The Skeleton Stuffs a Stocking Page 11

  “I’m here to tell you that I’m not furniture, and I’m not going to let myself be used as a bargaining chip. I can’t speak for my fellow adjuncts—neither the union nor the administration have let us band together in any meaningful way—but I will speak for myself. Provost Kozlov, as much as I would love a chance for a future with Bostock, I won’t do it at the expense of my academic colleagues. I will continue to work the hours for which I’m contracted, but I will not step one foot into another professor’s classroom to make it easier on you. Professor Lefebre, while I respect what you’re doing for the tenured faculty, it’s unfair of you to ask me to walk a picket line and miss paychecks to help you get benefits I’ve spent my entire career dreaming of. In short,” I said, looking from one group to the other, “I will do my job. Settling this contract is your job.”

  I sat, partially because I was finished saying what I had to say, but mostly because my knees were about to give out. All members of the warring factions were staring at me, but if they’d had any rebuttal to offer, it would have been drowned out by the applause from the rest of the adjuncts.

  Charles was beaming at me as proudly as if he’d written my script himself, and Brownie was laughing in delight. At least I hoped it was in delight. Provost Kozlov and Professor Lefebre stepped away to confer, then came back and eventually quieted the crowd. Provost Kozlov took the podium again.

  “I think we can all agree that Doctor Thackery’s remarks have given us food for thought, and I assure you that whatever decision you make regarding the strike, it will have no affect on your future employment here.” She stepped back and Professor Lefebre took her place.

  “I echo Provost Kozlov’s feelings. The union recognizes that adjunct faculty members are in an uncomfortable position and that they must feel free to make the decisions that are right for them. We will respect those decisions.”

  Provost Kozlov took the podium back one more time, but only to adjourn the meeting.

  I think that’s when I finally took a breath. I hadn’t really thought I’d be fired on the spot, but years of being employed at the whims of one college or another hadn’t exactly reassured me about the sanctity of my career.

  “Well said, Georgia,” Charles said.

  “#Don’tTreadOnMe,” Brownie added.

  Other adjuncts—some of whom I’d met but others I’d never even seen before—came to compliment me and to offer handshakes and pats on the back. Not that everybody loved my outburst, of course. While Provost Kozlov’s party had beat a hasty retreat once she ended the meeting, the union trio was still talking up front, and Lefebre kept shooting unfriendly glances in my direction. I also heard disgruntled comments from fellow adjuncts on both sides of the divide who’d wanted all of us swayed to their opinion.

  I could live with all of that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We three were among the last in the lecture hall, and when we were nearly alone, Brownie said, “That exceeded my wildest expectations. Georgia, your speech is going to go down in adjunct history.”

  “Thank you,” I said, “but I don’t think so.”

  “Hey, who’s the historian here? Charles, back me up.”

  “It was remarkable, and I think it likely that word will spread,” he said.

  “Anybody up for a celebratory lunch?” Brownie asked. “I’m buying.”

  Charles consulted his pocket watch. “As much as I wish I could accept your gracious invitation, unfortunately I have a class to teach in a few minutes. Again Brownie, please accept my most sincere apologies. I cannot imagine what came over me to cause me to neglect cancelling our lunch.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Charles. We’ll reschedule.”

  “You’re very gracious.”

  I said, “Speaking of scheduling, Charles, do you have time to discuss our special project later today?” I was being circumspect because though Brownie had guessed that Charles was involved in Sid’s and my investigation, I wasn’t sure Charles would be happy to find that out. As for the special project stuff, a murder investigation certainly qualified as a special project.

  “Will you be around campus this afternoon?” he asked. “Say in an hour and a half?”

  “I can do that. Where would you like to meet?”

  “Perhaps at the Stockyard for coffee?”

  I was about to accept when Brownie said, “Georgia, have you had lunch?”

  “I haven’t, actually.”

  “Then how about a two-adjunct lunch, and you can talk to Charles afterward? I’m still buying.”

  “That sounds like an offer that’s too good to refuse.” If Provost Kozlov did find an excuse to fire me, it might be my last restaurant meal for a while.

  The Stockyard, the campus burger joint, was in a nearby building, one that was close enough that it wasn’t worth waiting for the shuttle, even with snow flurries falling. Still, it was cold and windy enough that Brownie and I didn’t try to talk as we walked as quickly as possible to the place.

  The pine fixtures and branding irons on the walls were presumably supposed to evoke a Texas mood but did nothing to hide the years’ worth of initials carved into the tabletops. Since it was a little late for lunch, we got through the line quickly with our bacon cheeseburgers and fries, and even found a corner table where we weren’t likely to be overheard.

  “That was quite a meeting,” Brownie said. “It was way better than the one at McQuaid.”

  “What was that one about?”

  “Same topic. The triad of union organizers stopped by the adjunct building yesterday afternoon to bring us coffee, donuts, and solidarity.”

  “Seriously?”

