After imparting this grim bit of flower trivia, Jane turned and left. A fellow committee member called to her from the pathway, and she wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to socialize with genuine intelligentsia. Lenny and I were too young to be taken seriously. Then again, so was she, but her dour voice was more convincing. Plus, she was better than we were at inserting herself into academic life. She joined everything, organized everything, and championed everything that had anything to do with medieval times. I’d staked out a similar path for myself in graduate school—except in the field of French literature. I was a dedicated scholar who had little room for anything else other than books. Then I came to Copper Bluff, met Lenny, and got pulled into my first murder investigation. Plans fell by the wayside, and life took over, marching in another direction.
The surprise was I didn’t regret any of it. Though I’d planned to get a job at an Ivy League school, become chair of my department and then dean of my college, I’d also planned on dating a sommelier who recited poetry. Lenny wasn’t even close to that fantasy, but since we’d been dating, I was happier than I’d ever been, and my classes had benefited too. They had little to do with French literature, yet it had been my best year to date. I looked down at the begonia in my hand. Maybe that was about to change.
“Don’t let what Jane said bother you,” said Lenny, reading my mind. He was good at that. “You love begonias and had no idea of their meaning. Nobody does.”
“Jane does,” I said. “Maybe somebody else does too.”
“Maybe they’re not even meant for you. How about that?” Lenny took the pot and tossed it in the trash by the bike rack. “Now they’re nobody’s.”
As we walked toward Harriman Hall, I couldn’t shake the feeling they were intended for me. That somebody had left them there for me to find, as they had the poem, taunting or tricking me. But who would do that? A student on a bike whizzed by. Students were problematic. I’d given my fair share of failing grades to those who hadn’t shown up, not turned in work, or missed requirements. But would a struggling student go to the trouble of writing poems and sending flowers? Most of the time, they couldn’t be bothered to submit work. Why exert themselves now?
Lenny held open the door to Harriman Hall for me. I couldn’t think of any grievances I had with faculty members. Sure, Jane could be difficult, but she wouldn’t threaten me, and I couldn’t think of anyone else with a reason to be annoyed with me, except maybe Giles, when I was behind on my grading.
I followed Lenny up the steps. The building was deserted, and I was glad we had a quiet place to talk. When we arrived at the English Department on the second floor, however, I heard Giles talking in his office, probably to Felix and Andy. He had left the garden with them. Lenny and I ducked into his office, where he’d recently upgraded his coffee pot to a Keurig. The machine was silver, shiny, and out of place among so much wood, including bookshelves, a desk, and a chair. Baseball memorabilia dotted the space and vintage Beatles’ posters covered the open walls. Lenny was a Beatles fanatic and played the guitar well enough to procure gigs with the university and local bands. Although messy, the room was comfortable. Like my space, only bigger. I was jealous of all the room he had.
I sank into a chair as my cellphone dinged. I checked the screen. “It’s a campus alert. They’re canceling classes.”
Lenny inserted a K-Cup. “What about the Shakespeare Festival?”
I scrolled through the message. “It says all extracurricular activities will continue as scheduled.”
“Even Hamlet?”
“It says all,” I repeated. “Scholars have flown in for the conference, and I’m sure they can’t reschedule events they’ve already sold tickets for. Which reminds me, Tanner played the lead in Hamlet. Do you think his understudy could have killed him for his part?”
He handed me a Dodgers cup. “Really?”
“Think about it. The crime scene was perfectly staged: a garden, a body, poison oozing out of the dead person’s ear. Someone in the theater must be responsible.”
He turned back to the Keurig to make himself a cup. “Tanner’s no king, and Copper Bluff isn’t even close to Denmark.”
I waved away the sticking points. “King Hamlet said his brother Claudius killed him to usurp the throne. Maybe someone is usurping Tanner’s part.”
“Or Tanner’s girlfriend,” said Lenny. “Claudius also married King Hamlet’s widow.”
I paused, the cup at my lips. “I hadn’t thought of that. Tanner’s girlfriend lives right down the street from me. It will be easy to ask around.”
