two men were at the circulation desk.
As she drew alongside them, President Winwood spoke. “This is Officer Everett Mallow, who will investigate the crime. Officer, Miss Banyon found the body.”
Doro bit her tongue to keep from asking about Constable Lammers, who should be in charge instead of this young usurper.
Mallow nodded as he retrieved a notepad and a pencil from his jacket pocket. “I want to hear what happened from when you walked into the library until you saw the professor, Miss Banyon. The exact time of your arrival is important, too.”
“Perhaps we could sit down in my office,” Doro said, “instead of standing in front of the circulation desk.”
The officer shifted from one foot to the other, but his expression remained solemn. “I don’t have all that many questions, miss.”
Didn’t the man understand her shock and uneasiness? Should she admit to feeling shaky? Not to Mr. Starched Shirt. And his shirt, peeking out above his jacket, was starched. The material looked stiff enough to stand upright on its own. Details about the newcomer had not reached her. But he was nothing like Wade Lammers, the town constable, whose shirts were clean but rarely ironed. But Wade was always relaxed and affable. Officer Mallow appeared to be his exact opposite. Was that part of the reason Winwood and company had chosen him?
“I’ve alerted the provost, along with the head librarian, who should arrive soon. It might be best if you availed yourself of a quiet place to interview Miss Banyon,” the president said.
“Of course,” Mallow said.
“My work area is over there.” Doro pointed to the corner. The space afforded to her was tiny, but private.
Mallow turned his head to follow her gesture, revealing his strong profile. Without his gaze on her, Doro noticed his good looks—dark brown hair that might have waved if it wasn’t so short, slightly tanned skin, crystal silver eyes, and ebony lashes any woman would envy. Too bad arrogance rolled off him in waves. Not that she was interested in flirtation or courtship. She planned to be a career woman.
Mallow turned to the president. “I want to talk with anyone else who was in the area this morning. Witnesses can lead to a quick solution.”
“I’ll arrange for them to come here, Everett,” President Winwood assured him.
Using the officer’s first name indicated a level of familiarity that only escalated Doro’s anxiety. Had Mallow worked at the president’s previous institution? How well did they know each other? Was the new officer beholden to him?
“Thank you.” Mallow pointed to Doro’s desk. “Lead the way, miss.”
Doro picked up her voluminous leather bag, a high school graduation gift from her parents, which was still on the counter. Before she took a step, Mallow spoke again.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“My bag.” Wasn’t that obvious?
“I’ll need to go through it,” Mallow replied.
The idea set Doro’s teeth on edge. “Student papers are in it. I need to grade them.”
“You teach along with being a librarian?” Mallow inquired.
“I do,” Doro said.
For a moment, he waited, as if expecting to hear more. “What do you teach?” he asked.
Doro released a pent-up breath. “A course on the mystery novel.”
A harrumph left Winwood. “The former president held a loose rein and approved classes that lack substance. Miss Banyon teaches one of them.”
Mallow’s attention riveted on Doro. “Do you fancy yourself an armchair detective?”
The question ignited her anger, which she held in check with effort. “We examine the structure of novels, assess the plots, review character development, and evaluate the mysteries.”
“The books are hardly classics,” Winwood put in. “Students would be better off studying Shakespeare, Chaucer, and the great poets like Robert Browning and Lord Tennyson.”
Doro noted the absence of women writers but withheld comment. She didn’t need to draw more of Winwood’s fire.
“I’m not in a position to judge the content of courses,” Mallow said, before turning back to Doro. “But I’ll need the bag.”
She thrust it at him before pivoting on her heel and stomping to her office. Once inside, she pointed to one of the two chairs facing her desk. “Please sit down.” After settling in herself, Doro folded her icy hands in her lap. Officer Mallow, his handsome features schooled, offered not a jot of commiseration or compassion. Maybe he was accustomed to seeing dead bodies, although he was too young to have served in the Great War, which had ended in 1918, ten years earlier.
“Miss Banyon, what time did you arrive for work?” Mallow asked.
