“Holy cow! Czerny stole this woman’s dissertation? Are you sure? Fifteen years ago, you know.”
“Can I be absolutely sure it’s word-for-word the same paper?” Grandfather said. “Of course not. But it’s the same topic, no doubt of it. Unusual topic. She had an interesting slant on some owl behavioral issues. I wasn’t sure I agreed with her premise—in fact, since then, it’s been studied and disproven. That didn’t matter—I thought when she did her research she’d figure out herself that it wasn’t valid, and maybe come up with something useful and even more interesting along the way. Because it was interesting. She was interesting. Different. Had an original mind. And she had a fairly distinctive writing style—light, almost breezy, very down-to-earth, but without sacrificing accuracy or scientific rigor. I remember thinking she’d be a natural for writing the sort of books or articles that make scientific material comprehensible and entertaining to the general public. Or teaching, if her oral style was a match for the written.”
“Doesn’t sound like Czerny’s style.”
“No.” Grandfather glanced at the larger of the two stacks of papers and grimaced. “Most of his stuff is turgid, overwritten—you can see Frogmore’s heavy editorial hand. They’re crap. But his doctoral dissertation, and two of his early published papers—there’s some interesting stuff there. But he didn’t write them. Not the whole of them. She did. I’d stake my life on it.”
“How come nobody ever noticed this before?” I asked.
“I doubt if many people outside of Czerny’s doctoral committee ever read his dissertation,” Grandfather said. “And Julia Taylor never finished hers, so the only other person in the world who could have spotted the resemblance would be her advisor—and he’s been dead a decade now, poor sod. And as for the rest of Czerny’s publications … well, I wouldn’t have read them before. These places he’s publishing them are not exactly the top academic journals in the field. Some aren’t even reputable journals. They’re scam operations that will publish any garbage you send to them if you pay their fee.”
“Why would someone do that? I know professors have to publish or perish, but surely nobody’s going to be fooled by the spurious publications.”
“Some of the fake journals look legit. Some of them have names vaguely like those of legit publications. Look at this one.” He held out a sheaf of papers. “He included a copy of their masthead, which lists me as a member of their advisory panel. Never heard of the crooks. When we get back to civilization, I’ll be turning this over to my attorney. But not all institutions have a sufficiently rigorous tenure process. Evidently Buckthorn doesn’t. If their committee just ticked off the number of his publications and settled for ‘oh, yeah, that sounds vaguely familiar,’ he’d get away with it.”
“So Czerny’s CV isn’t likely to help him get a good job anywhere else.”
“It’s likely to get him fired from Buckthorn if I tell them what I know.”
“It’ll be your word against his,” I pointed out.
“Not if I show them what that poor young woman sent me. Pretty sure I still have it all in the files—you know what a paper pack rat I am. I might even be able to find her to testify against him. I’ll sic Trevor on it when he gets back from wherever it was he felt he had to go for the holiday.”
“Bermuda. He has family there, remember?” I tried, once again, not to resent the fact that Grandfather’s assistant was almost certainly sitting on a beach drinking a rum swizzle or a dark ’n’ stormy instead of being here to do much of the work that had fallen on me in his absence. “And what will you tell Dr. Czerny?”
Grandfather blew out his breath in what I took for an expression of exasperation.
“No idea. I probably shouldn’t say anything until I finish all of these.” He waved his hand at the stack of paper.
“Oh, so you’re jumping to a negative conclusion before you’ve reviewed all your data—how unprofessional.” I smiled to show I was only teasing.
His answering smile was lukewarm.
“No, I think I have enough data to cast serious doubts on both his integrity and his academic credentials,” he said. “But that’s a good point. I don’t just need to read all of these very closely—I need to do some more digging. On top of stealing someone else’s topic, I think he may have faked his data.”
“Yikes.”
“So maybe the best thing to do would be to just avoid him for a while. Till I can do a full investigation of this whole thing. And till I get over the urge to punch his lights out for the cheating bastard I’m pretty sure he is.”
“Sounds reasonable. Shall I put him at the top of the list when the airports open and Ekaterina and I start trying to help your attendees get home in time for Christmas?”
“Definitely.” He took another sip of his bourbon and went back to gazing with a gloomy expression on his face at the two stacks of paper on the coffee table.
Percival opened one eye and peered at me. No, not at me—over my shoulder. A few seconds later someone knocked at the door.
“Owls have good hearing, right?” I asked as I stood up.
“Oh, yes.” Being asked an ornithological question seemed to cheer Grandfather up. “Nearly all of them have very highly developed auditory processing systems—helps them hunt at night, you know. And in many of them—barn owls, for example—the shape of the face acts as a sort of funnel to channel sounds more effectively to the ears.”
I headed for the door to see who was visiting.