Lenny grabbed his cup and sat down in his desk chair. “Before you go asking anything, can we wait for the police to call it murder? It might have been a tragic accident.”
“It’s tragic, but it’s no accident. There are too many coincidences: the sonnet, the garden, the flowers.” I crossed my legs. “In my Crimes and Passions course, one of the givens is that the first twenty-four hours are the most crucial in an investigation.”
“Then the police will be busy,” said Lenny. “You’ve got your publishing contract to worry about. Did you send it to Gene like Claudia suggested?”
I shook my head, finishing a sip of coffee. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I signed it and sent it back.”
“What about the revisions clause? I thought you were worried about that.”
“Not to brag, but on the phone the publisher seemed pleased with the work,” I said. “She didn’t mention any revisions.”
“First, that was definitely bragging, and second, the publisher isn’t the editor.” Lenny took a drink of his coffee. “He could ask for all kinds of changes.”
“It isn’t a scholarly journal, Lenny. They publish mostly fiction. I’m sure any changes will be minimal.”
Lenny raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
I stood and looked out the window. The crowd was clearing, but small groups of students and faculty still dotted the quad. Shakespeare’s Garden was outlined in yellow tape. “See there? Crime scene tape. They don’t use that unless it’s a crime.”
“Where did you read that?” said Lenny, standing and glancing over my shoulder. “Murder on the Orient Express?”
“Don’t be silly.” I spun around, meeting up with his broad chest. “That murder took place on a train ….” My words trailed off into the atmosphere, a space that didn’t include a blond-haired, good-smelling guy with navy-blue eyes staring back at me.
He tucked a curl behind my ear, the one that always came loose from whatever accessory I pinned it into. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Classes are canceled, and I’m hungry.”
“It would hardly be appropriate.” My voice was a whisper. “To eat at a time like this.”
Lenny was just about to argue in favor of its appropriateness when a knock interrupted him. He took a step back before saying, “Come in.”
Andy opened the door. His collar was unbuttoned, giving him a more relaxed appearance. He still seemed uptight. “Jim Giles is looking for you, Emmeline. He told me to check for you here on my way out.”
“Of course,” I said, my words coming out as a squeak. I cleared my throat before adding, “Where are you headed?”
He smoothed an unruly spear of black hair. “Felix and I are going to breakfast before the first panel. You’re welcome to join us.”
“See?” Lenny whispered. “I told you it was appropriate.”
I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. “You were on yesterday’s panel with Tanner. You seemed … surprised when he came out with his theory about Shakespeare.”
“Not really,” he said. “Tanner had told me what he was presenting when I ran into him at your little library on Wednesday. I admit I was shocked to see so many sonnets in the submission box. How do you get students to participate?”
Two words: extra credit. But I didn’t tell him that. The word little was stuck in my craw. “We have a thriving liberal arts culture.” That much was true. Our art, drama, and literature events were well-attended. “I didn’t realize you talked to Tanner at the library.”
Andy checked his Apple watch. Maybe he was getting bored with our conversation. “Not for very long. He was on his way to the theater.”
“Was Felix with you?” asked Lenny.
Andy gave Lenny a once over, perhaps judging his informal attire. “Jim Giles told us about the contest. Remember, Emmeline? Felix wanted us to participate.”
“So why did Felix feign outrage at the panel?” asked Lenny. “You both knew what was coming, yet you called him out in front of his peers and colleagues.”
Andy’s brow furrowed. Like his hair, his eyebrows were thick and black. “What is this? Twenty questions?”
I tried to diffuse the situation. “I’m sorry, Andy. We don’t mean to bombard you with questions. One of our star English students has just been found dead in Shakespeare’s Garden. We’re trying to wrap our brains around that.”
“I apologize, too,” said Andy. “Felix and I were at separate tables in the library, writing our sonnets. We were there maybe ten minutes when I saw Tanner. Recognizing my old classmate, I said hello. He was the same actor I knew, playing the part of a scholar who’d just hit academic gold. He told me enough to intrigue me. He didn’t reveal his bombshell.”
