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

  “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?”

  “It’s hard to be fair to him given our history, but I don’t think he’s that great. He’s decent as an instructor but doesn’t seem to keep up with current stuff in the field, and though he has some publications, they’re not in the best journals. Plus I don’t think Mr. Perkins likes him.”

  “Does Mr. Perkins’s opinion carry that much weight?”

  “It does with Professor Waldron. They have a strongly symbiotic relationship.”

  “Does Mr. Perkins like you?”

  “I believe so. He doesn’t dislike me, anyway. I think that’s as far as he goes for anybody other than Professor Waldron.”

  “Then hooray for Mr. Perkins. Next?”

  “Dahna Kaleka. She’s a fabulous instructor. I sat in on her talk about ‘The Lottery’ once and was just enthralled. On a personal level, she’s got no sense of humor and is perpetually earnest.” Her big brown eyes shone with it, and her voice was solemn whether she was talking about literature or her large Lebanese family. “Professionally, her only weakness is that she hates to write. I don’t think she’s written a thing since her dissertation, and word is that it was the shortest one ever accepted at her school.”

  “How many publications do you have again?”

  “Six,” I said. “Of course, I’m only third author on two of them, and two of the others were poster sessions, so that’s not a big deal.”

  “Six beats none. Who does that leave?”

  “Renee Turner, who is a pretty good instructor, especially when she’s teaching poetry, but she’s not much of an academic. She went out for drinks a couple of weeks ago with me and Caroline, and she got buzzed enough to confess that she only works to support her real passion: raising Shiba Inus.”

  “Shiba Inus?”

  “You know, the dogs? Madison almost picked a Shiba the day she went to adopt Byron.”

  “I know what Shiba Inus are. I’m familiar with most dog breeds.”

  “Really?” Sid was famous for not liking dogs and given his bone structure—heavy on the bone—I didn’t really blame him. The dogs he’d encountered had either barked in a frenzy, run away in fear, or tried to eat him. Byron was from the third category, and Sid had never forgiven him for their first encounter and the resulting tooth marks on his femur. The attack hadn’t hurt him—Sid didn’t feel pain, exactly—but it had offended his dignity. “Why would you read up on dogs?”

  “Sun Tzu says, know your enemy,” he said darkly. “If you ask me, the best part about coming here is getting away from the dog.”

  “I miss Byron,” I said.

  “Seriously?”

  “There’s something soothing about having a dog around. You know, they bring in a therapy dog at FAD every week or so, more often near the end of the semester when projects are due. Cuddling with a dog, even for a little while, reduces stress like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “It wouldn’t relieve my stress.” He shuddered noisily at the thought. “But back to the Get Georgia Tenure Project…”

  “Right. Anyway, perhaps Renee isn’t a strong academic, but she’s been at FAD a long time—she and Dahna started at around the same time. Her fiancé is another FAD adjunct, which could be a plus.” She had blonde hair, a turned-up nose, and a sense of humor that rode a thin line between hilarious and malicious.

  “You can take her,” Sid said confidently. “You can take ’em all!”

  “Maybe. I’m just worried about—” But before I could tell Sid what I was worried about, the doorbell rang.

  Sid and I looked at one another in mutual panic. “Coccyx! Where can I hide?” he asked.

  At my parents’ house, there was an armoire in the living room reserved for Sid to duck into when somebody showed up unexpectedly. Since the mailman was the only person who’d come to the bungalow since I’d been in residence, it hadn’t occurred to us to establish a hidey-hole.

  “I can’t go through the living room to get to my room. Whoever it is could see me through the window on the front door.”

  “In the cabinet?”

  “Not enough space, and it would be noisy.”

  The doorbell rang again. Since my minivan was in the driveway, I didn’t think I could fake being somewhere else.

  “Dishwasher.”

  “Full of dishes. Same problem.”

  “Washing machine!”

  He zipped over and looked inside. “Tight, but I can manage it. But make some covering noise.”

  “I’m coming!” I yelled loudly. “Just washing my hands.” I turned the water on full blast.

  In the meantime, Sid went into the washing machine skull first, letting himself fall apart as he went. There was a slight clatter, but I didn’t think it was too noticeable.

  Once I was sure he was out of sight, I went to the front door and looked out the window that Sid was afraid of being seen through. My guest was a surprise, to say the least. Officer Buchanan was standing on the porch, looking at me with a cheerful grin.

  Chapter Seven

  I tried to manufacture a welcoming smile as I opened the door, though I wasn’t entirely sure it was the appropriate expression for when a police officer showed up unexpectedly. “Officer Buchanan. This is a surprise.”