“And they have excellent directional hearing,” Grandfather was saying behind me. “They compare the difference between when a sound hits their left and right ears—they’re sensitive to a difference of as little as thirty millionths of a second. Then they swivel their heads until the sound hits both ears at the same time, and bingo! They know where to go to catch their prey.”
I opened the door and wasn’t thrilled to see Grandfather’s visitor.
“Hello, Dr. Czerny,” I said, loudly enough for Grandfather to hear.
“I came to see Dr. Blake,” he said.
“It’s really late, you know,” I said. “Are you sure—”
“Let him in, Meg,” Grandfather said.
“Are you sure?” I said. “You should be in bed.”
“Never put off till tomorrow what you can get over with today.”
“I’m not sure that’s how the saying goes.” I stood aside to let Dr. Czerny in.
Czerny scurried into the living room and sat on the sofa opposite Grandfather. Perched on the edge of it, really. With his stoop-shouldered, hunch-necked posture, he looked more than ever like a buzzard. I saw him glance at the stacks of papers and then back at Grandfather.
I came over and leaned on the arm of Grandfather’s sofa.
“So?” Dr. Czerny gave a bright smile. “What do you think? Any suggestions about where I should apply?”
Grandfather was rubbing his temples again, eyes closed. Then he sighed and opened his eyes again. I could spot the precise moment he came to his decision.
“Tell me,” he said. “Did Dr. Frogmore know when he hired you that you’d stolen your dissertation from Julia Taylor? Or did he find that out later?”
Czerny’s mouth fell open, and all the color drained from his face.
“Or was it the falsified data in your subsequent publications that he found out about?” Grandfather went on. “Either way, he made you pay, didn’t he? Turned you into his flunky. Kept you so busy doing his administrative scut work that you hardly had time to do any research. Although it was probably pretty easy to be philosophical about that, since he’d have stolen anything worthwhile you came up with anyway. So no, I haven’t yet had any ideas about where you should apply. It’s going to take a while to think of a place that’d be willing to hire a plagiarist. A plagiarist who might soon have his Ph.D. revoked.”
“You’re crazy.” Czerny stared at Grandfather for a few moments, then looked up at me. “He’s losing it. Dementia. I have no idea why he’s saying this.”
“Grandfather’s brain is just fine. But he’s missing the most important point, isn’t he?” I asked. Both Grandfather and Czerny looked at me, puzzled. “The part about you killing off Dr. Frogmore.”
“You’re crazy, too,” Czerny said.
“I thought that lunatic lumberjack killed Frogmore,” Grandfather said.
“Lunatic lumber baron,” I corrected. “And no, Dr. Czerny did. Didn’t you?” I turned to Czerny. “We blew it. You had the same means and opportunity as any of the prime suspects. Better than most—you were sitting by him at dinner. But we all kept counting you out because we couldn’t figure out a motive for you to kill him. Because we thought you had the strongest possible motive to keep him alive. You’d be killing the mentor who protected you, got you tenure, shielded you from being found out as incompetent. Killing the goose that was laying all those golden eggs for you. We couldn’t imagine that you’d have any reason to kill Frogmore. But you did. He’d been blackmailing you. And you wanted out. Now that the chief is here at the hotel—”
“Now that the chief is here, I think I’ll be making my exit,” Czerny said. “As soon as I figure out where the hell he parked his snowmobile.”
He took his hands out of his coat pockets. He was holding a gun. I have never liked having guns pointed at me or my family to begin with, and this was the second time tonight.
“Don’t be an idiot, man,” Grandfather said. “You can only go so far on a snowmobile. Just turn yourself in and tell them you have no recollection of poisoning Frogmore. They do it all the time on television.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy.” He turned to me. “You know where the snowmobile is, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. No idea.” I didn’t want to tell him that the snowmobile had only dropped the chief off and headed back to town. He might do something crazy. Crazier than what he was already doing.
“I don’t buy that,” he said. “A busybody like you—you always have to know everything that’s going on. Tell me where the snowmobile is or I’ll shoot him.”
He pointed the gun at Grandfather.
“Okay,” I said. “It’s— Wait. Just one question—how the Dickens did you manage to get the nitro spray on his food without anyone noticing?”
“I wasn’t going to do it till after the banquet. Thought I’d slip it into an after-dinner drink. But when those idiots in owl costumes began doing their can-can dance, everyone in the place was watching them and laughing their eyes out. I pulled out the little bottle I was keeping it in and dumped it in his Scotch and water.”
“Hell of a thing to do to your mentor,” Grandfather growled.
“Mentor!” Czerny shrieked so loudly that both Percival and I startled. Grandfather didn’t seem the least bit upset. “Frogmore was my jailer. Yeah, when the Taylor woman abandoned her research, I picked it up and carried it through. Why not? She wasn’t going to use it. But I never should have let Frogmore find out. He made my life a living hell. I should have killed him years ago. I’d do it again. But I should have picked something that would work slower. I didn’t realize he’d go that fast. I wanted him to suffer. And by the way, I know what you’re doing, Blake, and I’m not falling for it.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Grandfather said.
