Failure is Fatal Read online

  “Tomorrow morning at your place, then,” Der said.

  “Can we make it afternoon? I know Tanya and Rachel need some sleep and so do I. They have to drive back into town yet tonight, and I have a luncheon engagement tomorrow.”

  “You’re going out for lunch tomorrow? You’re not supposed to be on that foot, you know.”

  I explained about my arrangement for lunch with Lottie at the house.

  “Tomorrow at three, then? We can skip the morning donuts,” he said.

  I held the receiver away from my ear and called to Tanya and Rachel, “Three tomorrow okay?” They both nodded.

  “Can I trust you not to rummage around in that box between now and then or do I have to send someone out to the house to guard it?” Der said. I hung up without a reply.

  Sam accompanied Rachel and Tanya to their car while I remained on the couch, staring at the box still positioned at my feet. I reached out to lift back a flap, but I heard Der’s voice in my ear admonishing me to keep my hands off. I ignored it, peeled back all four of the flaps and looked in. Sam barked at the door wanting to be let in and stopping me from what I was about to do—exactly what Der told me not to do. I closed the flaps and grabbed my crutches. Ten minutes later Sam lay beside me on the bed, sleeping soundly. I, on the other hand, was wide awake, the virtue of denying myself access to the contents of the box battling with my yearning to know what Ryan so obviously thought I needed to know.

  Chapter 18

  Lottie was punctual. I unwrapped a gigantic sandwich from the deli and began to eat it.

  After several bites, I leaned back onto the couch where we decided to have our lunch, abandoning my sandwich for several bites of my garlic dill. Lottie looked at my half-eaten sandwich with longing, so I handed it to her along with the rest of the pickle. I asked her about Marie’s work for the Art Department.

  “Marie came to the department as a work-study student several weeks after this semester began. She had another assignment that didn’t work out well for her, so she got started late with us, but she really was a good worker. Marie kind of rotated among faculty, taking on work that needed to be done and that other students couldn’t do, so she never got a consistent work assignment with any one faculty. Sometimes I used her in the main office to do work for me. She was reliable, always showed up on time and on the days she was assigned to do work.”

  “So you probably knew her better than anyone else in the department?”

  “I guess I did, but I wouldn’t say I knew her well. She wasn’t given to sharing confidences or even complaining about classes or a roommate or the other things that students usually come to talking about over a period of time. I was a bit worried when she first came to work. There were several weeks there when she looked tired and sick. I expressed concern over her health and told her she could ease into her work or take some time off if she needed to, but she said she was having a tough time in one of her classes and was simply putting in a lot of work and not getting much sleep. She looked better after a while and then…” Lottie paused. “Then we heard she’d been murdered. It was a shock. She was such a nice young woman.”

  “This other work-study assignment, the one that didn’t work out for her. Do you know where that was, what department?”

  “That was with the English Department,” Lottie said.

  “I wonder what went wrong there?”

  “You could ask Kay Williams who’s the secretary in English. She might tell you.”

  “I don’t know Kay very well. Could you get in touch with her and ask her to call me? The two of you are pretty good friends, aren’t you?”

  “Sure, I’d be happy to.”

  She and I and continued to chat about campus happenings.

  She left around two o’clock, time enough to make another pot of coffee before Der and the twins arrived. I also needed to call Der and ask him to bring me some supplies, or I’d be forced to go into town to shop. About to dial Der’s number, I heard a car pull into the drive. I looked through the window to see Der coming up the walk, arms filled with bags. He struggled to open the door, juggling the bags in his arms while I tried to help him, crutches jutting out at difficult angles, threatening to topple the both of us.

  “Murphy, sit down and get out of my way!”

  “Boy, are you in a grumpy mood today.” I moved to one side while Der plopped the bags on the table. “I was just about to call you and ask you to pick up a few things for me. How did you know I needed anything?”