“Shortly after the tower clock chimed seven-thirty.”
“I see. The library doesn’t open until eight-thirty. Why so early?” His gaze riveted on her.
The query sounded accusatory, which had Doro shifting restlessly in her hard chair. Surely, the man did not suspect her. Or had Winwood slanted information to make Doro look bad? The possibility increased her anxiety, while she also wondered about being forthright. Her main reason for arriving early was to ward off criticism from Professor Corlon by ensuring every nook and cranny of the library was in pristine order. If she admitted as much, would the officer ask if Doro and Corlon didn’t get along? Not that Winwood probably hadn’t bent Mallow’s ear. Since she did not want to reveal the extent of their conflict, Doro formed her reply with care. “A class was scheduled to be here shortly after opening, and I wanted everything to be ready for them.”
He jotted a few notes before looking directly at Doro. “Do you come over an hour early for every class visit?”
His tone and expression revealed doubt. Since Mallow could easily discover she didn’t, or maybe he already knew, Doro answered honestly. “Not always.”
“Only for certain professors? Ones who don’t think unqualified young women should be on the faculty?” His deep voice held an edge.
The two questions hung like a dense fog between them. Evidently, the president had shared details. Mallow’s tone and expression gave away nothing of his own perspective. “I have a master’s degree in library science from the University of Michigan, Officer Mallow. I completed the program in one year, because I worked hard. As for being young, I’m twenty-five and I doubt if you’re much older.”
Color formed two splotches on his lean cheeks. “I’m twenty-six.”
His candor surprised Doro, who found herself at a loss for words.
Mallow did not suffer the same issue. “Professor Corlon sat in on my interview and made no objection to my youth. Neither did the others on the hiring committee.”
The admission did not ease Doro’s mind. If anything, her trepidation escalated. The Fearsome Foursome had hired this man. Would he be their stooge? “Did you know President Winwood before being hired?” Although the question might seem impertinent, she wanted to know.
For a moment, Mallow looked baffled. “No. I never met anyone on the hiring committee until I was interviewed.”
“Just curious,” she murmured. “President Winwood is relatively new here, and he brought several others with him. Professor Corlon was one of them.”
“I know,” he replied.
When Mallow said no more, Doro wondered what else he knew. Or what he had been told by Winwood, Corlon, Pottiger, and Jerritt. A period of silence ensued before the officer broke it.
“From what I’ve heard, you grew up around campus.”
“I grew up in Michaw. My father was a history professor here for almost two decades. He left for a job in Colorado several years ago.”
“And you stayed.”
Doro lifted her chin. Was he so old-fashioned that he thought young women belonged at home with their parents until marriage? “I was a senior, so I finished here before going to library school. Only a handful of colleges offer advanced degrees for librarians. When I completed mine, I was offered a position at Michaw. Since my grandmother lives in Sylvania, which is only a few miles away, I took the job. We have no other family in the area. If I left, she’d be here alone.”
“And she doesn’t want to leave her hometown,” he suggested in a softer tone.
“Not after seventy years,” Doro replied.
Mallow nodded. “Understandable. As for the case, President Winwood said you and the professor often clashed.”
“I wouldn’t say often,” Doro replied. Only whenever they crossed paths.
“What would you say?” he asked.
Doro stared at the top of Mallow’s head as he bent to scribble more notes. Queasiness had roiled inside of her since running across Corlon’s body. She had barely held it at bay when President Winwood levied his veiled accusations. Now, it churned into biliousness. How could she explain without sounding callous? “Professor Corlon and I have disagreed on a few matters. For one, he didn’t like that the library meeting rooms are booked up for the rest of the term.”
Mallow’s brow furrowed as he looked back at her. “Why did that bother him?”
“He formed a committee to review all of Michaw’s longstanding policies. The group has three members, so they could get together many places. But he insists college business should take precedence over student organizations. I’ve repeatedly told him we make reservations at the beginning of the term. He didn’t ask until three weeks later.” Doro squared her shoulders. “I will not banish students for a handful of disgruntled employees.”
His frown deepened. “Disgruntled?”