“Flicking your eyes over at the door to the terrace,” Czerny said. “I know damn well there’s three, four feet of snow piled up out there. Nobody’s going to come dashing in from the terrace to rescue you.”
“I was looking at the damned owl,” Grandfather said. “You seem to have startled him.”
Grandfather was right. Percival was wide awake and staring out toward the terrace.
“He’s already been shot once,” Grandfather continued. “Try not to take him out too when you start blasting.”
“Oh, very funny.” After a brief glance at Percival, Czerny focused back on me. “I mean it. Where’s the snowmobile?”
“I don’t know, but maybe I can figure it out—let me think a sec.” I frowned as if thinking hard enough to bring on a headache. “The chief came in the front door. He probably parked it right outside.” I was trying very hard not to look over in the direction of the door to the terrace, because my peripheral vision told me it was slowly sliding open. What in the world could—no! It had to be the boys, coming in through their tunnels. Were they trying to sneak in to play a prank on their great-grandfather? Or were they attempting some kind of foolhardy rescue? In either case, I had to get Czerny out of the room before they came in.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s right outside the front door.” I was having a hard time keeping my voice steady. And keeping my eyes away from the sliding glass door. The cold air was coming in through the opening. Any second now Czerny would notice. How could I get a message to the boys to stay safely outside—or, better yet, to run away and get help? I heard a slight metal snick—what were they doing?
“Maybe you and I should go out there and look for it, then,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Suddenly a live mouse sailed over the top of the cage and landed on Czerny’s head. He yelped, dropped the gun, and slapped at his head with both hands. I dived for the gun, and then shrieked as the mouse leaped off Czerny and onto my shoulders. Luckily I managed not to drop the gun in my surprise, and the mouse quickly scuttled away. I heard a squeaking noise and another mouse landed on Czerny. Followed by another.
And then Percival rose up. He uttered an unearthly screech and dived toward the latest airborne mouse—which had just landed on Czerny’s head.
Czerny screamed and dived for the floor, which reduced the damage Percival’s talons did when he seized the mouse. Percival landed on the mantel with the mouse in his talons, dislodging the evergreen garland draped over it and knocking several small breakable things to the floor in a tinkling crash. He leaned down to pluck the mouse from his talons, and it disappeared into his bill. Except for the tail, which dangled down for a few seconds until Percival took another gulp and sucked it in.
I stood up, still a little shaky, and pointed the gun at Czerny, who was still cowering on the floor.
“Freeze, you scum-sucking plagiarist.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as shaky as I felt.
“Hey, Mom,” Josh said. “Should I throw another mouse?”
“Stand by,” I said. “Percival still has to catch two of the ones you’ve already thrown.” At least I hoped the owl could manage it. I wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to Ekaterina if he didn’t.
The cottage door slammed open. I kept my eyes on Czerny.
“Police! Freeze!” The chief. “Meg? Dr. Blake.”
“We’re both fine,” I called over my shoulder. “And I have Dr. Czerny’s gun and am pointing it at him so he doesn’t try anything else stupid.”
“Chief,” Grandfather bellowed. “Give us a minute to secure the owl before you enter.”
“Secure the owl?” the chief echoed. “Do I even want to know?”
“Jamie, we need to lure Percival back into the cage,” Grandfather said. “Toss me a mouse.”
“It’s Josh. Jamie went to fetch the cops.” But another mouse came flying over the cage. Grandfather caught it deftly.
I fixed my eyes on Czerny so I wouldn’t have to watch. Although I deduced from their comments that between them, Josh and Grandfather used one of the mice to lure Percival back into his cage.
“All clear,” Grandfather called. “Safe to come in now, Chief.”
The chief and Horace raced in. The chief kept his gun trained on Dr. Czerny, who didn’t put up any resistance when Horace secured his arms behind him. Then Horace scrambled to his feet, pulled a gold-embossed evidence bag out of one of his pockets, and held it open so I could drop in the gun.
“Let’s hope we’ve got the real killer this time,” I said. “Dealing with all these gun-waving loonies is really taking a toll on my Christmas spirit.”
“These people attacked me!” Czerny shouted. “I came here to retrieve some papers I lent Dr. Blake, and they pointed a gun at me and sicced their vicious owl on me. They’ll probably tell some wild story about me killing Dr. Frogmore—they’re crazy.”
He looked around with an expression that really did look like outraged innocence.
Grandfather held up his phone and pressed something. Czerny’s recorded voice picked up in mid-sentence.
“… life a living hell. I should have killed him years ago. I’d do it again. But I should have picked something that would work slower. I didn’t realize he’d go that fast. I wanted him to suffer.”
Grandfather clicked the phone off.
“Meg,” he said. “When you get a chance, remind me to thank whoever set up that dictation software on my phone. Turned out to be pretty useful after all.”