  “They said that they’re ninety-five percent sure that they aren’t going to be able to come to terms with admin, so they’re making plans for a strike. They’d heard Bostock is looking to hire…Well, they called it alternate adjunct assistants rather than scabs, but the subtext was definitely scabby. Plus they played the don’t-cross-us-or-we’ll-blackball-you card.”

  “Yikes. How did you guys respond?”

  “Pick a reaction, any reaction, and somebody was loudly expressing it. Yo Jacobs is ready to grab all the bonus teaching hours she can get, Bob Hewitt was furious about being threatened, Sara Weiss is afraid to rock the boat because somebody somewhere said something that makes her think she might get tenure someday, and so on.”

  “It was just Bostock people, right, not anybody from McQuaid?”

  “Actually, they brought a few McQuaid professors to add weight to the threat.” When I winced, he quickly added, “But not your parents. In fact, there wasn’t anybody from the English department.”

  That was a relief. Overall, McQuaid professors were more aware of the adjunct lifestyle than most, and my parents were a big part of the reason why. They never missed a chance to tell their colleagues about the problems faced by those on the other side of the tenure track. “You didn’t mention your reaction.”

  “I’m still thinking it over,” he said. “And on to a more pleasant subject…Okay, maybe not a more pleasant subject but at least a different one. I hear you met Sue yesterday afternoon.”

  “I did. I take it that you know her.”

  “Yes and no. I generally meet everybody in the show, but people come and go a lot. I remember Sue from when she was with us years ago, but her boyfriend was kind of a jerk, so I mostly steered clear. Later on, when she kicked him to the curb and then went freelance, she’d be around the show a few weeks every year, but we didn’t often cross paths. I always liked her, though. What do you think of her?”

  “An interesting lady with an interesting story.”

  “I want you to know that you actually heard it before I did. Mom and Dad didn’t tell me about Annabelle Mitchell until last night at dinner.”

  “Really?”

  “Carnies have elevated discretionary instincts and have elevated both turning a blind eye and keeping secrets into art forms. It’s a reasonabl
e adaptation to living in tight quarters, but it does cause its own problems.” He took a bite of his burger. “Did you tell Charles what she said? I was wondering if that’s why he forgot our lunch date.”

  “I did, and you’re probably right. He was already pretty sure that Rose was dead, but having it confirmed really shook him up. You know, I’ve never known him to date anybody. Rose must have been the love of his life.”

  “It’s tough to meet the woman you want to make a future with and then have her slip away,” Brownie said.

  I nodded automatically, then realized what he’d said. Part of me wanted to probe that potentially emotionally fraught remark, but part of me was scared to know what he’d say if I did. So I took a deep breath, metaphorically pulled up my big girl panties…and chickened out. “I did find out some other news for him,” I said, and told Brownie about Lauri Biegler’s encounters with Annabelle and her frustration with the police’s inaction.

  “It sounds like something hinky was going on with the West Litchfield police,” Brownie said.

  “I know, and I’m going to try to find out more. I also want to talk to the janitorial staff and see if anybody here still remembers Annabelle.”

  “From ten years ago?”

  “Have you got a better idea?”

  He considered it as he dipped a French fry into ketchup. “Not really, but I’ll give it some thought. This sleuthing stuff is fascinating.”

  “It’s not the most normal hobby, I admit.”

  “That’s okay. Normal doesn’t really appeal to me.” He looked at his watch. “I better be going, but Georgia…”

  I waited for a few seconds as he paused. “Yes?”

  “Would you like to go out to dinner? With me, I mean?”

  He sounded as nervous as the first boy who’d asked me out when I was in high school, though Brownie was much better looking.

  “I would like that very much.”

  He smiled. “Good. I’ve really missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” I was pretty sure he wanted to kiss me, and I was pretty sure I wanted to kiss him back, and since I was no longer in high school, I leaned forward enough to make my interest clear. He met me in the middle. It was a very nice kiss. So was the next one.

  When we finally pulled back, we saw Charles was standing next to us.

  Charles knew a little of Brownie’s and my romantic trials and tribulations but was far too well-bred to comment other than to lift one eyebrow the slightest amount. “How was lunch?” he asked.

  “Delicious,” Brownie said.

  Brownie smiled at me, I smiled back, and Charles smiled at both of us. In fact, several students, the serving staff, and a random security guard seemed to be smiling at us, too, but perhaps I was just being self-conscious.

  Once Brownie was gone, Charles offered to get me a refill on my soda, which I was happy to accept because it gave me a chance to wipe the silly grin off of my face before I talked to him about a woman he’d loved and lost. Not that he would ever begrudge my happiness, but it just didn’t seem appropriate.

  When Charles returned, I took a good long swallow of my drink and started in on what Sid and I had learned about Annabelle. Sid had printed copies of all the photos we had, and Charles kept looking at them as I spoke.

  “She really sounds like a wonderful person,” I said when I came to the end.

  “She was, Georgia. You would have liked her very much. May I keep these?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” He jogged the pictures together and carefully placed them in his breast pocket. “I’ve checked the online news sites several times today, but I didn’t see any mention of Annabelle’s body being identified. Do the police require more information to confirm your tip? Or is this one of those instances where they hold back information to aid in the investigation?