Wishing she could substitute another word was futile, so Doro plunged ahead while silently admonishing herself to think before speaking. “As I mentioned, a few folks want to review college policies. I don’t know how familiar you are with Michaw, but it became a progressive institution under President Adams. Women were admitted and employed in significant numbers. That’s been the case for over a decade.”
“I’m aware of those facts.”
Did he agree with Winwood and his followers about taking the school back to its roots? Founded in 1880, Michaw College had been “men only” for over thirty-five years. When Thomas Adams took the reins in 1916, after being a Michaw professor for many years, he had wanted to move the institution in a more modern direction. While a few professors had objected, most—like Doro’s father—were enthusiastic about the change. After war was declared in 1917, the idea became popular as many students and employees went into the military, leaving empty spaces across campus. Dr. Adams found almost no opposition to his plan when the school was on the brink of closure. “Most alumni, students, and employees want things to stay like they are now. I’m not alone.” Doro knew she was babbling, but what she said was true.
“I didn’t say you were.” His tone matched hers in terms of defensiveness. Mallow cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to the case. I assume the library was locked last night, but Professor Corlon got in. I didn’t note any forced entry. Did you when you arrived?”
“No, but he has a key to the library. All the department chairs do. You can ask any of them.”
Mallow looked up. “I’ll speak with them.”
Eager to end this interview, Doro asked, “What other questions can I answer, Officer?”
He looked back at his notepad. “You followed the wet footprints to the bookcases and made some of your own.”
“I wiped my feet on the doormat, so I left very few prints and no water,” she replied. “But yes, I went toward the puddles. The front door was ajar, which is unusual. It’s never happened before today.”
“You laid your bag on the counter, right?”
“I did because it’s heavy. I didn’t want to haul it along while I looked to see who sloshed water and mud around.” Why was he asking about something so mundane? Doro did not have to wait long to find out.
“From the wound on Professor Corlon’s head and the position of his body, his attacker snuck up behind him, most likely from the circulation desk side of the library, but maybe from the other way, which I understand leads to a back door.”
The last observation surprised Doro. “I didn’t look beyond his body. Were there muddy prints that way, too?”
A moment’s hesitation preceded his reply. “There were.”
“As I said, I wiped my feet,” Doro repeated, “and I didn’t go toward the back door.”
Mallow looked up from his notepad to study her face. After a long moment, he continued. “What did you do after putting your bag down?”
Hadn’t she made her actions clear? Or was the man trying to trip her up? When Doro replied, her voice trembled. “I followed the footsteps and found Professor Corlon. At first, I thought he was unconscious. When I couldn’t rouse him, I realized he was dead.”
“Take your time, Miss Banyon. I understand how difficult this must be for you.”
Her gaze shot to his face, where sympathy softened his handsome features. Mallow might be stiff and starched, but he wasn’t completely devoid of empathy. “I was stunned when I realized he wasn’t just out cold. For a bit, I wondered if he’d accidentally hit his head.”
For long moments, his steady gaze stayed on her. Finally, he jotted something down and spoke again. “The catalogue drawers are all easy to pull out from what I could tell.”
“They are. Students take them to tables for sorting. Otherwise, a jam can occur in front of the cabinets.”
“That makes sense. Do they ever fall out on their own?”
The question seemed odd, but Doro answered. “No, never that I know about.”
“So, accidentally dislodging one isn’t likely.”
“It isn’t,” she admitted with reluctance, “which means someone used the drawer as a weapon.” Would he confirm her supposition?
Silence echoed in her small office before the officer replied. “If you teach a course on the mystery novel, you know a blow to the head has to be forceful to kill someone.”
She leaned back in her chair and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Fiction writers sometimes play fast and loose with the facts.”
“Sometimes, they do,” he replied, “but wouldn’t you point those instances out to your students?”
“I do. So, I guess it was wishful thinking that Professor Corlon suffered an accident.”
A shrug lifted one shoulder. “I’m still very early in my investigation, so I won’t rule anything out yet.” He tapped his pencil against the notepad. “Let’s go back to the student groups using library rooms, so Professor Corlon couldn’t.”
