I wouldn’t have guessed Andy was from the Midwest, and from Lenny’s skeptical expression, he didn’t believe it either. People from the Midwest had a sensibility about them that Andy didn’t share. Maybe I was stereotyping, but coming from Michigan and now living in South Dakota, I had experience to draw from. People here were friendly and down-to-earth. Andy was neither.
A breeze blew through our makeshift circle. “I didn’t realize you knew Tanner,” I said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“We went to college together,” said Andy. “We weren’t friends.”
“Still, it must be a blow,” said Felix. He gave Andy a solid pat on the shoulder. Andy squinted in his direction. The sun was coming over Winsor Hall now, spotlighting the crime scene.
“He applied to Denver,” Andy said to Felix. “He didn’t get in. Maybe you heard of him.”
“No,” said Felix. “Not until yesterday. I would’ve remembered a student with a dissertation proposal refuting Shakespeare’s identity.”
Yes, he would have, so why didn’t he? I pondered the question while I watched Sophie Barnes close the garden gate. Maybe they were done questioning Reed.
Giles sighed. “I can hardly believe it.” He looked at me and Lenny. “You saw him yesterday. He was the picture of health—like any student on campus. Some … accident must have befallen him.”
“Perhaps,” I said to comfort him. His voice was laden with grief, and I knew what it was like to lose a student. As chair of the English Department, Giles had closer contact with Tanner than I over the years, as a teacher or mentor or both.
“Of course it was an accident, a terrible accident,” said Felix. “Come on, Jim. Let’s take a walk. Andy, you too.”
Giles turned to me as if asking permission.
“That’s okay,” I said. “You go. I’ll stay and talk to Sophie Barnes. It looks as if she’s finishing up.”
Lenny and I watched them walk away.
“I’m starting to really dislike him,” said Lenny.
“I assume you mean Andy,” I said. “Can you believe he’s from Iowa? He acted like Copper Bluff was in the middle of nowhere.”
“Coming from the Midwest is nothing to be ashamed of,” said Lenny. “The guy’s a jerk.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Do you think he had anything to do with Tanner’s death?”
“Here we go.”
“I observed his lifeless body in the garden,” I said. “Someone staged that scene on purpose, and you yourself said Tanner’s bombshell would impact a lot of academics. Maybe Andy felt as if his work was being threatened. He’s so dang proud of his New York publisher.”
“You have a point,” said Lenny. “He wouldn’t want to go back to his hometown hanging his head in shame if his book tanked, or worse yet, was pulled from publication.”
“But who would kill someone over a book?”
Lenny motioned to the crowd in the quad. “About seventy-five percent of the people here.”
“Here comes Sophie,” I said. “I mean, Detective Barnes. Let’s see if she has any information.”
Detective Barnes was short, with brown hair always worn in a tidy updo, off her collar. Today she had it in a slick bun. She looked older and wiser than the student from my first year on campus. Back then, she’d had a fondness for literature and almost changed her major to English. Thankfully, she continued on her original course: a degree in criminal justice.
“Hello, Professor.”
She’d never heeded my plea not to call me professor. She claimed it was a habit she couldn’t break.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said. “Tanner Sparks was a student in the English Department. What happened?”
She glanced over her shoulder, then back at us. “Beamer sent me over here to get your statements, not relay news. Were you also first on the scene, Professor Jenkins?”
Lenny shook his head. “No, I just got here.”
“Then I’ll just need to speak to Professor Prather.”
“Sophie! Can’t you tell us anything?”
She lowered her voice. “Look, Beamer told me to mind the books on this one. He warned me about getting too ‘friendly’ with my old professors, and he meant you.”
“Oh,” I said. “I understand.” She had been my student. I wanted the best for her, even if that meant finding out the answers to my questions another way.
“I didn’t mean it like that. You know how much I look up to you.” Sophie took a step closer. “Between us, it appears Tanner died by some kind of poisoning, maybe even alcohol. There are no stab wounds or entry wounds of any kind. We won’t know for sure until the coroner examines him.”
“The liquid in his ear, right?” I said. “Did you see it?”
“Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper. “They swabbed it for testing.” Her voice returned to normal. “If you’ll excuse us, Professor Jenkins, I need to ask Professor Prather a few questions.”
“Sure,” said Lenny. “I’ll be right over here.” He walked to a nearby bike rack and leaned against it.
Sophie flipped open her notebook. “I like my notebook app, but Beamer prefers pencil and paper.”
“Technology fails. Pencils and paper rarely do.”
Sophie smiled, looking like the young student I remembered. “I forgot. You don’t like technology either. You never used it in your classes.”
