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

  There were only five of us, plus Professor Waldron. FAD only offered a handful of English classes, primarily designed to help budding artists produce art history papers, grant proposals, and descriptions of their work. Waldron taught two sections of literature, but they were electives and not particularly popular. The rest of us mostly taught Expository Writing classes that weren’t that much different from classes I’d taught at colleges all through New England.

  My pal Caroline, who’d helped me get the job at FAD, was staring moodily at her Wonder Woman coffee cup while Owen was examining the selection of Danish. I noticed that he was filling two plates and sighed, knowing what was coming next.

  Owen was a fan of Western literature. Not the James Joyce kind, but cowboy stories by people like Zane Grey and Owen Wister, with a good dose of Willa Cather. This had led him to grow a luxurious walrus mustache that he fancied made him look like a rough-and-tough cowboy instead of a WASP-y academic with a penchant for lip foliage. Owen and I had dated for a few months a couple of years earlier and at first I’d found that mustache attractive. Then my sister, Deborah, saw his picture, made a sound I can only describe as a guffaw, and said he looked like an adult film star from the seventies. I never could shake that image afterward.

  “Good morning, Georgia,” he said when he saw me. “I grabbed you a cream cheese Danish!”

  “Thanks, Owen,” I said and took the plate he offered.

  “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I can get my own.”

  “I don’t mind. Black, right?” He went for the coffee urn.

  I stifled a second sigh and sat next to Caroline.

  Owen was a nice enough guy, but there was no spark. I honestly hadn’t given him much thought after we got new jobs and drifted apart. I’d assumed Owen felt the same, since he hadn’t bothered to get in touch with me, but when I’d arrived at FAD, he said he’d been pining for me all that time. I rather thought my appeal had more to do with the fact that I was available. Caroline said he’d already cut a swath through several other departments at FAD, so now he was concentrating on ours.

  Owen was straight, and since Caroline was happily married, Renee was engaged to an adjunct in the Painting department, and Dahna was seeing somebody off campus, that only left me and Professor Waldron. I couldn’t imagine anybody flirting with Professor Waldron—Mr. Perkins would probably poison the coffee and Danish of anybody who dared to be so impertinent.

  Fortunately, Dahna arrived before Owen could get back to the table, and sat next to me. Then Renee came in and sat next to Dahna. That gave me a two-adjunct buffer zone. Owen had to ask them to pass my coffee down to me, which I don’t think he’d intended.

  Mr. Perkins arrived, made sure we were all present and accounted for, carefully filled a coffee cup and prepared a plate with a pair of Danish, and left the offering at the head of the table. Then he sat down and stared expectantly at the door. A moment later, Professor Waldron made her entrance.

  Professor Waldron—never Martha to anyone on campus, as far as I knew—was a well-built woman in her sixties, with tightly curled iron-gray hair and glasses that did nothing to lessen the power of her gaze. And she was always the last to arrive. I don’t think she was trying to be a snob—she honestly believed that there was no reason for her to waste her time on small talk while waiting on other people. Caroline and I had repeatedly tried to figure out how she managed it. Was she hiding in some hidden corner where she could see us come in? Did Mr. Perkins have a signal ring to let her know the time was ripe?

  She took her seat and nodded regally. “Good morning. If you don’t mind, we’ll move past the social courtesies and go straight into business.”

  Since her usual social courtesy consisted of saying, “I hope everyone is having a productive week,” I didn’t much feel the loss.

  “I’m afraid I have some sad news for the department. I received word from the dean that Kelly Griffith has passed away.”

  “Oh no!” Caroline said, suddenly awake. “What happened?”

  “I understand that it was a car crash.”

  “Did it happen Friday night?” I said with a squeak.

  “Yes, it was.” Professor Waldron raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

  “I think I was the one who found her.” I gave an abridged version of the story I’d told Officer Buchanan.

  “I hesitate to criticize,” Professor Waldron said, “but it would have been helpful if I’d been told slightly sooner. The school only notified me this morning.”

  “I didn’t know it was her. I, um, didn’t look at her face. I just… Anyway, the police didn’t tell me who it was because they hadn’t gotten in touch with the family yet.”

  I felt terrible for not realizing who the dead woman had been, though really there was no reason I should have. As far as I knew, I’d never seen Kelly’s car before, and of course Kelly herself had been bundled in outdoor clothes.

  Though Kelly was technically part of the department, she wasn’t an instructor or a member of the administrative staff. Instead she ran the Writing Lab, a resource for students to get help with their papers. Given that FAD students were visual artists, not writers, she stayed busy and never seemed to have a free moment to spend with the rest of us.

  “In that case, of course you have no reason to reproach yourself,” Professor Waldron said. “The department will be sending flowers, once the arrangements have been made, and Mr. Perkins will pass around a condolence card for each of you to sign for the family.”

  “Please sign it promptly,” he put in.

  “I believe there will also be a memorial service here on campus. I will share those details once they are known.”

  We all nodded.

  “Now in addition to the personal loss I’m sure we’re all feeling, the department finds itself in an awkward position. I’m sure you’re all aware of our Writing Across the Curriculum program.”