  “About that…I never called them, Charles. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’m going to keep Annabelle’s name quiet for the time being. I’m a little worried that they’ll find something that leads back to you. There could be forensic evidence or maybe somebody saw you in the neighborhood all those years ago and might have their memory jogged if the murder is tied to a specific date. Besides, even though I trust the Pennycross police, especially Louis Raymond, it sure looks like the cops in West Litchfield fell down on the job. I think I’ve got at least as much a chance of solving this as they do, and it’ll be easier if I don’t have to work around them.”

  “That seems eminently reasonable, but I don’t know how I can repay your efforts on my behalf, and on Rose’s. Or rather, on Annabelle’s.”

  “That’s what friends are for. And I wouldn’t have been able to get as far as I have if it weren’t for the details you told me in your letter. That must have been difficult to write.”

  “Revisiting that golden time was hardly a sacrifice. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

  “Now that we know Annabelle was a custodian here, I’d like to talk to some of the other custodians and see if anybody knew her. Do you know anybody in that department?”

  “I’m not sure that I do, but I will see if I can find any connections.”

  After that, he insisted on walking me to the shuttle bus stop. Charles is usually a bit too reserved for me to consider showing physical signs of affection, but when I saw the shuttle arriving, I said, “Charles, would you like a hug?”

  “Yes, Georgia, I believe that I would.”

  For somebody who doesn’t hug often, he had a very firm embrace.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rather than go back to my cubicle so late in the day, I went home to work for the rest of the afternoon. My parents had been invited to a Christmas party that night, and as Mom dragged him out the door, Phil quoted a lengthy list of meals I could defrost for dinner. They all sounded good, but before I could open the freezer, Madison said, “Can we order pizza? G-Dad is a terrific cook, but I’m grease-deprived!”

  I wasn’t, thanks to that bacon cheeseburger, but I couldn’t disappoint my daughter. I called for a delivery of a large pepperoni and a Greek salad. After making sure there were no grad students working or sleeping in odd corners of the house, we pulled the blinds and locked all the doors so Sid could come join us.

  To complete our debauch, we eschewed the dining room table and ate in the living room while watching The Year Without a Santa Claus and Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town. I felt like the world’s oldest teenager.

  After we demolished the pizza, leaving nothing for foraging grad students, we left the TV playing in the background while Madison pulled out a book she was reading for school and I caught Sid up on the events at Bostock.

  “That college keeps cropping up in this case,” Sid said. “Don’t you think it’s an odd coincidence that we find the body of a woman who worked at Bostock, while you’re working at Bostock, just at the time when Bostock is having labor issues?”

  “Not really. I’ve been in and around academia for mumble-mumble years now—”

  “Georgia, I know how old you are.”

  “So do I. I just don’t feel like stopping to add up all the years right now.” Before he could add them up for me, I went on. “As I was saying, I’ve been in and around academia for a long time and have never had dealings with a college that didn’t have problems. Bizarre bequests, budget shortfalls, lawsuits, and who knows what. I bet we’d have found some complication no matter where Annabelle worked. As for me being there myself, Pennycross has two colleges. I’ve worked at both.”

  “Then you don’t think all this happening at this time of year is kind of a Christmas miracle?”

  “Sid, have you been watching Hallmark Channel holiday movies while I’m at work?”

  “I may have seen one or two,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Speaking of Bostock, tell me more about the place.”

  “You saw it when you came to work with me.”

  “We went from parking deck,
to shuttle bus, to classroom, to shuttle bus, to parking deck. This does not make for a well-rounded view of a campus. I wasn’t even by the window in the shuttle.”

  “If there’d been a window seat available, I’d have taken it.”

  “But there wasn’t, and I don’t have a good mental picture.”

  “Okay, here’s what I know. It’s a four-year college, so they’ve got a core curriculum, but their focus is on business. It’s not nearly as old as McQuaid, and some of the teachers have a chip on their shoulders about it. Others feel superior because they provide practical information as opposed to academic knowledge.”

  “And?”

  “And what? I’ve only been there a few months. As a place to work it’s about average. Was there something special you wanted to know?”

  “Not really, I just want to know more about Annabelle’s environment. I can do a lot of research online, but there’s no substitute for being there in person.”

  “Knowing how thoroughly you research, you probably know as much about the campus as I do. They don’t give campus tours to adjuncts, Sid. Those are for wealthy alumni and prospective students.”

  “Prospective students?” he said speculatively.

  As one, we turned to look at Madison, who had been receiving brochures, catalogs, emails, and letters from colleges ever since she took the PSAT.

  “Oh, Madison?” I said.

  “Hmm?”

  “How would you like to tour a college?”

  “What college?”

  “Bostock.”

  “Didn’t I just hear you say that it’s mostly a business school?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll pass. You know I’m a liberal arts kind of gal.” She went back to her book.

  I tried again. “Madison, how would you like to help me and Sid with a case?”

  She closed the book. “You know, you really should have led with that.”