Claudia looked up from the poem she was reading, her eyes wide. She snatched the paper from me, turning it over in her hands.
“There’s no name on it,” I said, answering her unspoken question.
“If this is somebody’s idea of a prank, I don’t think it’s funny,” said Claudia. “It’s childish.” She spoke loudly, as if the prankster were in the hallway, listening.
“What if it’s not a prank?” I said. “What if it’s a warning?”
Claudia picked up the paper and brought it close to her face. “It’s not. It can’t be. For one, the person knows Shakespeare. He or she references Hamlet in the second stanza. And two, the theme of the poem is death. Maybe the student wanted to end on a dramatic note.”
Drama was one thing; murder was another. Unless planning to kill someone, how could the writer predict a death? And what was meant by “foe”? It was as if the lines were directed at me, I told Claudia.
She waved off the idea. “Students use second-person all the time. You know that. Besides, no one knows you’re helping to judge the contest. If the lines are intended for anyone, it’s me.”
The office was silent for a moment. I could hear dishes from the potluck clinking down the hallway. It looked as if Claudia’s thoughts were going somewhere dark.
She sucked in a breath. “God, do I have any foes?”
Oh, so now the threat was plausible because the lines were intended for her. “I can’t think of any. Your students love you.” And they did. Though not the best poet in the world, Claudia was one of the best teachers. She took genuine interest in her students’ work and helped them develop into writers.
“I bet Gene has foes aplenty,” said Claudia, tapping her pen on the table. “Just leave it to him to get me killed.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. Not that I didn’t sympathize; I did. Gene’s wandering eye had caused a lot of fights, but their relationship had been better since they renewed their vows in Italy. At the first sign of personal difficulty, though, she blamed Gene. But the contents of the sonnet did not point to Gene. The person who wrote the poem was familiar with Shakespeare and knew the campus well. Gene stayed as far away from the university as possible.
“Like you said, it’s probably a prankster, a student trying to rattle your nerves,” I said. “To be honest, it’s a good poem. The student definitely knows how to write a sonnet. I think we should put it in the ‘maybe’ category—after we contact the police.”
“The police!” said Claudia. “I can’t turn in one of my students for writing a dark poem. It’s out of the question.”
“We can’t ignore a threat,” I said. “It’s our duty to report it.” For once, I was the sensible one in the room. It was a new feeling.
“This is creative writing. It isn’t real. It’s fiction. And I didn’t stipulate that the sonnet had to be sunshine and rainbows.”
Claudia had definite opinions on creative writing. I understood not censoring the students, but I didn’t believe in letting them kill anyone either. I snatched the paper and stood. “Let’s take it up with Giles. He’ll know what to do.”
She had no choice but to follow me down the hall. Giles was just picking up his first forkful of macaroni and cheese when I stuck my head in his office. “We have a problem.”
He put down his fork.
“Not a problem,” said Claudia. “A question.”
I handed him the poem. “This was submitted for the sonnet-writing contest. I think it’s a warning. I think we need to contact the police.”
“And I think it’s a disturbing poem but hardly deserving of censure—or alerting the police,” said Claudia.
“No one’s going to be arrested,” I said, “but we have to notify the authorities.” I liked the way authorities sounded. I’d heard the same word on the mystery channel last night.
Giles refolded the poem and stuck it in a cubbyhole on his desk. “Emmeline is right. We have to notify somebody, but I think campus security will suffice.”
“You approve of censoring writers?” Claudia huffed. “Frankly, I’m shocked.”
“I approve of warning security of possible threats,” said Giles. “In today’s world, you can’t be too careful.”
“I know Officer Beamer would approve,” I said.
“Let’s not get Officer Beamer involved just yet,” said Giles. “If he keeps getting summoned to our department, I’m afraid I’ll have to award him an honorary degree.”
The idea of Officer Beamer in a cap and gown made me smile.
“Well I’m glad you’re happy with the outcome,” said Claudia. “I, for one, think it’s a big mistake to involve security in the sacred writing process. This is the one place the imagination should be allowed to roam free.” She turned on her heel and left.
Giles lifted his eyebrows, deepening the three horizontal groves on his forehead. We were just two more in a long line of people searching for ways to handle departmental issues. “You’d better follow her before she organizes a sit-in.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Giles. I appreciate your support.”
He picked up his fork. “You’re welcome—now go.”
I hustled down the hall after Claudia and met Lenny on the way. “That was a fast class. Why are you done so early?”
He unlocked his office door. “They didn’t read the material, and I’m hungry. I wasn’t about to sit around and babysit them for the next thirty minutes.”
“There’s plenty of food in the Writing Center,” I said. “Thank you, by the way, for bringing the chips. I forgot all about the potluck.”
He smiled and started toward the Writing Center. “I knew you would, with your panel and all.”
“Claudia and I are in her office. Join us when you’re done. We’re going over the sonnets from the contest.” I reached for his arm. “I came across the most delightful one from you.”
“I meant every word of it, Em,” he said. “You’ve turned me into a babbling love poet.”
“There are worse things,” I told him. I stopped at Claudia’s door.
We shared a smile before he continued on toward the Writing Center and I entered Claudia’s office. “Lenny’s great, isn’t he?”
Claudia looked up from the poems, clearly peeved. “Yes.”
I plopped down in the chair beside her and returned to the stack. “Don’t be mad, Claudia. I have the students’ best interests at heart.”
“I hope that’s what this is,” she said, tapping her pencil.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
As she leaned back in her chair, the light caught the copper highlights in her brown hair. “You have a bad habit of seeing a mystery in everything.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “I’ve had my fair share of mysteries, but they fall into my lap; I don’t go looking for them.” I pointed to the stack of poems. “This one happened to come via submission box.”
“Tell me I made it to the winners’ circle,” said Lenny as he entered the office.
“You did,” I said, picking up a chip.
“Em! You can’t tell him that,” said Claudia.
Lenny winked at me.
“You two are even more insufferable now that you’re dating,” said Claudia. “You know that?”
Lenny joined us at the table. His broad shoulders made the area seem smaller. “We’re a team now. Bona fide.”
We fist bumped.
“Well, the other member of your team just made a grave error,” said Claudia.
“Em doesn’t make errors,” said Lenny, scooping up a spoonful of potato salad. “She corrects them. Are you acquainted with her red pen?”
In a rush, Claudia told him about the sonnet, the final couplet, and Giles’s interpretation of it. Lenny was eating much more slowly by the time she finished speaking.
“I think Giles made the right call,” said Lenny, after taking a sip of soda. “It sounds like whoever wrote the poem is up to no good. Maybe he’s not planning murder, but he is scaring people. That’s not right.”
“Or she,” I said.
“Or she,” he repeated. “I know you believe in equal opportunity for murderers.”
I chuckled.
Claudia’s jaw was clenched. Lenny’s wasn’t the sympathetic ear she was hoping for. “Let’s get back to it, then. I have kids to pick up.”
Lenny stood. “Dinner tonight?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I want to show you my contract from Dewberry Press.”
“I’ll pick you up,” he said.
“I’ll be waiting,” I said.
As he left the office, Claudia grumbled, “How will I ever get through the spring?”