“No way,” was Lenny’s answer when I told him about my plan to sneak into Mia’s house that night. We were sitting at my kitchen table, eating the soup Mrs. Gunderson had brought me. Filled with chicken, vegetables, and homemade pasta, it was delicious.
I dunked a piece of French bread. “They’ll be at the All-Star volleyball game. Remember? Hailey’s receiving an award.”
“Since when do you follow sports?”
“Since two of the suspects play them,” I said, putting down my bread. “All I want to do is get in there and take a quick look around. I might be able to spot something that tells me who the killer is, handwriting, for instance.”
From their separate chairs, Lenny and Dickinson stared. It felt like they were ganging up on me.
“We’re professors,” said Lenny. “We can’t go sneaking into a student’s house.”
I knew what he said was true. But I also knew I had a duty to protect students from the killer. Life was precious and could be taken in an instant. I wasn’t going to allow it to happen to one of them. “The murderer tried to kill me and Andy. I’m not going to let anyone else get hurt.”
“Which is exactly why you should leave this to the police,” said Lenny. “You just got out of the hospital. You promised Beamer you’d take care of yourself.”
“We have to take care of the students, too. There has to be a way to do both.” I stirred my soup, thinking of legal ways to get into the house—without the roommates watching my every move. Then it came to me. It was the end of the semester; the house was for rent. We could ask to see it tonight while they were at the game. I told Lenny, “Say you’re the one looking to rent—so that you can be closer to me,” I said. “Everyone knows I live down the street.”
Lenny paused, his spoon in the air. “I’m not sure I’d want to be your neighbor.”
“Very funny,” I said, grabbing my purse. “I’m a great neighbor. Just ask Mrs. Gunderson.” On my cellphone was a missed call and voicemail. I didn’t recognize the number. I put the phone on the table and pressed the speaker button.
“Hi, Emmeline. This is Petal Petersen. Just talked to my employee, and she said a girl with black hair bought the plant. Probably college aged. Anyway, that’s all I know. I hope it helps. Take care.”
“Black hair, again!” I shut the phone app and opened the Internet, searching for the rental agency. “I’m putting it out of my mind, Lenny. I’m focusing on this agency, that house, and the facts.” I pressed the number for the office. “Black hair doesn’t fit.”
“The fact is someone with black hair is involved in Tanner’s murder,” said Lenny. “You’d better get used to the idea, whether you like it or not.”
I put my finger to my lips to quiet him. When the listing agent got on the line, I told him the situation. Lenny and I needed to see the house tonight. Could we meet at half-past seven? He agreed, and I clicked off the line.
“So, what if I end up liking the house?” said Lenny. “Do I have your permission to rent it? I like the idea of being closer to you.”
“Believe me, you won’t,” I said, gathering our soup bowls, “like the house, I mean. I don’t pass by that place without getting a chill. It’s creepy.” I gave him a smile. “But closer would be nice.”
He pulled me onto his lap. “This close?”
I set down the bowls on the table. “That’s pretty close.”
He brushed my lips with his. I could feel the stubble of his five o’clock shadow.
“I like being here,” he said.
“I like you being here.”
Offended by the lack of attention, Dickinson jumped up on the table and meowed in our faces.
“I guess someone else likes your being here, too,” I said with a laugh.
* * *
When seven thirty came, we were ready. I wore a hat to disguise my curls and limit neighborhood gossip. I didn’t want it getting back to the students that I’d snooped in their house, even if it was for their own good, and I knew very well how neighbors talked. Especially with the nice weather, they were bound to be outside, soaking up the last warm rays of the day. If they didn’t recognize me, it would mean one less chance for word to get back to the students. I was convinced one of them was the killer. Until I figured out who, I needed to be careful. I didn’t want to draw attention to any of the other girls. I could take care of myself, but the girls weren’t aware of the danger of their situation. As long as they remained ignorant, they were safe from retaliation.
The students across the street were playing Frisbee, but to my delight, they were also listening to music and drinking beer. They didn’t notice Lenny and me walk up the front steps to meet the man from the rental agency, or if they did, they paid scant attention and went right back to their game.
