The Skeleton Paints a Picture: A Family Skeleton Mystery (#4) Read online

  “You’re jealous? Seriously, that’s your reason? That’s just pathetic, Owen. I thought you were—” I stopped just in time.

  “Thought I was what?”

  “I thought you were a worthwhile human being. Obviously I was wrong. I want you to stay the patella away from me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing.”

  He started to relax. “You mean it? Georgia, I really appreciate this. I mean, actually—”

  I looked behind him as Officer Buchanan stepped in.

  “Is this the guy?” she said, jerking her thumb at Owen.

  “That’s him. He’s all yours.”

  “You said you weren’t going to do anything!” Owen said, looking indignant.

  “I’m not doing anything,” I said. “I called Officer Buchanan a few minutes ago, and she’s taking over.” I’d been nonplussed when she was the one to answer the phone when I called the police station, but if she really did think I had something to do with Kelly’s murder, she’d compartmentalized that suspicion after I told her what was going on. To her I said, “Did you get the video I e-mailed?”

  “Sure did. It made for some entertaining viewing. Have you got the physical evidence?”

  “All ready for you.” I handed her a shopping bag that held the coffee-filled water bottle and the beer cans Owen had planted on my desk.

  “Dr. Deen, I would like you to accompany me to the station so we can have us a little conversation.”

  “But nothing happened!”

  “Drugging another person without their knowledge or consent is against the law.”

  “It was just a prank.”

  “You call it a prank—I call it assault,” Officer Buchanan said. “Are you coming quietly, or do you have a hankering for cuffs and a perp walk?”

  “If you do a perp walk, can I film it?” I asked.

  “I’ll come quietly,” Owen said. “It’s just a misunderstanding, really.”

  Of course Mr. Perkins noticed Officer Buchanan escorting Owen out of the building, and even without the use of handcuffs, he knew something was wrong. He came rushing over for an explanation, which I was happy to provide.

  “Then you think Dr. Deen is the art thief?” he asked.

  I wished I could have said that he was beyond the shadow of a doubt, but even after all that, I didn’t think he was.

  “Are you sure, Georgia?” Sid asked for the umpteenth time when we were on our way back to the bungalow. He was huddling in his open suitcase on the floor of the passenger side of the front seat.

  “Pretty sure. You heard him, Sid. He spilled his guts!”

  “Nasty expression—makes me glad I don’t have any.”

  “And yet you were gutsy enough to warn me.”

  “What are partners for?”

  “Anyway, I don’t think Owen was holding anything back. He wasn’t trying to conceal a theft or a murder—he was just trying to get rid of a competitor while getting back at me for not dating him. Or maybe he was getting back at me for not dating him while getting rid of a competitor.”

  “Now the only tenure he’ll be getting is in jail!”

  “That sounds like a tagline. Sid, have you been binge watching Law & Order again?”

  “Chung chung,” he admitted.

  “At any rate, that puts Dahna back at the top of our suspect list. You should have gone ahead and gone sleuthing overnight. I’m fine.”

  “The patella you are! A friend—excuse me, a former friend—tried to drug you and frame you. You’re shaky and upset and I am going to make sure you feel better. I can spend tomorrow night at FAD.”

  I really was shakier than I wanted to let on. Maybe I didn’t much like Owen anymore, but I’d liked him enough at one time to date him, and having him turn on me the way he had left me wondering if he’d really changed or if I’d just been oblivious to what he was actually like.

  Once we got back to the bungalow, Sid bustled me inside, pushed me down onto the couch with an afghan I didn’t really need wrapped around me, and went to fix me one of my traditional comfort meals: a grilled cheese sandwich with cheddar cheese and a bowl of tomato soup. When I tried to boot up my laptop afterward to get a little work done, he grabbed it away and wouldn’t tell me where he’d put it. Instead he put Toy Story into the DVD player, and when that was over, gave me hot chocolate and plopped the first Harry Potter book onto my lap and told me to read.