  “You always need stuff. I don’t know why you call this a kitchen. Just because it has appliances doesn’t mean that it contains food or that cooking ever occurs here. If I had a kitchen this size, I’d have it stocked and be cooking all the time. Good. Coffee. You do make great coffee, though. A little strong, but good.” Der removed canned goods, bread and produce from the bags and packed them away in the cupboards and refrigerator while I sat eyeing his work, knowing that I would have to rearrange things once he was gone.

  “You like to cook, do you?” I hoped Der wouldn’t discern the sly note in my question.

  “Yeah, I do, but I never get the chance. I don’t have the time and when I do, my apartment’s kitchen is so small, I can’t move in it.” Der removed cold cuts from a bag and placed them in the bottom right-hand crisper in the fridge. Unable to contain myself any longer, I popped up from the table and moved them from the right-hand side crisper to the left. Der waved me away and back into my chair. I’d just have to wait until he left.

  “So you might like cooking in my kitchen?”

  “Why all the questions about cooking?” said Der. I gave him a smile, which I followed with a look of supplication.

  “What do you want?” he said, arms across his chest.

  “Would you like to cook Thanksgiving dinner here for a few of us?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great.”

  Finished with putting away the groceries he purchased, Der looked around the kitchen with satisfaction. He shooed me into the living room and onto the couch while he brought me coffee. We planned the Thanksgiving menu together and were finishing up on the list of supplies we’d need for the dinner when Tanya and Rachel arrived. Der shoved the box to the middle of the space between the sofa and chairs in the living room and opened the flaps.

  “Is this how you found the box when you opened it?” said Der.

  “Yes, the note was on top. I read it, gave it to my sister to read also, then we placed it back in the box and headed out to see Dr. Murphy,” Tanya said.

  Der read through the note slowly, handing it to me. Carefully removing newspaper and then a wool sweater, Der uncovered a laptop. “We’ll get to this later,” he said. He took out the clothes, books and papers beneath the computer. At the bottom of the cardboard box was a wooden container, about the size of a notebook, but five or six inches in depth. There was no lock on the latch that held the top on, and the lid was easily lifted off. The box was almost empty with the exception of several envelopes in the bottom. They were addressed to Ryan, and Marie Becca’s address appeared as the return. Der opened the envelope with the earliest postmark, several weeks before Marie’s death, and extracted the single sheet of paper inside. He and I read the note:

  Dear Ryan,

  I got your letter today. It was a surprise, but a very pleasant one. I really have only one real friend on campus. It’s hard for me to trust anyone, so if we’re going to be friends, I need to go a little slowly.

  Thanks for being so understanding the day we met. I really didn’t mean to almost run you down on my way out of the building, but I was trying to get away from someone I consider one of the most disgusting and sinister people I’ve ever met. He’s threatened me on more than one occasion and is insisting that I meet him alone somewhere. I don’t want to see him, but I’m afraid he’ll make trouble for me. You were so nice to me, helping pick up my books and all, taking me out for coffee and calming me down. Most frat boys don’t seem to care much for anyone but th
emselves. I enjoyed our talk. I must say that I didn’t much care for your friend, who tried to join us, but I thought you handled him very well. You said you had business with someone in the English Department. That sounds mysterious. Can you tell me about it?

  I think you’re right. It would be better if we correspond through snail mail. My roommate isn’t reliable with getting phone messages to me, and I don’t want to call you at the fraternity house. And I don’t think email is at all secure. Let’s try to meet every Friday afternoon around four at the mall as you suggested.

  Your friend,

  Marie

  “What does it say?” said Tanya. Der handed the letter to Tanya and Rachel.

  “You were right, Murphy. Ryan and Marie knew each other and were developing a friendship that they kept from everyone else. Why, I wonder?” said Der.

  “I think they both found it hard to trust anyone, Marie because of all the losses in her life and some more recent events, I suspect. Ryan had no friends at the frat house, just guys he hung out with.”