“Hi, I’m Emmeline. We spoke on the phone.” I stuck out my hand, and the agent shook it. “And this is Lenny. He’s the one looking to rent.”
“To be closer to my loved one,” added Lenny, shaking the agent’s hand.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Still, it was nice being called his loved one, even comically.
“Good to meet you both,” said the agent, but all his attention was on his prospective renter. “I’m Roger.” He opened the door with his key. “This beauty hasn’t been available for three years. Grad students have been renting it, but a couple of them graduate in May. It’ll go fast, so look carefully.”
I glanced around the foyer. Were we looking at the same house? Even in the last hour of sunlight, the rooms were dark. The heavily curtained windows didn’t help, nor did the fringed shades, which added another layer of darkness. The woodwork was dark walnut. Had the windows been open, it would have been tolerable. As it was, however, the air was stifling.
“A little messy,” said Roger, “but what can you expect? They’re college students, and they weren’t expecting me to bring someone through tonight.”
“Not a problem,” I said, looking past the rumpled pillows and blankets on the floor. “We understand. The kitchen is this way?”
“Yep, straight through the dining area there,” said Roger.
I hadn’t realized it was a dining area. It was stuffed with a green reclining sofa and flat-screen TV. I squeezed through the doorway to the kitchen. I thought I might find a snippet of handwriting or something else that would confirm the killer lived in the house. Cereal boxes, noodle packages, paper plates—but no writing. I checked for a bulletin board, anywhere I might see uppercase writing. I shook my head at Lenny. It was time to head upstairs to the bedrooms.
“Would you mind showing me the furnace, water heater—the electrical room?” Lenny asked Roger. “I’d like to check out the bones of the place.”
“No problem,” said Roger. “It’s in the basement.”
“I’m going to look upstairs,” I said.
The wood on the staircase was beautiful, but the steps were covered in blue shag carpet that reached all four bedrooms. The doors were shut. I hesitated to open them. These were their private sanctuaries. I took a breath and opened the first door. What I was doing could save a life. If that meant seeing someone’s underpants, so be it.
I didn’t know enough about the students to identify whose room I was in. A twin mattress was on the floor, covered with a raggedy quilt. I peeked in the tiny closet and saw a picture of the volleyball team. It had to be Hailey’s room. She also had a baseball bat. The Riverside Edition of Shakespeare was in there, too. That was interesting. From what she’d told me, she was into set design. I supposed anyone with a love of theater studied Shakespeare, though. I thumbed through the book, wondering if maybe I’d find a torn page like the one left in the garden. Nothing.
The next room was Mia’s. I could tell from the posters on the wall, drawings of elaborate costumes labeled with their characters—Marie Antoinette, Lady Macbeth, and others. On her desk was a sketch pad and colored pencils. I opened the drawer. A worn leather journal was tucked inside. I paused, struggling with the ethics of reading someone else’s private thoughts. I valued journaling too much to expose a writer, but these were extraordinary circumstances. I checked over my shoulder. Lenny and Roger were still downstairs. I opened it up.
What I found were pages and pages of Mia dealing with Tanner’s death. The sadness, the guilt. At times, she said, she’d wished him dead. But why? I thumbed backwards. “That’s why,” I said out loud. Tanner had been abusive, mentally and—recently—physically. Small instances at first—tugging her hand, grabbing her arm—and then squeezing her shoulder and leaving a bruise. Every time he hurt her, she believed he was sorry. That their relationship would go back to normal after his research was finished and his part in Hamlet was over. She excused it as stress. He’d never treated Mackenzie this way when they’d dated. Why did he do it to her? Had she done something to provoke the behavior? She blamed herself.
I put the journal away. It was heartbreaking. It also gave her a motive for killing Tanner. But the writing was in cursive, not all-caps. Thomas said whoever wrote the sonnet habitually used all caps. He could be wrong. “I could be too,” I said as I shut the door quietly behind me.