  Sid did not end up spending the next night at FAD because my schedule was totally derailed. Before he could get me to bed, Officer Buchanan called to tell me that I needed to come to the station to give a statement. When I protested that I had a class to teach, she assured me that she’d already spoken to Professor Waldron, who’d called to find out what was going on with Owen. So Waldron already knew not to expect me on campus and had said she’d make sure my class was covered.

  Since that meant I was going to get to sleep late, Sid and I really indulged ourselves and watched another movie. Then we planned how I could work around the truth in my statement to the police.

  It turned out not to be overly difficult. Once I switched from “Sid told me not to drink the coffee” to “I took a sip and it tasted funny” and from “Sid filmed Owen being nefarious” to “I propped my phone up to film Owen being nefarious,” the rest was pretty much the truth. Officer Buchanan still seemed vaguely suspicious of me, but I was starting to think that that was her permanent state. She didn’t mention Kelly at all, so I didn’t either.

  When I left the police station, I found a voicemail from Professor Waldron, requesting that I come meet with her as soon as possible. I should have realized she would want to talk with me—maybe I’d been even more shaken than Sid had thought.

  I called her back, and she requested my presence on campus for an immediate conference. I wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but I agreed, pausing only to text Sid where I was going. I’d hoped it would be a brief stop, but it ended up being a couple of hours before I got back home. Sid was waiting for me at the door, and I was pretty sure he’d been pacing.

  “Coccyx, Georgia, where have you been?”

  “I texted you that I had to go see Professor Waldron.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be gone so long. You know I don’t want you on campus alone with a murderer on the loose.”

  “You don’t have to worry—I was nowhere near the English wing. Professor Waldron had me come straight to the administration building. I barely remembered where it was—I don’t think I’ve stepped foot in it since my first day here.”

  “What happened?”

  “Not only were Professor Waldron and the dean waiting for me, but they had the college lawyer, too.”

  “Whoa! What did they want?”

  “The dean wanted to know what happened, Professor Waldron wanted to make sure that I was okay, and the lawyer wanted to make sure I’m not planning to sue FAD.”

  “Why would you sue FAD?”

  “For money, presumably. Some people will sue at the drop of a hat. Anyway, I told them that I’m fine and that I don’t hold FAD responsible.”

  “And it took that much time?”

  “No, the part that took that much time was the lawyer trying to talk me into signing an agreement he just happened to have handy. It absolved FAD of any wrongdoing since the dawn of time, including—but not limited to—the death of the dinosaurs, the destruction of the Library of Alexandria, the sinking of the Titanic, and the canceling of the TV show Firefly.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Not entirely,” I admitted, “but it was definitely too vague for my taste, so I told them I saw no reason to sign. The dean tried to convince me delicately and the lawyer was less delicate, but I just wasn’t interested. I mean, I’m not going to sue, but…”

  “But what?”

  “When I came to FAD, I had to sign a contract, and that same lawyer kept me sitting in his waiting room for an hour that day! Even though I had an appointment and showed up early
. So no, I’m not signing his agreement. It’s payback time.”

  “Good for you,” he said approvingly. “Did you tell them you don’t think Owen is the art thief?”

  “Nope. It didn’t come up.”

  “Good—we don’t need any interference. But why didn’t you mention it? I mean, you do have a tendency to tell people more than you need to.”

  “I do not! And especially not with a lawyer around. I think he’d have fainted if I’d brought up the concept of Owen having done anything else that might bring down legal ramifications upon FAD. I thought about talking to Professor Waldron about it afterward, but she stayed in the dean’s office after I was dismissed, so I didn’t get a chance.”

  “Okay. Then we’re back on track for getting the dirt on Dr. Dahna, the real killer. Shall we lay a few plans?” He rubbed his hands together eagerly, if not quietly.

