The Skeleton Paints a Picture: A Family Skeleton Mystery (#4) Page 14

  Nobody else seemed to be paying attention to her, so I said, “You mean the therapy dog?”

  She nodded.

  “You just missed him.”

  She’d looked bedraggled before, but as I spoke, she seemed to deflate and sank down onto one of the chairs. “Oh no. I really needed a puppy break. I mean…I really needed…” Tears started to roll down her face.

  “Oh, sweetie!” I said, and hurried over. “Are you okay? Is there something I can do?”

  “No, there’s nothing.”

  Other students were starting to stare, and I could tell the girl was becoming more and more distraught. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m bothering you. I’m bothering everybody. I’ll go… I’ll go somewhere.”

  “Why don’t you come with me to my office? I’m Dr. Thackery. Georgia.”

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and followed me. I closed the door behind her, then sat her down on the guest chair and handed her the box of tissues from my desk. After a moment I gave her my hot chocolate, too.

  Once she’d used the former and had drunk down half the latter, she seemed calm enough for me to ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “You don’t want to hear this.”

  Technically, she was right, because I didn’t want to take on more emotional baggage, but part of being a teacher is being available to students in need. And she was definitely in need. Besides, though she looked nothing like Madison, my maternal instincts were aroused. “That’s okay. If you need to talk, I’ll be glad to listen.”

  “You’re an artist, right?”

  “No, I’m an English prof.”

  “Oh. Then you wouldn’t understand. Nobody cares now that—” she said dismally. “Nobody cares.”

  “I do care, and I will listen.”

  She hesitated a long moment, but I waited her out until she spoke. “So I’m in Sequential Art. You know what that is, right?”

  I pointed at the stack of graphic novels on top of my bookshelf.

  “Oh, okay. So money has been really tight this quarter. My parents never have been sold on art school, and they help out with tuition, but they don’t cover all my expenses. I worked all summer to make up the difference, and I meant to work during Christmas break, too, but I was waiting tables and tips were really bad. So I’d put some of my designs up on Green Globe. People can order T-shirts and other merch and I get a cut.”

  “Right,” I said slowly, starting to realize just who I had in my office.

  “It’s not a lot of money, but it’s enough to keep me in ramen noodles. I uploaded a batch of new designs last week, and I was hoping to get enough for a pizza once in a while. Only, I ended up getting an e-mail from Green Globe, and they said one of my designs was copied from a T-shirt being sold in a store!”

  “The store wouldn’t have been City Riggers, would it?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “So Green Globe said I was an art thief! They’re claiming some of my other work was copied, too, so they’ve blackballed me entirely and taken all of my designs off the site! And it’s not true! I didn’t copy anybody!”

  She dissolved into more tears, making it hard for me to get a decent look at her face, but I was almost certain she was the girl who’d come looking for her sketchbook. Her hair was a different color from when I’d seen her—it had been dyed turquoise to match her eyes—but I was 90 percent sure. I was about to ask when a ping from my phone let me know a text had arrived.

  SID: Found the other victim! A sequential art major named Marissa Esqueleto.

  GEORGIA: I found her, too. Will explain later.

  The crying was dwindling into sniffles, and I thought it would be safe to ask, “Is your name Marissa?”

  She looked at me. “Yeah. Have we met?”

  “Not exactly, but I was at the Writing Lab when you came looking for your sketchbook the other day.”

  “Oh, right, that was you. You didn’t find it, did you?”

  “No, sorry.”

  She sighed heavily. “That’s another disaster. I had preliminary work for a project in there, and I had to do it all over again.”

  “Okay, this is going to sound out of the blue, but how do you sign your artwork?”

  She looked surprised but said, “With a little butterfly.”

  I resisted the impulse to pump my fist in triumph. “Did you give the sketchbook to Kelly Griffith for her to use as part of her investigation into art theft?”

  Her eyes went wide, and I think she was actually afraid of me.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve taken over the project now that Kelly is gone.”

  “She never mentioned anybody helping her.”

  “How I got involved is a long story, but I’ve been trying to pick up where she left off. The problem is that we don’t have her notes.”

  “We?”

  Coccyx, I couldn’t very well tell her about Sid. So I improvised. “Another student is helping me. They had stuff stolen, too.”

  “Who?”

  “Indigo Williamson.” Sid would probably have kicked me for giving up more information, but I thought maybe it would convince Marissa I was on the up and up. “Do you know them?”

  “I’ve seen them around,” she said with an oddly wistful tone, “but I’ve never spoken to them. Kelly said there was somebody else at FAD who’d had designs stolen, but she never said who.”

  “Kelly was big on protecting her sources.” Which had been reasonable given what she was doing, but it sure was making things hard for me. “Do you think we can all three meet? Maybe together we can come up with some clues about who the thief is.” Given Marissa’s state of mind, I didn’t think I should mention murder yet.

  She looked at the clock on my desk. “I can’t now. I’ve got class in a little while. Maybe later this week?”

  “I’ll text Indigo right now.” It took a few exchanges back and forth, but we finally arranged to meet the next day at the Writing Lab.