  “We went through all of Marie’s stuff, but never found any letters from Ryan to her. Sounds like there were a few, but what happened to them?” Der said.

  “I’ll bet she destroyed them. She and her roommate didn’t get along well. Would you leave anything personal in a room shared with someone you didn’t like or trust?” I said.

  “There’s only one more letter here. It’s postmarked several days prior to her death. It’s shorter than the first one. I’ll just read it to you.” Der removed the letter from the envelope and extracted the paper inside.

  “Dear Ryan, I know you think you should do what the fraternity tells you, but I also know you have doubts about what they’re doing. Sometimes you have to give up something you really like and resist someone’s influence to do something better for yourself. I know I did. It’s not easy, especially when you feel you have nobody on your side. The price you pay to do the right thing can be high. In my case, I think I’m still paying and will for a long time. I’m on your side, Ryan,” Der read. “It’s signed, Marie.”

  “Can I see that?” I held out my hand for the letter. “She mentions giving up something and resisting the influence of others. I’ll bet she knew that the fraternity was planning on inserting those stories in my research. Ryan must have told her and also indicated he was having doubts about the plan.”

  Der turned his attention to the twins as I continued to ponder the letters. “We’d like to examine the contents of this box more fully at headquarters if that’s all right with you.”

  “Oh, no, go right ahead and take the box. If it can help in finding out what happened to Ryan and to Marie, it’s all yours,” Tanya said.

  “Oh, and I’d prefer you didn’t talk about receiving this box nor about the contents, the letters,” said Der.

  Tanya and Rachel nodded their heads in consent. “We won’t tell a soul,” they said in unison.

  *

  Der and I sat staring into the fire. I knew Der was worried about my ankle and my state of mind. I had said little since the twins left.

  “How’s the foot?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. Pretty good, actually. I was just thinking.”

  “Want to share?”

  “Okay, but I’m not promising anything. Here goes. Ryan and Marie become friends, kind of two lost souls find each other. It’s not romantic, just friendship. They tell each other a lot about their lives. Marie finds out through Ryan or maybe through her work-study program in the English Department about the stories to be planted in my research. Ryan wants to stop the stories, but he’s too heavily involved in the fraternity and in the prank. Besides, he’s afraid of Adam. And the fraternity is all he’s got, aside from Marie. Marie encourages him to do the right thing, saying she has been in a similar situation. She sacrificed to do the right thing. I think she was referring to giving up Barnett College, leaving the college she liked and standing up to someone, resisting someone’s influence. She admitted the price was high and that she thought she was still paying for her decision. The letters give us only part of her story. I think it began at Barnett College and followed her here, resulting in her death. Ryan knew some of it, but did he know who killed her? I doubt it, but he surely suspected.”

  “Murphy, you’re leaving out the obvious. Ryan didn’t have a lot of charm, looks or girls hanging on him. And I question whether he had any real reservations about what the frat was doing to you. Remember he was the one who was working with a ghostwriter to create those stories. Doesn’t sound to me as if he was going to blow the whistle on the frat.”

  “So what are you trying to say?”

  “The simplest scenario works. Marie pushed him too hard to do the right thing. He refused. They argued, and he killed her. Then he split.”

  “How do you explain the story ending describing her death?” I said.

  “Ryan planted it to try to place the blame on the fraternity, but then he got scared as we began to follow up with the fraternity, so he decided to split.”

  “And his message to me and the box with its note?”

  “Drama, the college kid kind, that’s all. This looks like a wrap to me, although I wish I had more physical evidence to link Ryan to the murder scene. The letter indicated they were meeting each Friday in the mall, and I’ve got a slew of prints from her car. I can match the prints on his computer with prints in her car.”

  “So what? You don’t suspect everyone whose prints you found in the car, do you? Try matching some prints to Adam’s,” I said.

  Der ignored this remark, saying, “There is something that bothers me still.”

