The Final Tap (9 page)

Benji looked as if I'd slapped her. “They do?” she squeaked.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

She set the container of silverware she was holding on the cafeteria table. “Then I think I made it worse for him.”

I wrinkled my brow.

“Detective Brandon was waiting for me outside my apartment last night when I got home from class. She asked me if I knew where Gavin was when Dr. Beeson was killed. I told her that I didn't.” She sighed. “And I told her that I couldn't find him when you sent me back to the visitor center to tell him and Judy that we found Dr. Beeson in the woods.” She chewed on her lip. “I shouldn't have done that.”

I patted her shoulder. “You didn't do anything wrong. You were honest with the police. I would never ask you to lie.” I paused. “But you can see how it looks bad for Gavin, can't you? And why I have to help him?”

She nodded. “All right. I'll handle things while you're out.”

I thanked her and headed for the exit.

fifteen

After stopping in my
office for my coat, I jumped in my car and drove to New Hartford College, the small technical college where my father was a drama professor. The college specialized in courses that dealt with costume, makeup, and set design. They also had a few classes in acting and playwriting, and those were the ones my father had taught for the last thirty years.

It was the middle of the spring semester, and students and faculty made their way across campus. Since the thermometer was approaching forty, a few hardy male students wore shorts. I parked my car as close as I could to the theater building, where crocuses were just beginning to sprout by the front door. Another sign of spring.

I hurried inside and peeked into the large auditorium to make sure I wasn't interrupting play practice or a class. Dad taught most of his classes in the auditorium itself. He said that actors learned better on the stage than in the classroom.

My boots made an eerie shuffling sound on the brushed velvet carpet. The house lights were down, and only the lights that told me of the many exits were illuminated.

The auditorium was used for college events, but they allowed the town of New Hartford to use the space for town meetings and community events; at a price, of course. The vast open space gave me the creeps much more than the cramped old buildings on Barton Farm ever did.

I hurried down the long aisle and up the steps onto the stage. My father's office was backstage, tucked away in what was meant to be a dressing room. Office space was a premium on the tiny campus, and that small, windowless room was the best the college could offer him, not that he minded. I couldn't imagine his office being anywhere else. Whereas it would make me crazy to be isolated from the rest of the campus, it never bothered Dad. He said it made him feel close to his dramatic kindred spirits.

Dad's office door was open, and yellow light poured out onto the dark backstage area. I knocked on the doorframe.

“Well, hello,” he bellowed. He always spoke as if he were projecting his booming stage voice. As well as being a professor, Dad was also an active participant in local community theater, a regular scene stealer on the New Hartford community stage. “I have to say I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you would be back at the Farm preparing for the weekend.” He rested his hands on his round belly as if it were a shelf. “I'm looking forward to my stack of pancakes doused in maple syrup. I hope you'll save your father a few extra servings.”

“There'll be plenty for everyone,” I said with a smile, stepping into the cramped space. “Alice bought enough pancake fixings to serve the Roman army.”

He grinned. “Good to know.”

I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair across from him. Piles of books, notebooks, and papers stood in precarious stacks on his desk. There was also a pile of plays that he was reading. My office back at Barton Farm didn't look much better. Like father, like daughter. We had no grasp on organizing paper. Thankfully most of my files were digital now, which was so much easier. “What are you working on?”

“I was just doing a little grading. I have a great crop of student players this year. I hope several of them go on to
four-year
colleges for their BFAs. I was thinking of putting on a showcase at the end of the semester. I just have to convince my department chair and the academic dean.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Dad had never been one for college politics. He set the student play he was reading aside. “But I always have time for my favorite child.”

“I'm your only child,” I said with a smile.

“I know. What a blessing that is, so I don't have to choose a favorite. That must be awkward for a parent.”

I leaned back in the chair. “Parents are supposed to love all their children equally.”

He shrugged. “So they say.”

I shifted in my chair.