Doro yearned to say the college existed because of students. She resisted. “All right.”
“What organizations got preference over faculty members?”
The question annoyed Doro, who had already explained library policy. Once again, her stomach churned. Doro was the faculty advisor for the chief women’s group on campus. President Adams had approved the organization, but Winwood wanted to disband it. His friend Corlon was in the same camp. Doro, and some other female faculty members, believed it was a step toward returning the school to its original men-only status.
“Miss Banyon? The meetings?”
Doro cleared her throat and stared directly into his silver-gray eyes. “The Young Women Voters for Equality and Justice.” She thought his gaze widened before the thick, dark lashes swept down and his focus went to his notepad.
“Never heard of it.”
“No, I don’t imagine you have.” Doro didn’t keep the antipathy from her voice. She didn’t even try. Many men looked askance at the group and others like it.
He looked back at her. “I don’t have a college education, miss, but I read widely, and I was a policeman. I’m aware of many ladies’ groups who fought for the vote, and others who are devoted to female rights. Just don’t know about yours.”
Doro studied his face. Reading his schooled features proved difficult, as difficult as figuring out how he felt about women’s rights. Prior to the Nineteenth Amendment being passed and ratified, many suffragettes had been harassed, beaten, and arrested at peaceful marches. Had Mallow been one of the policemen involved in harming the women? The officer would have been young, but he could have been a lawman when the voting rights movement was in its final swing. “It was formed on campus for students and female faculty. We haven’t marched elsewhere, so you wouldn’t have seen us in your work.”
His brow furrowed. “In my work?” Confusion filled his voice.
Was he feigning ignorance or making fun of her? “The police were at all the suffragette marches. Most groups had banners and sashes with their names. This entity didn’t exist until a couple of years ago.”
“Women have had the right to vote since 1920, which is the year I graduated from high school. I wasn’t a policeman until I turned twenty-one. I left the department a year later to work for the Prohibition Bureau.”
The comment surprised her. “You were a federal agent.”
One corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. “Technically, I still am. My resignation won’t be effective until Monday, when I officially begin work here.”
Surely, he couldn’t be about to smile. Doro gazed at him. “I see.” The two words came out sounding like criticism, but she had only meant to make an observation. She opened her mouth to explain, but Mallow reacted first.
His amusement faltered. “If you see me as someone who plans to break up campus parties or search for leftover bottles of booze, you’re wrong. I’m done with hunting bootleggers, raiding speakeasies, and…” His voice trailed off. “Anyhow, I was hired to ensure the campus remains a safe place.”
“It always has been,” Doro put in.
“So, I’ve heard, but many schools have hired security officers lately. Michaw isn’t the only one.” He cleared his throat. “Now, this group meets regularly?”
“Yes, weekly. As I said, YWV is relatively new, and we only concern ourselves with campus issues.”
Mallow opened his mouth, but quickly shut it. Before he spoke again, the officer made more notes. “YWV is your abbreviation for the group?”
Doro nodded.
“And you discuss issues like President Winwood and others debating whether to keep the school as a co-educational institution.”
“We discuss a wide range of topics.” Doro had no intention of providing specifics to this man. The group had nothing to do with the murder, and she would not allow the members to become scapegoats.
“Are the meetings open to everyone?” he asked.
“Every female on campus, yes.”
“No men?”
“No. As I said, it’s the Young Women Voters.”
“And all the attendees are young.”
The observation laid like a trap, so Doro carefully sidestepped it. “We don’t ask for proof of age.”
This time, his lips twitched enough to signal a repressed smile, but he hastily glanced down at his notes. “Interesting.” He released a slight cough, which might have been a smothered chuckle. “Professor Corlon objected to this group of young women taking precedence over his committee. Is that right?”
“He did. More than once.” Since others would say the same, Doro saw no sense in lying. Perhaps, revealing other details would be wise. Then, Officer Mallow could not accuse her of covering up. “In fact, he’s the one who asked President Winwood to remove official status for YWV.”