  We nodded again. The idea of the program was to ensure that all FAD graduates were thoroughly educated, not just trained in their particular art form, so every class included some sort of writing assignment.

  “At this point in the semester, many of our students rely on the Writing Lab for help with their essays and papers, and it’s difficult to know how long it will take to replace Ms. Griffith. The dean asked what can be done, and of course I assured him that we would staff the Lab ourselves as long as necessary.” She looked at each of us briefly. “I can count on you, can’t I?”

  Of course she could. Since we were all adjuncts, any of us could be fired at any time, so we certainly weren’t going to refuse. I was ashamed that under the circumstances, I was thinking about money, and I was relieved that plainspoken Renee asked, “Not to be crass, but we will get paid extra for that, won’t we?”

  Mr. Perkins pursed his lips, as if judging us for our unwillingness to serve the department in its time of need, but he could make that face all he wanted. While he got benefits like insurance and paid holidays with his job, we adjuncts did not.

  Professor Waldron, at least, wasn’t so judgmental. “Of course. Mr. Perkins will provide time sheets, and he also has a sign-up sheet so you can put your names down for the hours you are available. This will be considered hourly labor and will be paid from a separate fund than your teaching salary.” In other words, even if we critiqued our hearts out, we still wouldn’t get benefits.

  Mr. Perkins placed some forms squarely in the middle of the table, though I noticed none of us reached for them. While I liked the idea of making extra bucks, I wasn’t sure I wanted to add to my workload. Had Sid not arrived, I might have been more eager, but now that I had company, I was hoping for some fun time.

  Professor Waldron said, “I do have another matter to bring up. I’d intended to wait for our regular meeting on Wednesday, but since I have you all together now, I may as well inform you right away. As you know, FAD is in the process of beefing up its core curriculum, and as part of that, there will be more ri
gorous requirements for graduation. Starting in the fall semester, students have to take another English course in addition to Expository Writing—either a writing course or a literature course. I explained to the dean that we were inadequately staffed to meet that need and he agreed that we need to bring more instructors on board.”

  That was good news. If they were going to hire additional adjuncts, then my job was safer. Like most businesses, when there’s a need to reduce headcount, the newest hire is usually the first to go. Caroline had been hired a couple of weeks before I was, which left me at the head of the firing line.

  Professor Waldron went on. “In fact, I was able to convince the dean that our reliance on adjunct faculty for essential goals could leave us in a precarious position. He agreed, and I have been given authorization to add one tenure track position. I would prefer to promote from within, so to speak, so I invite you all to throw your hats into the ring, should you be interested in the opportunity.”

  Tenure! With tenure came support for writing academic papers, applying for grants, and attending conferences; a budget for professional organizations and journals; travel stipends for conferences; the ability to sign time cards for student assistants; and a myriad of other perks. Tenure meant a guaranteed job until retirement—unless I really screwed up. Maybe a career at FAD wouldn’t have been my first choice, but with tenure, even the insane amount of snow in Falstone wouldn’t seem so bad.

  Of course, from looking around the table, I could tell that the other four adjuncts wanted tenure just as badly as I did, and there was only one position available. We’d just gone from friendly colleagues to competitors. On the plus side, I was pretty sure that Owen wouldn’t be saving the cheese Danish for me anymore.

  Professor Waldron gathered her notes. “I believe that is all for today. Don’t forget to sign up for any shifts you can manage at the Writing Lab. Unless something urgent occurs, we can forgo our Wednesday meeting.”

  She swept out, with Mr. Perkins bringing up the rear. We five newly made rivals looked at each other for a moment and Renee said, “You know, that announcement wasn’t an accident. She wants to see how much extra work we’re willing to take on to prove our worthiness for tenure.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said.

  “Completely transparent,” Caroline chimed in.

  We all nodded at the unfairness of it. Then Renee said, “And it’s totally going to work.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said.

  “Completely transparent,” Caroline chimed in.

  To our credit, we did not go all Thunderdome with the sign-up sheets. We took turns like grown-ups and even signed up for the same number of hours each so nobody would get an unfair advantage. Of course, I thought it likely that somebody would approach Mr. Perkins separately to glom on to more hours. To get a better shot at tenure, I might even be that somebody.

  Chapter Six

  After the meeting, I taught my eleven o’clock class, grabbed a bowl of corn chowder and a roll for lunch, taught my one-thirty class, and went back to my office to deal with assorted routine e-mails and memos. At least, I’m pretty sure I did. The vision of tenure kept dancing in my head like sugarplums running late for Christmas, so I mostly operated on autopilot until it was time to head home for the day.

  I’d texted Sid that I was on my way back, so I wasn’t entirely surprised to find him waiting for me. The fact that he had a tray with a glass of Dr Pepper and two Ritz crackers spread with peanut butter waiting for me was less expected, and the fact that he was wearing a ruffled floral apron was downright astonishing.

  “Hello, dear. How was your day?” he said with a grin.

  Of course I had to play along. “Traffic was terrible, and work was worse. This country is going to the dogs! And didn’t I tell you I wanted my Dr Pepper straight up and not on the rocks?”