In the hallway, I opened the closet. Towels, toilet paper, flat irons, curling irons—I pushed them aside. I looked for anything with flowers on the labels: perfume, lotion, shampoo. If one of them had an affinity for flowers, I couldn’t tell from their hygiene products.
Next to the closet was a laundry chute with an ornately carved door. At one time, the house might have been grand, maybe even the envy of the neighborhood. Laundry chutes were nifty ways to get clothes from one level to another. Theoretically, I could send something down to the basement right now, and Lenny would catch it. I probably shouldn’t try. From the force required to yank open the door, the chute hadn’t been used for some time.
I looked into the void in the wall. No metal, no plastic, just a dark wooden tunnel. I stuck my head in, tempted to call down to Lenny just for the fun of it. That’s when I saw something dark in a crevice. I squinted, getting a closer look. Was it a dead animal? I reached out to touch it and jerked back, hitting my head. It was fuzzy, like an animal. I took a deep breath and tried again. It wasn’t fur. It was … hair. I turned the black mass over in my hands. Of course, a wig! What an idiot I’d been. The woman with black hair was wearing a wig. That’s why she didn’t fit with my suspects. But which one of them wore it? I thought back to my presentation. It was impossible to know.
I took off my hat and slipped on the wig, stuffing my ponytail under the elastic cap. I wasn’t completely successful, and it took several tries. I turned to the full-length hallway mirror. The transformation was startling. No wonder I didn’t recognize any of them. I didn’t recognize myself. The long black hair and blunt bangs disguised every feature. My skin looked pale, my eyes appeared darker, and my face seemed smaller, engulfed by hair.
“What are you doing in Mia’s wig?”
I saw Alice reflected in the mirror. Dread coursed through my veins. I felt vulnerable, exposed, and embarrassed. There was no way other than the truth to explain what I was doing.
I pulled the wig off my head. “Is this Mia’s? It’s a fun way to try a new look.”
“She needs it for the theater,” said Alice. “You shouldn’t have it on.”
It made sense. The same hair was found in the skull and on the bouquet of flowers—both in the theater. I turned around and gave it to her.
“What are you doing here? What’s going on?” She was trying to be polite. I was a professor and she was a good student. But she knew something was very wrong.
“Professor Jenkins is thinking about renting this house next year,” I said. “We’re here with the realtor. They’re in the basement.”
“So you decided to come up here and go through our things?” Alice said.
The confusion in her voice was clear, and I didn’t know how to respond. Here was a student I liked, who’d enrolled in my class next semester, and she’d found me upstairs in her house with her friend’s wig on. I had to tell her why. I couldn’t allow her to think I was a creep. “Look, Alice, I’m going to be frank with you. I think you’re in danger. I think Mia might have done something to Tanner, and she might do something to one of you. You need to be careful.”
“Mia?” Alice shook her head. “No, Tanner was the one who hurt her. She would never hurt one of us.”
“I understand how you feel, but you have to believe me,” I said. “If she was being abused, it’s all the more reason for her to strike out again.”
“Why should I believe you?” Her brown eyes narrowed on me. “I’ve known Mia for almost three years.”
She was smart and would listen to reason. I tried explaining. “I’m a good teacher. I care about my students. Ask anyone. I didn’t mean any harm—just the opposite. I’m trying to protect you and your roommates.”
She shifted her weight. “I know that’s true. I just can’t believe Mia would do anything to one of us.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t,” I rushed to say. “But she’s in a very dark place right now and has done some very disturbing things.”
“You think she’s disturbed?”
“I’m not a medical doctor,” I said. “But if that’s her wig, I think it’s possible that she’s struggling with mental illness and needs help. Did she ever see a counselor?”
She thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t know.”
I could hear Lenny and the agent discussing rental terms downstairs. They must have returned from the basement. I took a step toward the stairwell. “Please don’t tell anyone I was here.”
After wrestling with the request for a minute, she nodded, and I started down the steps.
“Professor Prather?”
I turned back.
“If he was abusing her, though, don’t you think he had it coming?”
“Sorry, Alice. That’s one question I can’t answer.”