“I use it more now,” I said, which was kind of true. We were required to keep grades updated online, at least for freshman and sophomore classes.
“What time did you arrive on campus this morning?” Her pencil was poised to record my answer.
“A little after eight,” I said. “On Fridays, I like to stop by St. Agnes, but the door was locked. I knew it was a bad omen. They never lock the church. In fact, I think there’s a rule. Maybe it’s illegal—not cop illegal but Catholic illegal.”
Sophie cleared her throat. “So you arrived a little after eight. What did you see?”
“I saw Professor Reed Williams in the garden. I also saw someone on the bench. I didn’t know it was Tanner until I came closer. At first, I thought a student had passed out.”
“And what was Professor Williams doing?”
I hated admitting Reed had his hands on Tanner. I worried he might be a suspect. “He was sort of … nudging Tanner to wake him up.”
“What did you do when you got closer? Did you attempt to wake him?”
“Heavens no,” I said. “I could see he was dead the moment I entered the garden. I called the police.”
“Why do you think Reed didn’t call the police?” asked Sophie with an undertone of suspicion. “As you said yourself, a dead body can hardly be mistaken for a live one.”
“I … maybe he didn’t have his cellphone with him. He was obviously in shock. He was the chair of Tanner’s dissertation committee. I don’t think he wanted to believe Tanner was dead.” I took a breath. “I still can’t believe it. Who would do such a thing?”
“We can’t be sure it wasn’t Tanner himself,” said Sophie. “So far, I’ve seen no evidence of foul play. Professor Williams said last night was opening night at the theater. Maybe he and the cast celebrated by drinking too much.”
I shook my head. “Talk to Andy Wells. He’s here for the Shakespeare conference. He was an undergraduate with Tanner at Iowa. According to him, Tanner didn’t drink.”
She wrote down the name. “I will, but people change. Graduate school is a lot more pressure, or so I’ve heard. One of my friends quit after a year.”
“Also talk to his girlfriend,” I said. “She lives down the street from me, and I heard him call her psycho.”
She shut the notebook. “Beamer warned me of this. He said you’d try to steer the investigation if I let you. He said I needed to be firm.”
“I’m just repeating what I heard.”
“I don’t mind,” said Sophie. “I like working with you. It’s like having our own Miss Marple in town.”
“Except younger and with better shoes.” I gave her a wink. “Do you still keep up with your reading?”
“How do you think I know about Miss Marple?” She tucked her notebook under her arm. “Thanks to you, I’m probably the only person under thirty who reads Agatha Christie.”
“Not true,” I said. “I’m teaching a new Crimes and Passions course now. We read Christie every semester.”
She chuckled. “Thanks, Professor. Don’t forget your flowers when you go.”
I turned back to the bench. I hadn’t brought any flowers with me. But there on the curved cement bench was a small pot of red flowers. “These aren’t mine …” I said, but Sophie was several steps away from me. I looked for Lenny. He was still by the bike rack, conversing with another English faculty member, Jane Lemort. Actually, Jane was talking, and he was glancing over Jane’s shoulder, probably trying to find a way out. She was our medieval scholar, and holding a conversation with her could be hard. If the talk didn’t have something to do with medieval times or her important committee work, she had nothing to say. Little did Lenny know, I was about to rescue him.
I reached for the plant. It was a begonia. Every spring I bought yellow begonias to match my house. I touched the dark red flower, drawn to it like Sleeping Beauty to the spinning wheel. It was lovely, so why did I have a sinking feeling in my stomach?
“Did you bring me this?” I asked Lenny. “Hi, Jane.”
“I certainly hope he didn’t,” said Jane. She wore a long A-line dress, black, adorned only with a string of black beads. The roots of her hair matched her dress, but the rest of her locks were blonde and pulled into a low ponytail.
“Why not?” I asked Jane.
Lenny answered at the same time. “I didn’t.”
“Every flower has a meaning, Emmeline, and this is a begonia.”
“So?” I said. “I love begonias.”
“Years ago—”
“Uh-oh,” said Lenny. “Here it comes, a medieval history lesson.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” she said, not amused. “People used to know the meanings of flowers. I cringe when I go to funerals and see yellow carnations. They were once employed to reject a suitor.”
“A hundred years ago, maybe,” said Lenny.
“Anyway, what do begonias mean?” I prodded.
Jane smiled, holding onto the nugget of information like a piece of gold. “I would think you’d have come across it in your Crimes and Passions course.”
“I haven’t,” I said through gritted teeth.
“They mean … beware.”