  “Nobody ever expects me. I’m like the Spanish Inquisition,” she said with a chuckle.

  I laughed dutifully.

  “I knew you’d get that reference. Too many people in this town don’t appreciate Monty Python, which is a real shame if you ask me. Can I come in?”

  “Please do.”

  “I’ll just leave my coat and boots here—I don’t want to track any snow in.”

  I knew that I should have asked for a warrant or some reason for her to be there, but she was so jovial I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  So as soon as she had hung up her coat on the hall tree and carefully put her boots on the rubber mat next to where I’d left mine, I led the way into the living room.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see how you were holding up. Finding an accident victim like you did would throw just about anybody for a loop.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I’m doing okay.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She sniffed noticeably. “Something smells mighty good in here. I sure hope I didn’t interrupt your supper.”

  “No worries. It’ll keep.”

  “No, ma’am, there’s no need to let your food get cold. We can talk in t
he kitchen just as easy.”

  The kitchen was the last place I wanted her to go, but she was out of the living room before I could think of an excuse to stop her.

  She hesitated before she took Sid’s chair, and she definitely put her hand on the seat, as if checking for body warmth. That wasn’t going to be a problem, since he was noticeably free of both body and warmth, but I didn’t like that she’d thought it was worth checking. It implied that she suspected I’d lied about being alone. At least there was only one place set at the table.

  “Would you like some spaghetti? I made way more than I can eat—I’m not used to cooking for one.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can grab a burger from McDonald’s after my shift ends. It’ll probably still be warm by the time I get home.”

  “I insist,” I said, knowing a hint when I heard it, and got a plate to load up for her.

  “A hot, home-cooked meal is just what I need to warm up my insides on a night like this. The winters around here take some getting used to—you know, I’m not from around here.”

  “The accent was kind of a giveaway.” My friend Caroline had a slight Southern accent, but her years away from Virginia had softened it. Officer Buchanan’s, on the other hand, was so thick I could have spread it on toast, or more appropriately, a buttermilk biscuit.

  I put the spaghetti, a glass of water, silverware, and a napkin in front of her.

  “This is awfully kind of you.”

  “My pleasure. Having company for dinner is a nice change.”

  “That’s right, you’re here all alone. I thought I heard voices when I got up to the house.”

  Fortunately, I’d just taken a bite, which gave me time to come up with a good response. “They say talking to yourself is a sign of cabin fever, but I have an excuse. I was practicing for my lecture tomorrow. The textbook I’m using is new to me, so I have to do a fair amount of preparation.”

  “A teacher doing homework? Now that’s something I would never have thought about. Why don’t you use a textbook you already know?”

  “It’s all part of the glamorous adjunct lifestyle. I almost never get to pick my own textbooks. The departments that hire me make those decisions and it’s up to me to catch up.”

  “Can you explain to me just exactly what an adjunct is? I’m not quite understanding the idea. How is what you do different from any other college professor?”

  “It’s the difference between a full-time receptionist and a temp. Both answer the phone and take messages, but a receptionist has job security and maybe even a contract, so she can’t be fired at the drop of a hat. A temp gets hired as needed and is let go when the workload decreases. A tenured professor is like the regular receptionist—an adjunct is a temp.”

  “Why don’t colleges hire all permanent professors?”

  “Using adjuncts is cheaper. Colleges pay us per course taught and don’t have to pony up for insurance and vacation and all that.”

  “And they can get away with working you full time without giving you benefits?”

  “The thing is, I only teach three classes at FAD, which puts me under the legal limit for full-time work. To make up the difference in income, I teach two more classes at Montserrat College of Art in Beverly, Mass.”

  “That’s a heck of a long way to commute.”

  “It would be if I taught in person—I teach those classes online.”

  “Is that easier than doing it face-to-face?”

  “Kind of, once it’s set up, but I don’t enjoy it as well and I don’t think the students get as much out of the classes. If there were another college nearby, I’d try to teach some classes there, instead, but Falstone is kind of isolated.”

  She nodded, as if trying to put all the pieces together. “Okay, maybe I’m missing something, but why don’t you get one of those permanent jobs? Tenure, you called it. Or do you like roaming around?”

  “Not so much. Moving as often as I do makes it a lot harder to do my job, and it’s rough on my daughter, too.”

  “Where is she? Is she staying with her father?”

  “With my parents, actually.” Madison’s father and I had parted ways soon after I found out I was pregnant, and he had never been a part of her life. “I didn’t want to uproot her in the middle of the school year if I could help it. And the reason I don’t have a tenured job is because they’re hard to get. There aren’t that many positions open, and there are a whole lot of candidates out there who are just as qualified as I am.” Sid might not agree, but I knew I had stiff competition for the position at FAD.