Dad pulled the pillow out from behind him. “Here. It might make it a little more tolerable. I've been asking the college for new office furniture for years. Now they're just waiting for me to retire.”

“You'll never retire.”

He grinned. “You're right. That's one of the perks of tenure. I don't leave until I say so. I wish they'd just accept that and give me a new desk.” He leaned back in his own chair. “You never just drop in for a visit. What's going on?” His eyebrows knit together. “Is Hayden all right?”

“Hayden's perfectly fine.” I paused. “There was an incident on the Farm yesterday.”

He perked up. “Oh?”

“With Dr. Beeson.”

He blinked. “The horticulture professor?”

I nodded. “He was hurt. Well, more than hurt.”

Dad scratched his chin. “I suppose I should come out of my cave more often to know what the news is on campus. How is he?”

I frowned. “That's the problem. He died.”

Dad's eyes grew two sizes behind his glasses. “Died? How?”

I went on to tell him everything that happened since the moment Dr. Beeson left Benji and me alone in the woods. “The police believe he had a heart attack and then someone stabbed him with his drill after he fell. He was trying to tell me something before the paramedics arrived.”

“Did you ask them to find out what he was trying to say?” Dad leaned across the desk.

I shook my head. “No. I wish I had. He was in so much pain, and the EMTs had to help him if they could. There was a chance they might have been able to save his life, even if it was a slim one at best.”

Dad fell back in his chair. “How sad. I didn't know Conrad well. We'd see each other occasionally at meetings and
campus-wide
events, but the horticulture and animal husbandry departments are sort of off by themselves. You can't even walk to their offices. You have to drive.” He paused. “Was Chase one of the paramedics that came out?”

“He was.” I tried to keep my voice as even as possible. There was no way I was going to tell my father that Chase came to the cottage last night, even though his visit had been completely innocent and related to the murder. Laura and my father were both in the same camp to find me a new boyfriend. The pair of them had redoubled their efforts to set me up with a guy ever since Eddie had announced his engagement to Krissie. I was perfectly happy with my life. I had Hayden and the Farm. I didn't have much time for anything or anyone else. If I chose to date again, it would be up to me, not them.

“Chase is such a nice young man, and he admires you,” Dad said, confirming my suspicions.

I frowned. “Can we talk about the dead man?”

Dad sighed. “All right. So you plan to find out what happened?”

I nodded and told him about Gavin's involvement in the case.

Dad clicked his tongue. “That's too bad. Gavin is a nice young man too. I've always liked him.”

“I know, and I have to help him. I'm certain he didn't do anything wrong.” I paused. “I mean, announcing to an entire room of Sap and Spile members that he wanted Beeson dead wasn't the best idea in the world. But he'd never go through with it. I just have to convince Detective Brandon that that's true.”

“That's your mother in you talking,” Dad said. “She was a crusader too.” His face drooped and for the first time since I'd arrived, he looked his full
sixty-seven
years. “God rest her soul.”

My mother had been the love of my father's life. He hadn't even looked at another woman since she died, although he had a long list of widowed admirers. There was no one who could take mom's place in his heart. If I admitted it, it was something I'd wanted in my own life. I thought I had found it when I married Eddie, but I'd been wrong. Now I didn't know if I would ever find it. I knew Chase had a crush on me, but as flattering as that was, it wasn't the same as undying love.

“What do you want me to do to help?” Dad asked.

I shook the morose thoughts from my head. “Maybe poke around campus and find out whatever you can about Dr. Beeson from your colleagues. I have a
long
list of suspects from the Sap and Spile Club, but I don't want to ignore other possibilities.”

Dad perked up. He loved playing detective. “I'll ask around and see if anyone on campus knows about him, or about who might want him dead.”

“Thanks. I should head back to the Farm. We have a school visit today and a tree tapping class.”

“You have a lot going on at the Farm this year.”

I nodded. “I have to. I want it to succeed for Cynthia's sake.”