  “Later. First, I want something to eat. And then I better get on the phone to Pennycross. You know how the academic grapevine works. If my parents haven’t already heard about Owen, they will soon, and I want them to hear it from me first.”

  Eating went fairly quickly, but explaining what had happened to my parents; my sister, Deborah; and Madison took quite a while. Once that was done, Sid was ready and raring to plot. We spent the rest of the evening going over plans and contingency plans for how he’d get into Dahna’s office.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Friday morning, I once again wheeled a Sid-filled suitcase into school. He had his phone in with him, with texting, e-mail, and camera apps to use in his evidence collecting mission. He also had a flashlight, a thumb drive, a pocket knife, a pad and pencil, and his lock pick set. He wasn’t happy that all of it was tucked into my black satin evening bag for convenient carrying, but options at the bungalow were limited, and the bag was the right size and had a shoulder strap. I’d promised to get him something more appropriate the first chance I got.

  Since I had no classes to teach and was still in avoid-Dahna mode, I didn’t show up until right before my shift at the Writing Lab so as to keep opportunities for encounters at a minimum. I had a full slate of students, and if any of them had heard rumors about Wednesday’s events, they were either too polite to bring it up or just not interested in the goings-on of instructors. So we stayed on topic the whole time.

  But the minute my last appointment ended and the student walked out, Caroline popped in.

  “Got you!” she said. “Don’t you ever check your e-mail?”

  “Sorry.” I had seen her increasingly strident e-mails the night before, but after the cops, the administration, and my family, I just hadn’t had it in me to go through the story again. “I just got the okay from the legal department to talk about it late yesterday.” Actually, the agreement I had avoided signing had included a gag order, but obviously I didn’t care about that.

  “Then come join us for lunch.”

  “Who is us?”

  “Me and Renee.”

  “Okay, sure.” I could manage lunch as long as I didn’t have to face Dahna. “Just let me drop off my stuff in my office.”

  Caroline walked with me, apparently unwilling to risk my getting away without sharing the dirt, and was so intent on that she didn’t even comment on why I was wheeling around a suitcase.

  Caroline said Renee had already gone to The Artist’s Palette to make sure we got a good table, and when we arrived, we spotted her waving from a corner booth. Evidently her curiosity about my misadventure had pushed aside her competitive, tenure-focused instincts. She’d already gotten food from the serving line, and Caroline insisted on treating me to the club sandwich and salad I picked out.

  “Sure you want coffee?” Renee said with a grin. “It could be drugged.”

  “Renee,” Caroline said in an appalled tone.

  I sighed but said, “It’s okay. I know you guys want to hear about what happened. I would, too, in your place.”

  “Eat first,” Caroline said, and I decided it would be impolite to disobey. Besides, I was hungry.

  As soon as I’d finished, I repeated the story once again, though with more profanity than I’d used with the police or college administration. “Is that what you guys had heard?”

  “Pretty much,” Caroline said. “Except for the part about Owen pouring booze over you while you were pretending to be passed out.”

  “I heard it wasn’t booze,” Renee said with a wrinkled nose.

  It took a minute for that to sink it. “Oh, yuck. There’s no way I’d have been able to stay in character if he’d done either of those.”

  “I bet he would have if he’d thought of it,” Caroline said. “What a slimeball! Did you know he’s been suspended until the formal outcome of the investigation? Without pay!”

  “Professor Waldron said something about that yesterday. What are they going to do about his classes?”

  Caroline looked a bit embarrassed, but Renee was matter-of-fact when she said, “Dahna, Caroline, and I are each taking over one, and somebody at Montserrat is going to handle his online classes.”

  “We’d have checked with you first,” Caroline said, “but we thought it might be a little awkward for you to be teaching one of Owen’s classes, under the circumstances.”

  “Maybe more than a little.” If Owen’s students had any fondness for him, they might not be entirely happy with me.

  “Besides, we can use the brownie points,” Renee went on. “You’re already way ahead on that score, what with catching a scumbucket in action.”