  Before Marissa left, I pointed out that FAD has a campus food bank for students in need and told her where it was. I really hoped she’d go—students can’t live on ramen alone, even with an occasional pizza.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Between arguments and discoveries, plus moments of actually working, I was exhausted. So once Marissa had gone, I texted Sid that I was leaving campus and would be home after a stop to pick up a pizza. Marissa’s comments had roused a craving for a DiPietro’s double pepperoni that could not be denied.

  I was intending to make a quiet exit, but as I left my office, Caroline walked by. I gave her a curt nod and would have kept going, but she said, “Oh, hi. I hear you finally had it out with Romeo Owen.” She tried for a conspiratorial grin, or perhaps a congratulatory one, but the expression was sadly strained. “Good for you.”

  A dozen responses ran through my head, ranging from the snarky to bitingly contemptuous to outright insulting to cutting her dead. I just didn’t have the energy for any of them. “If getting tenure here is that important to you, Caroline, I hope you get it.” Then I walked away, both relieved and disappointed when she didn’t try to stop me.

  After that I definitely needed that pizza and I lucked out getting a parking place right outside DiPietro’s. I considered just getting a couple of slices but convinced myself that buying a whole pizza would be more economical because I would get at least two meals out of it—the idea of eating the entire pie never crossed my mind. I even bought a Greek salad to go with it to prove that I was an adult.

  I was paying when I saw that Sid had sent a text, but I waited until I got back to my minivan to take a look.

  SID: Did you forget your keys?

  Since my TARDIS key ring was currently in my hand, I replied:

  GEORGIA: No. Why?

  SID: You’re not outside the house?

  GEORGIA: NO! HIDE!

  SID: Already hiding.

  GEORGIA: Sure you can’t be seen?
<
br />   SID: Under my bed. In the dark.

  GEORGIA: What happened?

  SID: Doorbell rang. Ran for my room, quietly.

  GEORGIA: Sure it wasn’t mailman? UPS? FedEx?

  SID: Mail came hours ago. The other guys ring once and leave. This guy rang three times. Then I saw a shadow—he’s walking around house trying to look in windows. Should I try to get a look at him?

  GEORGIA: NO! Too risky. Stay put.

  SID: Understood.

  GEORGIA: ON THE WAY!

  I started driving. Minutes clicked by as I waited to hear more. Finally, Sid texted again.

  SID: He’s gone. Heard car door slam and car drove away. But I’m staying under bed anyway.

  I wanted to answer, but it would have been both unsafe and illegal to do so while driving—just reading Sid’s texts was technically breaking the law.

  SID: Probably nothing. Sorry to scare you.

  SID: BTW need to dust under the bed. Found somebody’s lost sock.

  I was driving safely despite everything, just a little faster than usual, and I may have been a little sloppier on the turn into the driveway than my norm. The driveway was too messy for me to be able to spot errant footprints, but it was obvious that once again, somebody had been walking around the house trying to look through windows.

  Even though Sid had assured me the intruder was gone, I was extra careful on the short walk to the porch, trying to look in every direction at once.

  “Sid, it’s me!” I yelled as I came in the door and slammed it shut behind me. “Are you okay?”

  “Dead as ever,” he said as he came clattering toward me. “Were you speeding?”

  “Of course I was speeding.” I grabbed him in a big hug.

  In a voice muffled by his skull being pressed against my coat, he said, “Georgia, I can’t breathe.”

  “You don’t breathe, and I need this hug.”

  “Okay.”

  We stood there a while longer. Then he said, “Your pizza is going to get cold.”

  That convinced me to disengage, and after I got rid of my winter gear, Sid helped me set the table for dinner.

  “I’m fine, you know. He didn’t see me, and he didn’t even try to break in. He couldn’t do anything to me anyway, right? I’m just glad you weren’t here.”

  “If I’d been here, I could have called the cops, even Officer Buchanan. You don’t have that option.”

  “And you can’t give somebody a heart attack by your very appearance. Not even with your worst bed head.”

  I laughed a little.

  Sid said, “So we know somebody thinks we’re onto something. Which is good. Not as good as if we actually knew anything, but maybe we know something we don’t know that we know.” He paused. “I think I lost control of that sentence.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. And we do know something. A couple of things, in fact. One, Professor Waldron is aware that we’re investigating the thefts—though not the murder—and she approves. And two, I’ve finally spoken to the other theft victim.”

  “Start talking or I’m taking the pizza hostage!”

  It took a while to get it all out, and Sid reacted in just the right ways, which cheered me even more than the pizza did.

  When I had gone through it all, he said, “So to sum up, Owen is an ossifying piece of sacrum, Professor Waldron has a great skull on her shoulders, your other colleagues need to grow spines, and Marissa is in a bad place.”

  “That covers it nicely. I take it you found her paper in the Writing Lab database.”

  He nodded. “Only, you’d found her first.”

  “I’ll toss you a bone and say it was a tie,” I said magnanimously.

  “As if I needed more bones,” he said and thunked my head. “Since we both made progress, I think we deserve a dance party.”

  “I’m really not in the mood.”

  “Dance party!”

  “Sid! Do not put on any music!”