“Why?”
The single-word query merited a complete explanation. Before Doro replied, she considered how to present the group, and herself, in the best light. “Professor Corlon didn’t see any reason for women to have their own group.”
“There aren’t any all-male organizations on campus?” Mallow asked.
His question played right into her ballpark. “There are a few.” Several seconds of silence ticked away. Something in Mallow’s eyes telegraphed disapproval. Toward whom, Doro did not know.
“Corlon didn’t want the men’s groups to lose their official status, though.”
Since his statement revealed the target of the disapproval, Doro let some of her tension drain away. “No, he doesn’t, and President Winwood seemed to take his side.”
Mallow skimmed his notes before looking back at Doro. “President Winwood explained that he and Corlon worked together at another school, and the two of them came here a little over a year ago.”
“That’s right. Dr. Adams retired in June of last year, and the board hired Winwood, along with Corlon and two others, Provost Otto Pottiger and Dr. Vincent Jerritt.”
“Did Professor Corlon take the place of someone else who retired?”
“He did,” she replied.
After jotting more notes, Mallow again focused on her. “The two others sat in when I was interviewed. I had the impression they were close to Winwood and Corlon before coming here.”
“President Winwood created a Provost’s position and hired one of his college fraternity brothers, Pottiger, who has taught at a couple of universities.” Doro failed to keep her nose from wrinkling. Every time, she thought about the provost, she recalled the stench always clinging to him: sweat, cigar, and Limburger cheese. “The other man, Jerritt, was added to the mathematics department, as chair.” At least the math professor was always nattily dressed and well-groomed. Tiny points in his favor.
“What happened to the former chairman?” Mallow asked.
“She was demoted to regular faculty status,” Doro replied. The woman had been among the first females hired and had gained tenure under President Adams.
“How do others on campus feel about the changes?”
“Several professors deserved a chance to be the chairman ahead of a newcomer, and the same is true for the provost job. At least three faculty members deserved consideration. I’m not the only one who thinks so.” Doro kept her voice well-modulated and her words non-accusatory.
The officer looked thoughtful. “Which means there are plenty of people on campus who may hold a grudge against the professor.”
Since Doro figured he was dangling bait to get her to bite, she simply shrugged. “No grudges. Just a strong difference of opinion on changes at this school. Professor Corlon is—was—outspoken in championing President Winwood’s agenda.”
“Interesting.”
An all-purpose vague word, but Doro did not comment on it. Instead, she waited for another question to come her way.
“How many faculty members have argued with Corlon?”
Did he expect her to present suspects? If so, he’d be disappointed. “I don’t know details about any arguments. Perhaps other faculty members do.”
He nodded. “I’ll be talking with many people. As for this morning, did you see anyone else on your way to the library?”
Doro took no time to wonder what he meant. Instead, she answered directly. “Only the college president, which I’m sure he told you.”
“You saw no one on your way to campus?” Mallow inquired. “Other than President Winwood.”
“I live on campus, Officer Mallow. All female faculty members do.”
“That’s right,” he murmured. “I heard that in passing when I came for an interview, but I got a lot of information that day and since being hired. I haven’t absorbed it all. Anyhow, you didn’t run into anyone in your residence hall?”
“No, I didn’t. Most of the women don’t leave until closer to eight o’clock. Since we all have kitchenettes, we eat breakfast in our quarters. Sometimes, we share a meal downstairs because that kitchen is larger.”
“All right. Let’s go over your trek from your apartment to the library.”
With a sigh, Doro slumped back in her chair. “As I said, I live in the women’s faculty apartment building, Wheaton Hall. It’s only a hundred yards from the library, but on the opposite side of College Commons, the front lawn. You probably saw it when you got to campus. The structure is a duplicate of Madden Hall, the men’s residence, on the opposite side of the commons and behind the library, to the side of College Hall. The faculty residences are miniatures of the main building—red brick with white pillars and trim.”
“I’ve seen it. When there’s space, I’ll have rooms in Madden. It looks nice from outside, but all the buildings do. It’s a lovely campus.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Getting back to your walk here.”