He smiled. “She cared about you like a beloved niece. She would be very proud of what you've accomplished, and so would your mother.”

I looked down so he couldn't see the tears in my eyes.

Dad perked up. “Before you go back, you should check out the horticulture building where Beeson worked. You might learn a thing or two about Conrad while you're at it.
And
you might always meet someone who didn't care for him.”

I realized Dad was right. “Why didn't I think of that?”

He grinned. “You just need a detecting consultation from your old man. I'd love to go with you.” He peered at his watch. “But I have class in a half hour.”

“Where's the horticulture building? You said I have to drive there.”

He nodded. “It's not physically connected to the main campus at all. It's a series of barns on the outskirts of New Hartford, on the opposite side of the park from the Farm.”

I frowned. “Could someone walk from the college's barns to Barton Farm?”

He pursed his lips. “I suppose so. It would be a
three-mile
hike. I wouldn't want to do it in the snow and mud.”

But a person intent on killing Dr. Beeson might just think it was worth the trip.

Somehow, from the stacks of papers on his desk, Dad was able to immediately put his hands on a campus map. He circled the horticulture building with a fountain pen. “It's a short drive.” He slid the map across his desk to me.

I stood up. “I'll tell you everything that happens,” I promised.

“You'd better,” he said. “Be careful.”

sixteen

Blustery wind shook my
car as I drove the short distance from the main campus to the
horticulture and animal husbandry campus
. To reach the cluster of buildings, I drove up a long, bumpy gravel driveway. The harsh winter had left it torn up with deep ruts.

I parked in a small lot, which was half full, beside the first barn. After consulting the map my father had given me, I noted that the horticulture department was located in an enormous greenhouse behind the large horse barn.

I grabbed my purse and dropped the map into it before exiting the car. My boots sloshed through slush as I came around the side of the barn and headed for the greenhouse beyond.

I opened the glass greenhouse door, and the humid air hit me like a tropical breeze. It felt lovely against my
dried-out
and tired winter skin, like an instant facial, and it was hot. Within seconds of letting the door close behind me, I was roasting in my heavy down coat. I unzipped my coat and removed my scarf as I scanned the room.

The greenhouse smelled like fertilizer and dirt. There were rows and rows of seedlings. The plants were waiting for it to be warm enough for them to be sold and put in someone's garden. That wouldn't be until
mid-May
in this part of the country. I wondered if my master gardener Shepley had ever been in this greenhouse to purchase plants. I thought he would enjoy seeing it. Then again, that would be a very bad idea. He would tell anyone who would listen everything they were doing wrong in caring for the plants.

A young woman wearing bib overalls and holding a hose nozzle stared at me. Her long,
chestnut-colored
hair was tied back in a ponytail on the top of her head, and it waved back and forth when she moved. “May I help you?”

I cleared my throat. “I hope so. I'm Kelsey Cambridge. I'm the director of Barton Farm, and I came to—”

She cut me off. “Are you here about Dr. Beeson?”

I blinked. “Why yes, I am. How would you know that?”

“Because he died at Barton Farm yesterday.” She gave me an accusing look, as if I'd stabbed the professor with the hand drill myself.

And technically, he'd died at the hospital, but I didn't think it was wise to correct her. “I know. Everyone at the Farm feels terrible over what happened.” I swallowed as images of Beeson trying to tell me who
they
were came back to me again.

Her face fell. “We're all upset about Dr. Beeson.”

Considering Beeson's rudeness to Benji and me at the Farm, I was surprised to hear this.

“It was a terrible way to die, to keel over in the woods all alone,” she said, giving me that accusing glare again.

My brows shot up, and I felt my curiosity perk up as I wondered what this girl knew. “The police said he had a heart attack. That's what caused him to fall.” I didn't add that someone had finished the job by stabbing him in the chest with the hand drill.

She gripped her nozzle a little tighter. “Were you with him? Did you see what happened?”

I frowned, hoping that she wouldn't turn the hose on me to run me out of the greenhouse. Something told me she was considering it. “No.”