Tanner was the consummate actor, a man with many personas on hand to dazzle audiences at a moment’s notice. Though I didn’t know him personally, he always left me slightly mesmerized, and I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one. It would make sense that he wanted to keep his big disclosure secret until the panel, his fifteen minutes of fame, as it were.
“And what did you think of his theory, once you heard it?” asked Lenny.
Andy looked from Lenny to me. “Personally? I thought it was kind of cool. Academically? I thought it was suicide, a surefire way not to get a job after graduation. That’s why Felix was disgusted, not because of the theory itself. He was gobsmacked that Reed would approve the dissertation.”
I gave him props for fitting gobsmacked into a conversation. I’d been trying for years. Still, it was hard to believe Felix had Tanner’s best interest at heart when he called him out during his presentation. Reed Williams was a dedicated teacher. He wouldn’t have chaired Tanner’s dissertation committee if he’d thought Tanner’s thesis was smoke and mirrors. Besides, plenty of scholars’ dissertations never saw the light of day. Mine was still lying in the drawer, collecting dust, except for a few chapters I’d published in scholarly journals.
Andy patted the door frame. “I have to go. Felix is waiting for me. Don’t forget about Giles.”
“Thank you,” I said. “See you later.”
He gave Lenny a nod and left.
“I wonder what Giles wants?” I said. “I’ll let you know.”
“So, no breakfast?” said Lenny.
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
“Then dessert.” He brushed my lips with his.
“Lenny!” I said. “The door’s open.”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “I just like seeing you blush.”
I tossed him a look over my shoulder, irritated by the girlish response. He could already read my mind. Did he really need to read my emotions, too? I marched down the hall with the heat still in my cheeks. Trying to get my head back in the game, I gave it a little shake before I knocked on Giles’s door.
“Come in,” said Giles.
“Andy said you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, come in and shut the door.”
This was new. Was I in trouble? I shut the door behind me and took a seat in the armless chair next to his desk. With all the windows, his office was probably the brightest room on the second floor right now, but his expression was dark, troubled. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, there is,” said Giles. “And you’re just the person to help.” He tapped his fingers together. “It’s … personal.”
This was new. I’d never seen Giles upset before, but upset was the way I’d describe him. More than upset. The furrowed brow, the narrowed eyes, the clenched jaw …. Though I could hardly believe it, Giles was angry. Gone were the three perpetual creases on his forehead and inquisitive tilt to his head. What I observed was pure ire. “I understand,” I said, though I really didn’t.
“I’m not talking as your boss now,” said Giles. “I’m talking as your friend.”
I nodded, touched that he thought of me as a friend. I thought of him as a friend, but I was less reserved. I was too young to be anything but forthright.
“What I want to say is, I’m very upset about Tanner’s death,” said Giles. “He was my advisee for the past two years. To think that he won’t graduate or teach or any of those things we’d talked about—it’s inconceivable.” He clenched his fists.
“I’m so sorry, Giles. I felt the same when Austin Oliver died, and I’d only known him a semester.” My second year on campus, one of my students had died, and I’d helped solve his murder. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” said Giles. “I knew you’d understand needing to do something about it. The questions surrounding his death must not go unanswered. He was just a boy.” Giles’s voice cracked.
The depth of his emotion pierced my heart. It was hard to see him hurting this way.
“Felix and Andy … what do they know of it?” He paused, perhaps recalling an unsatisfactory conversation. “But you, you understand.”
“Of course I do,” I said. “I want to help in any way I can.”
“I know that you do,” said Giles. “And I also know you have ways of getting information.”
Was I hearing right? Was Giles asking me to investigate?
“You don’t have to tell me those ways,” Giles rushed to say. “But I trust you will put them to good use in Tanner’s case?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
Giles sighed, and his whole body seemed to relax. “Thank you, Emmeline. Justice should feel so lucky to have you on her side.”