The edge of impatience in his deep voice set Doro’s teeth on edge. If he only wanted the bare facts, that’s what he would get. “I walked out of my building and took the sidewalk to College Hall. Then, I cut through there to get out of the rain. I ran into President Winwood on my way. We spoke briefly, and I continued to the library. The door was ajar, so I came in. I saw puddles and mud on the floor, laid my things on the counter, followed the trail to the bookcases, and on to the card catalogues. I found the professor, checked to see if he was breathing, discovered he wasn’t, and called the main office.” The statement repeated what she had already said, but the officer might still be trying to find a discrepancy. Doro took care to avoid presenting any.
Officer Mallow’s pencil flew across his notepad and continued moving when Doro stopped talking. When he looked up, his gray gaze was intent. “You already said what happened here.”
A pent-up breath escaped Doro. “I thought you wanted a complete recitation of my trip this morning.”
He ran a hand over his face. “And this was right after you arrived at seven-thirty?”
“It was.” The man’s reaction revealed her terse account had annoyed him, but hadn’t he wanted only facts? All the facts? A repeat of facts?
“Did the professor usually come early when his classes met in the library?” Mallow asked.
“Somewhat early.” How else would he inspect the main areas of the library? Doro wondered but did not say.
For a moment, Mallow looked as if he might ask for more details. Instead, he posed another query. “How many folks would know his class was meeting here today?”
Doro shrugged. “All his students. Probably some of the other English professors. My boss and our student worker.”
“And Professor Corlon lives on campus?”
“No, he rents a duplex in town.”
“So, his neighbors might know he left early.”
“Possibly,” she replied.
Another frown formed on the officer’s face. “Would you know where he lived? Even the street name would help.”
His weary expression chipped away at Doro’s defenses. The man was trying to do his job. In actuality, he wasn’t supposed to start work until next week and had probably planned for some time off. “Over on Oak Avenue.”
“Is that close to campus?”
The question further highlighted how new Everett Mallow was to Michaw—the college and the town. Because Doro had spent most of her life in the area, she usually welcomed strangers. But she had not done so with him. A jolt of chagrin hit her. Just because she and the campus security officer hadn’t met in the best circumstances—which was putting it mildly, since she still seemed to be in the suspect category—didn’t mean she shouldn’t be more hospitable. “If you turn right at the entrance to campus and go two blocks east, you’ll run into Oak. Professor Corlon lived on the upper floor of a white frame cottage a few houses from the corner. The porch has trellises across the front with a few late roses still blooming.”
After making a note, Mallow smiled. “Thanks. I planned to get acquainted with the school and town before my official start date, but things changed.”
The boyish grin nearly disarmed her. He was handsome when stiff and stern. Smiling, he was striking. Doro glanced away and cleared her throat. “When did you get here?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” he replied. “I worked a shift with the Bureau the night before. We’re short-handed, and my resignation isn’t official until Monday. That puts me in the on-call category.”
No wonder he looked weary. “President Winwood shouldn’t expect you to investigate this case. Constable Lammers can handle it.”
The charming grin disappeared. “I’m as capable as the constable. Maybe more capable, since I’ve been an agent for three years.”
Loyalty drove Doro’s response. “The constable is quite capable, and he’s a mature man with security experience. He worked for the railroad as a safety officer. I’m sure Winwood belittled him, but he does that to many longtime locals. It’s unfair.” Doro had known Wade Lammers all her life. His family went back in Michaw even farther than her own, and they were good people. Not having college degrees didn’t make them dumb, despite what Winwood and his three associates thought.
“Quite a lot in life is unfair, Miss Banyon.” Mallow stood up and flipped his notepad closed. “I have to talk with several others. For now, you need to stay in the library.” Then, he turned on his heel and left before Doro could form a response. The young officer had thawed until she mentioned Lammers taking over the case. Then, Mallow had gotten defensive. Interesting, although Doro wasn’t sure what it meant. And she certainly shouldn’t care.