasted time and effort encouraging me to follow my dream and get an education. Maybe I should heed Mami’s advice, quit teaching, and go to work at the restaurant. It would be easier, and I wouldn’t be interfering in so many lives. Everybody would be happy. Everybody but me.
A loud rap at the door made me jump. I clattered my cup and saucer onto the coffee table and went to peer through the peephole. Chief Mondragón, as gloomy as a bloodhound with a bad case of pinkeye, slouched on the doorstep. Ay!
“Just a minute,” I called and rushed to turn on more lights and straighten the magazines and books that littered the coffee table.
“May I come in?” the Chief asked in the sepulchral voice of a pallbearer coming to collect the body. “I want to ask you a few questions.”
I showed him to the sofa, where he lit without taking off his signature black raincoat he wore no matter the weather. He perched on the edge like a melancholy crow on a wire. Then he slipped a notebook and pen from his pocket and balanced them on his knee. Refusing my offer of coffee, he regarded me, unsmiling. “Michael Kent was found dead of carbon monoxide poisoning in his apartment this afternoon.”
“I know. Olivia Oakes told me. Qué lástima!” As I spoke, I wondered why in the world the Chief wanted to question me about Michael’s death.
His tone was flat and cheerless as a cold winter day. “There were some suspicious circumstances. In fact, we know it was homicide.”
“Oh?” I tried to sound innocent. Caramba! I am innocent! Nevertheless, my mouth went dry, and I felt my espresso rebel in my stomach.
“He died in his bedroom on Monday night. Your fingerprints were found on the bedroom door molding.” With an expression as solemn as The Grim Reaper’s, he asked, “Can you explain how your prints got there?”
“Dios mío! How can that be?”
“Indeed, how can that be?”
Then I remembered leaning my hand on the door jamb when Michael was showing me around. My face went hot as if I were standing in front of the fires of Hell, and my fingers tingled. This interrogation felt worse than my oral comps, and there, I had to confront a committee of five.
I licked my lips and swallowed. “I-I was there, but only once. On Sunday.”
Mondragón chewed his mustache and waited for me to continue. “Michael Kent is—was a graduate student of mine. He gave me a lift home from Regal Foods after my car broke down, and we stopped so he could show me his apartment.”
“Isn’t his place a bit out of the way from yours?”
I felt my face redden even more. I began speaking quickly. Too quickly, I knew. But once I opened the faucet, there was no plugging it. “He wanted to show me his collection of rock concert posters. I was only there for a few minutes. De veras. No more than ten minutes max. My friend Elsbeth MacLeod picked me up, and when we left, Michael was very much alive. In fact, he was so happy he was laughing.” True. “At least he was on Sunday. Alive, that is. I mean, I wouldn’t know about Monday. He was alive and kicking on Sunday. You can check with Elsbeth.” Out of breath, I stopped.
The Chief bent over his pad and meticulously made a note. “I’ll speak to Mrs. MacLeod.” He turned his sad-eyed gaze on me again. “Where were you on Monday night between nine and eleven?”
A cool feeling of relief washed over me like an afternoon shower on a hot day. The flames in my cheeks were being quenched. I answered with as much confidence as I could muster under the circumstances. “I was with Mami, Papi, and Angela from six o’clock on. That was the night my sister was taken hostage in Denver. I didn’t get home until after midnight. Papi will verify that.”
After informing me that the police were following up several leads and that if I remembered anything important relating to the murders, I should tell him directly, the Chief left. Through the window, I watched him walk to his car, the corners of his unbuttoned raincoat flapping in the breeze, chewing on his mustache all the way. He eased his scarecrow-thin frame into the driver’s seat of his cruiser and pulled away. I fell back on the sofa.
* * *
Muy bien! Now, I was a possible suspect in two murders. Having an alibi for the second one didn’t bring me much comfort. I wiped the perspiration from my neck with a tissue and blew my nose hard. What was that proverb Germán had spouted when talking about Dolores? “A woman’s reputation depends on the good opinion of others.” I didn’t think that Chief Mondragón’s or Olivia’s opinions of me were very good right now, let alone Papi’s, if he found out I’d visited one of my male students in his apartment. My self-image wasn’t earning high marks either, especially when I remembered I’d just been suspecting a friend.
Suddenly, I saw everything in a different, crystal-clear light. My padrino’s visit, strangely enough, had come in the nick of time. The accusation he implied was so wrong that it bordered on the ridiculous. And I really, really needed to do something about that misconception and many other things. I had been moaning about quitting teaching and moving back in with my family. But it was now obvious that this would be the wrong decision. There was still a lot that I, with the help of friends and family who had faith in me, could do.
Isabel Castillo, I addressed myself. You are not a quitter. Quitting would only bring more shame to rain on you, your family, your department, and even your community. The Castillo clan may have suffered many setbacks in their time, but one thing they don’t do is quit. So you can jettison all those weenie thoughts right now and figure this thing out.”
More than ever, it was vital to find a solution to these crimes. And I wasn’t thinking only of my own reputation and career. Someone in the department was a killer, and that person might not stop at two victims. Everyone was a suspect, and everyone was in danger. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and get going!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Consider the facts seven times before you suspect someone.” — Japanese Proverb
Shuffling through the papers I’d hurriedly tidied, I unearthed a pen and the suspect list that The Bolder Women Detective Team had made. I needed to add what new information had been gleaned since the Team’s last meeting and consolidate the list. Maybe if I wrote everything down in a concise and logical order, a new idea about the identity of the murderer would surface.