  Laughter ensued.

  “Seriously, though,” I said when I was able, “what’s with the faux fifties greeting? And where did you find that apron?”

  “In a box in the closet. There’s a surprising amount of storage space in this place.”

  “Space where we shouldn’t be sticking our noses and/or nasal cavities.”

  “I put everything back exactly where I found it, and I won’t do it anymore if you don’t want me to.”

  “Is that because you realize you shouldn’t have, or because you’ve already turned the place inside out?”

  His grin was all the answer I needed.

  “Just be sure the apron goes back where it belongs. The Benstommes are doing me a big favor by letting me stay here rent free.” Then I casually took a sip of my soda and even more casually said, “I wonder if they’d know of a place I can rent long-term. You know, if I get tenure.”

  “Tenure? TENURE! You’re getting tenure?” Sid hadn’t spent his entire semi-life living with academics without learning what that meant.

  “Maybe. It’s not a done deal, not by a long shot, but at least I’m in the running.”

  “Woo hoo! So if you get this job, will we officially move to Falstone?”

  “Sure, if we can find a place. Maybe in a few years, we could even buy a house.”

  “I’ll check real estate listings tonight and see what’s available. It would be great to have a place as isolated as this one so I could take care of the snow shoveling and stuff, but if not, that’s okay. Is the high school in town good? Or would Madison stay with your parents during the school year?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far yet.” On the one hand, I missed Madison dreadfully. On the other hand, I didn’t want to tear her away from a school she adored for her last two years before graduation.

  “What are salaries like at FAD?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You didn’t check before you came here?”

  I shook my head. “I used to check on average salaries every time I started at a new school. I even chose between two positions by taking the one that had the higher starting salary for permanent jobs, just in case. But after a few years, I stopped—it just depressed me to compare what they get to what I get.”

  “Not anymore!” Sid said gleefully. “You’ve got this in the bag.”

  “There are five other adjuncts who want it just as much as I do, and they’ve all been here longer than I have, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Please! Professor Waldron wouldn’t have thrown it open that way if she was just going with seniority. She wants the best candidate, and that’s you. I think we need a dance party!”

  “Sid, we don’t need a dance party for a twenty percent chance of a—”

  But it was too late. He’d already run off to get his laptop and came back with dance music playing loudly while he gesticulated wildly. What Sid lacks in grace and skill, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm and staying power, and his fresh moves led me to conclude that he’d been watching music videos on YouTube in my absence. After a moment I joined in, though I was hopelessly hampered by the need to follow the laws of biology, unlike my bony friend.

  Eventually we got on to making dinner.

  “So tell me about the competition.”

  “First up is Caroline Craig.”

  “Caroline? She’s the one who scores us all the hot new graphic novels, right?”

  “That’s her. She helped me get this job, too.” Caroline, a redhead who tied her hair back in a ponytail and hated to dress up even more than I did, was my best friend at FAD. Whenever her husband was away on business, she and I shared geeky movie nights. She’d been delighted to move to FAD because it gave her a chance to teach a course in graphic novels, something she’d been dreaming of for years. “She’s a real sweetie.”

  “Are her credentials as good as yours?”

  “It’s tough to say. I think I’ve got my name on more papers than she does. She’s been an adjunct longer and is a few years older than I am, but I’m not sure if that’s a plus or a minus. Being married might make her seem more stable.”

  “But you’ve
got Madison. Motherhood makes you stable.”

  “Unfortunately, single motherhood still raises the occasional judgmental eyebrow. Besides, I don’t think having kids adds to psychological stability anyway. I mean, we’re always saying, ‘That kid drives me crazy!’”

  “You never say that about Madison.”

  “Well, she’s awesome. Anyway, I think somebody who specializes in graphic novels would be a great fit for FAD, but Professor Waldron does tend to prefer instructors who specialize in the works of dead white guys.”

  “What’s the matter with dead white guys?” Sid said indignantly. “You live with one!”

  “Point taken. Many dead white guys are charming, and if you write a book, I’ll be happy to read it, but one does like to reflect diversity in the literature one presents to one’s students.”

  “Ooo, you’re going into professor speech. Practicing for tenure already! I think you’ve got the edge on Caroline.”

  “I think so, too, but it’s close.”

  By then we were ready to settle at the table: me to eat a Caesar salad and spaghetti, Sid to keep me company.

  “Who else?” he asked.

  “Owen Deen.”

  “That name sounds familiar.”

  “I taught with him at Lesley, and we went out for a semester.”

  “Wait, not Porn Star Owen!”

  “He’s not a porn star—he just looks like one. At least his upper lip does.”

  “If you’re going to start commenting on his other attributes, I’m going to leave the room.”

  “No comment on those,” I said. “It’s just that I still feel guilty for rejecting him over something as superficial as a mustache.”

  “Your instincts are good. If he’d been worth keeping around, you would have overlooked the lip caterpillar.”

  “I guess. He’s been trying to get me to go out with him again ever since I started working at FAD.”

  “Tell him to buzz off!” Sid said heartlessly. Which only made sense, I suppose. “Is he a better academic than he was a boyfriend?”