  “I didn’t think of it that way. I’d really rather get the job on my own merits.”

  “Don’t listen to Renee,” Caroline said. “If you get tenure, it’ll be because you’re an extremely qualified candidate, not just because you caught an art thief.”

  “Actually, I’m not so sure I did catch an art thief. Owen hasn’t admitted to any of that, has he?”

  “Not that I know of—I just assumed.”

  “And I’ve never seen any signs of him having more money than he should.”

  “He sure doesn’t spend it on his clothes,” Caroline quipped. “Did he dress like a bad Western hero when you dated him, Georgia?”

  “Oh, it’s totally him,” Renee said. “They found a student’s sketchbook in his office—had her name in it and everything. He was probably scoping it out for more designs to steal.”

  “Color me relieved. I’d hate to think we had more than one scumbucket on campus,” Caroline said.

  The conversation drifted into other directions after that: Renee’s wedding plans and the perennial favorite of complaining and/or bragging about students. I think I managed to keep up my end, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was too busy trying to decide if I’d caught an art thief—and murderer—almost by accident.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sid had no such doubts. I’d gone back to my office after lunch and found him at my desk reading, and I explained what Renee had told me.

  “But Sid, if that sketchbook is the one Marissa left with Kelly, then doesn’t it mean that Owen took it after killing her? And drugging her, drugging me… You think it was a coincidence?”

  “One,” he said, raising one finger bone. Being Sid, he literally popped it off and held it up. “If that’s Marissa’s sketchbook, then the real killer could easily have planted it in Owen’s office.” He put the finger bone on the desk and pulled off a second. “Two, drugging people is hardly an original method.” He put the second finger down. “Three, we know Owen never worked at three of the schools where Scarlet Letter stole designs.” Third finger on the desk. “Four, the real killer must have been at all five. And by ‘real killer,’ I mean Dahna because she’s the only adjunct that fits the bill.” Another finger down. “And five, I have a hunch and my hunches are never wrong.” He picked up the handful of fingers, tossed it into the air, and let them re-form to give himself a high five.

  “Are you really that sure?”

  “Maybe not a hundred percent, but en
ough so that I’m not giving in yet. And this could all work in our favor. If everybody assumes Owen is the thief, then Dahna is going to let her guard down because she’ll think she’s safe. It’s the perfect night to search her office.”

  “Or maybe she’ll decide that she’s dodged a bullet by having Owen handy to blame, and she’ll give up theft and murder.”

  “Then she’ll have to get rid of the evidence soon, so it’s the perfect night to search her office.”

  “I’m guessing that you still want to search her office tonight?”

  “You can bet your tailbone I do!”

  No students showed up for office hours, which was fine with me. I kept going over the evidence in my head, looking for where we could have gone wrong. Since there were all kinds of places we could have gone wrong, that kept me busy most of the afternoon. It didn’t help when Marissa texted to say that she’d gotten her sketchbook back—hers was definitely the one found in Owen’s office. I was glad that she’d recovered it, of course, but it was plain from her texts that she, too, thought Owen was the thief. That only gave me fresh ammunition for dithering.

  I ended up staying considerably later than I usually did, and even with my office door closed, I could tell the English wing was emptying out for the weekend.

  “Georgia, why aren’t you going home?” Sid finally asked.

  “Hmm… Oh, it is late, isn’t it?”

  “Wow, so convincing. Go home.”

  “You know, I was thinking that I could just stay with you for the search.”

  “No! If Dahna catches you, it could be dangerous, and if security catches you, you could be arrested and will almost certainly lose your shot at tenure. If Dahna catches me, I’ll collapse and nobody would believe her. If security catches me, I’ll collapse and nobody will believe them. Go home.”

  “But I could stay here in the office while you search.”

  “Or you could go home so nobody spots your car in the parking lot and wonders why you’re still here.”