  “Classic rock? Techno pop? Power ballad?”

  “No!”

  “Owl City?”

  “Coccyx,” I muttered. He knows I can’t resist Owl City.

  Apparently he’d put together a new playlist, none of which I could resist, and several rounds of really bad but wholly enjoyable dancing and lip-syncing ensued. It was the most fun I’d had in ages.

  We were interrupted in the middle of our Journey sing-along when my cell phone rang.

  I checked the caller ID before answering. “Hey, Lucas.”

  “Did I interrupt something? You sound out of breath.”

  “Just working out a little,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I need a favor. My life model for tomorrow bagged on me and I thought of you.”

  “If this is a joke about me posing for you—”

  “No, really, no joke. The guy is sick as a dog, and I can’t find anybody else. And I don’t want you to pose—I mean, I’m sure you’d be a fascinating study for my students, but that’s not what I had in mind. Somebody told me that you have a skeleton.”

  “We’re all skeletons under the skin, Lucas.”

  “True, but apparently you have a spare—I heard you brought one on campus the other day. Do you think I could borrow it for my class?”

  “Oh. You know, it doesn’t belong to me—it belongs to my parents—so I really need to ask them first. Can I get back to you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Talk to you in a few.”

  “Since when do I belong to your parents?” Sid said when I’d hung up.

  “I couldn’t tell Lucas I have to consult with the skeleton itself, could I?”

  “Granted. So what’s the deal?”

  I explained the situation. “You’d have to stay still most of the day in Lucas’s studio.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. I’ve had a chance to scope out some of your students, but this will give me a shot at some others. We’re talking serious eavesdropping possibilities, plus I can take a closer look at Lucas himself.”

  “Do you think Lucas is our guy?”

  “I don’t know that he’s not.”

  “That’s fair. At this point, it’s pretty much up for grabs. Just thinking about how many people it could be makes me dizzy.”

  “After his performance today, I’m hoping it’s Porn Star Owen.”

  For once I didn’t correct him for calling Owen that. “Anyway, if you think it’s worth the risk, let’s do it.”

  “It won’t be that big a risk, and it might—Hey, wait. Why aren’t you trying to talk me out of going on campus?”

  “What you said. Checking out Lucas, giving you a chance to observe students.” I tried to look innocent but didn’t do a very good job.

  “You’re not fooling me, Georgia. You just want an excuse to take me to FAD in case the prowler comes back. Maybe it would be better if I stayed on guard.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. I’ve got to be able to concentrate on my meeting with Indigo and Marissa, plus dealing with backstabbing colleagues. And I do have that job thing. I can’t do any of that if I’m worrying about you. Now should I tell Lucas that you’ll come?”

  “Okay, but you’re going to have to help me with a bath tonight. I want to look my best when I start my modeling career.”

  Calling Lucas back, helping Sid swab himself with diluted hydrogen peroxide to make sure he was good and white, and routine life duties took up the rest of the evening. Sid was still trying to pretend that he wasn’t worried about the intruder returning, but I noticed that he was patrolling again, and I’m pretty sure he scoped out hiding places in every room.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As soon as my Thursday morning class was over, I wheeled Sid in his suitcase over to Lucas’s studio.

  “Interesting carrying case,” Lucas said, one eyebrow lifted.

  “A skeleton is surprisingly heavy. Where shall I set him up?”

  “Oh, I can do that. Is he wired together or—?”

  “My father made
me promise to set him up for you. One of his students broke one of the ribs once, and we had to glue it back together, and ever since then, he’s been really particular.” Actually, it was a pillow fight in which that rib had gotten broken, but sometimes the truth doesn’t sound nearly as believable as a lie, especially when Sid is involved. “Just tell me where and how you want him.”

  The Painting department’s wing was arranged differently from the English wing, reasonably enough. Lucas’s studio had an adjoining classroom, and then Jeremy’s office opened off the other end of the classroom—Lucas explained that the two of them shared the classroom. There was a platform in the middle of the room, with easels in a circle around it.

  Lucas lifted a table onto the platform, then covered it with a dark blue fake fur cloth. “Let’s put him on here.”

  Once again, Sid was pretending to be wired together like a normal academic specimen, so I had to kind of unfold him from the suitcase, a process that took much longer than just letting him pop back together. “Lying down, sitting, what?”

  “Reclining, on one side, with his head propped up on his elbow. Will he stay in that position okay?”

  “Sure, no problem.” I got Sid into place, and for once, he was on his best behavior—no funny noises or whispered remarks. “How’s that?”

  “Now bend the right leg a bit so he looks more comfortable. Tilt the chin down so he’s looking at the students. Good. Just push—” This went on for several minutes, enough so that Sid and I were getting annoyed. That is, I know I was getting annoyed, and when Sid’s hand started easing into a rude gesture, I thought it was a safe bet to say that he was, too. I lightly thumped his skull and fixed his hand back the way it was supposed to be. Finally, Lucas was satisfied.

  “That’s great! I think the kids will get a kick out of this. And I promise, no touching will be allowed. If I leave the room, I will lock the door to the hall, the door to my office, and even the door to Jeremy’s office. Okay?”