  “What?”

  “Who tried to run you down in the parking lot? Ryan doesn’t have a car.”

  “Yeah, that bugs me a lot too, since it was my ankle and my life in danger here.” I wandered off again in thought for several minutes. “So you think that Ryan planted the story about Marie’s death in my lab, broke into the lab and left another note for me or for you and me. That he’s behind everything, even trying to run me down with a car he borrowed from someone. Who? But then he left the phone message and a box of his possessions for me. That sounds more confused than murderous.”

  “You said he was a pretty smart guy. So he makes the call to you and sends the box to put us off his trail. With the letters from Marie, he looks innocent, but he’s not. Maybe Ryan didn’t try to run you down. With your personality and the way people feel about you, I’ve got a lot of suspects on the list of those who would like to see harm done to Dr. Laura Murphy.”

  I knew he was joking a bit, but I thought he was being mean.

  “And just what is wrong with my ‘personality’ as you put it?”

  “Nothing, really. I like it, but lots of people don’t. You’ve got a lot of enemies. Most of them think you stick your nose into things you don’t have a right to. Any of them might have seen an opportunity to scare you a bit.”

  “The guy almost killed me! I don’t understand you. Before you picked Ryan for the murderer, you thought the hit-and-run was connected to the case, and you were worried. Now that you’ve named your man, my misfortune is due to one of my longtime enemies taking the opportunity to run me down.”

  “Okay, okay, you’re right. I need to think on this one longer, but I’m going to have to pull the trooper car from making passes by your house anyway. We’re low on manpower right now. Sorry. But I’ll check in periodically. You know I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. I wouldn’t pull the car if I really thought there was any risk to you, you know that. Ryan is long gone, probably to a warmer climate.”

  “Right. Well, why don’t you get out of here now and let me work. I’ve still got major revisions to accomplish on my manuscript.”

  “Gee, I know you’re a little pissed at me, but I thought the least you could do is invite me for dinner. I did bring the food, you know.”

  “It’s too early for dinner. Come back later, around eight or so. You can cook, and I’ll
think about forgiving you.”

  “You mean you only need several hours to forgive me for solving this crime instead of you?”

  “No, I mean, I’ll think about forgiving you for your attitude, your smugness that you’ve solved this one. You’re dead wrong, you know.”

  Chapter 19

  I looked at my watch after Der left. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon. I hobbled over to the phone and dialed the college.

  “Registrar’s Office,” said the voice at the other end of the line.

  “Cathy, hi. It’s Laura. I thought I might catch you in your office on a Saturday afternoon. Don’t you ever take time off?” Cathy Nelson let forth a hardy laugh into my ear.

  “And when would all this work get done? And who would do it? We’re trying to meet an early December deadline for conversion of our record managing system. I don’t want to be recording grades in one system, then have to convert them into the new system. It’ll take all my time over intersession. I’d like to be able to celebrate Christmas like normal folks.”

  “So I gather you’ll be in your office for a while?”

  “Sure will. Until this evening. What do you need?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get there. I won’t take up your time now on the phone.”

  “Hey I thought I heard you’d hurt your ankle and had to stay off your feet.”

  “Oh, it’s just a little bump. Nothing serious. See you in a bit.” Geez. Everyone at the college knew about my injury.

  *

  When I pulled into the parking lot in front of the administration building, there were only two other cars there—a sporty Miata convertible—it had to belong to someone having a midlife crisis—and a more practical Kia Cube. I thought the latter must be Cathy’s. The building off to my right housed the English Department. I noted light coming from only one office window. Leaving my crutches in the car, I directed my steps away from administration and toward the other building. I had a hunch who was working this late Saturday afternoon, and I knew a visit might shake things up a little. I paused in front of Dr. Chaffee’s office, knowing I wouldn’t be welcome. All the better. I knocked, and Chaffee called “come in.” He looked irritated even before it registered his visitor was me.