  “Sounds rough,” Officer Buchanan said. “On the good side, you must get to meet an awful lot of people.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Is that why you didn’t recognize Kelly Griffith’s body when you found her the other night?”

  “Excuse me?” All of a sudden the jovial woman didn’t sound so friendly.

  “It’s just that when I went to the college this afternoon to see if I could track her movements on Friday night, I found out you work right there where she did. Your offices are practically next to each other.”

  “I didn’t recognize her because I never looked at her face. She was lying face down, and I didn’t move her. I thought I told you that.”

  “You did say something along those lines, but here’s the thing: there are loads of people I recognize without seeing their faces.”

  “I could say the same, but I barely knew Kelly.”

  “Even though she was part of your department? A department that has, what, eight people?”

  “First off, I’ve only been here a few weeks, so I only know a handful of people by their back view. Second, Kelly didn’t spend much time with the rest of us.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because her job wasn’t all that much like what we do. She didn’t teach classes—she did one-on-one critique sessions and tutoring.”

  “So you never spoke to her?”

  “Of course I spoke to her!” I took a deep breath. “I met her briefly when I started at FAD at the first of the semester, when Mr. Perkins was taking me and another new hire around to meet the rest of the department.”

  “The other new hire would have been Caroline Craig?”

  She’d really done her background work. “That’s right. Kelly also came to the first departmental meeting of the semester, but she didn’t show up after that because we meet when the rest of us don’t teach classes, which made it a prime time for her to schedule sessions with students. I saw her in the Roundling—”

  “The what now?”

  “That big round room that’s the hub of the department. I saw her there and at the snack bar a few times, and we chatted a little.”

  “About?”

  “The weather. The T-shirt she was wearing. Nothing important.”

  “Nothing more serious?”

  “Not that I remember, but it sounds like you’ve got something in mind.”

  “I understand you and Ms. Griffith had a disagreement a couple of weeks ago, and it got pretty heated.”

  I thought back. “You’re not talking about the problem with that kid’s grade, are you?”

  “You tell me.”

  “It was no big deal,” I said in exasperation. “Kelly reviewed a student’s paper and told him she was sure he’d get an A. Which she should never have said in the first place. Then I gave the kid a C, which was all the paper deserved. He ran and complained to her, and she came to my office to ask what the story was. I guess we got kind of loud because I didn’t like her questioning my grading and she didn’t like my not appreciating her critiquing. But we calmed down, and I showed her why I scored the way I did. It turns out the student had turned in the wrong draft, meaning that what I saw was the version before he implemented Kelly’s suggestions. So we got the student to come down and explained it to him. He was able to pull up the corrected paper on his laptop, and I gave him a break by grading that paper instead. Since i
t was clearly just a mistake, I didn’t even take off points. He got an A and a reminder that he should come to me first when he didn’t think a grade was fair. He thanked me for being so understanding and apologized profusely, and so did Kelly. As I said, no big deal.” I narrowed my eyes. “I’m surprised you even heard about it.”

  Officer Buchanan didn’t respond to my unspoken question. “And you had no other interactions with her?”

  But I was getting tired of the third degree. “Why do you need to know so much about somebody who died in a car accident?”

  “There are accidents, and then there are accidents.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means that when it got light enough for us to get a good look at where Ms. Griffith’s car went off the road, we couldn’t see any reason for her to lose control of her car. No ice on the road, no skid marks from braking, no signs that somebody had hit her. She just drove into the woods.”

  “Could she have been texting?” It was against the law in Massachusetts, but that didn’t mean people didn’t do it.

  “Nope, she left her phone at work. It was under her desk, so she most likely didn’t even realize it was missing.”

  I had wondered why she didn’t use it to call for help. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but it was Friday night. Had she been drinking?”

  “Might could have been, and we’re running tests, but the results won’t be back for a couple of weeks. We’ll be checking for things other than alcohol, too.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “There are all kinds of things that will make a person wonky enough to run off the road.”

  “Oh. I never heard any rumors of Kelly taking drugs, but I suppose there’s no particular reason I would have.”

  “Because you didn’t know her that well?”

  “Exactly,” I said firmly. “I didn’t.”

  Officer Buchanan shrugged. “As it turns out, nobody else—nobody who admits to knowing her, that is—had heard anything about her self-medicating either and there’s nothing to indicate it in her apartment. But then again, maybe she didn’t know she was taking them.”

  It took a minute to figure out what she was implying. “You think somebody drugged her?”