“Then you don't know,” she said, as if that ended the conversation. She turned on the hose. Much to my relief, she directed the water onto the seedlings and not me.

There was an awkward silence between us as I watched her water. I cleared my throat and spoke loudly enough to be heard over the drone of the water spray. “I'm very sorry. I know this must be difficult, but I was wondering if I could talk to someone about him.” I paused, thinking quickly of an excuse to be there. “He was to teach a class to aspiring tree tappers today. I wondered if he'd left any notes here that were meant for the talk. Perhaps with a coworker?” I didn't mention that the talk was already in progress and that Stroud seemed to be doing just fine.

The girl turned off the hose, and, to my surprise, tears sprang to her eyes. “Don't you think you're moving on very quickly?”

I gave her a sympathetic smile. “I understand that it does seem a little callous, and I'm sorry about Dr. Beeson's passing. Unfortunately, the tree tapping class can't be canceled.”

She studied me with watery dark eyes. Perhaps Benji and I had misjudged Beeson. It was clear that this girl cared deeply for him.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Gruffly, she wiped a tear from her cheek. “You'll have to ask Buck. Maybe he can help you.”

“Buck?” I asked.

She pointed to the glass door at the back of the greenhouse. There were large windows that stood on either side of it that looked into a large classroom. She dropped her arm and went back to watering. I had been dismissed, and our conversation was over.

After a beat, I followed the girl's directions and wove through the rows of seedlings to the back. I stepped through the door, and the temperature changed dramatically again. I wondered how many people working here suffered from a chronic cold, given the constant change of temperature as they moved from room to room and building to building.

The classroom was brightly lit but empty. I was debating whether or not to step through the door across the room to see where it led when Buckley, the bald man from Sap and Spile, walked in. Buckley. Buck. Great.

He pulled up short. “You're not in my class. Are you lost? Can I assist you in some way?”

I relaxed. Maybe he didn't recognize me from the meeting last night. That hope was
short-lived
.

He pointed his finger at me. “You're the woman from the Sap and Spile meeting, aren't you?”

I nodded. “I'm Kelsey Cambridge. I'm the director—”

“Of Barton Farm. I know.” He set his laptop on the desk at the front of the room. “That still doesn't explain what you're doing in my classroom.”

I had a feeling that Buckley wouldn't buy my story about wanting to see Beeson's tree tapping lecture notes. “I was visiting my father at the college. Roy Renard—he's a professor of drama.”

“I know who he is.”

“Yes, well, I thought I would swing by and share my condolences with Dr. Beeson's colleagues.”

He folded his arms. “I'm not buying what you're selling. If you were on the main campus visiting your father, you had to make an effort to come all the way out to the barns.”

Busted.

I went on the offensive. “I don't care if you believe it or not. It's the truth. To be honest, I'm just as surprised as you are to find you here. I didn't know you worked with Dr. Beeson when I saw you at Sap and Spile.”

“I don't know why you would, or why you would care.” Buckley opened his laptop. “Even though I don't believe your story, I'll accept your condolences on behalf of the entire department.”

I nodded. “Thank you. I see you're getting ready for class, so I'll leave you to it.”

He grunted but didn't look up from his computer.

I slipped out through the door back into the main part of the greenhouse. The girl who I'd met earlier was gone. I debated searching for her. Of all the people I'd met in Beeson's life since he died, she was the only one to shed a tear over his death. I glanced over my shoulder into the classroom and found Buckley watching me through the window. I wiggled my fingers at him and headed outside. It seemed that my search for the young woman would have to wait.

I left the greenhouse, welcoming the cool air for the first time. And I'd only been in the stifling environment for a few minutes.

“I didn't do anything wrong!” a
high-pitched
female voice yelled from the other side of the building.

As usual, curiosity got the best of me and I followed the sound.

I came around the corner and saw the young woman I'd met leaning against the greenhouse wall and talking on the phone. She didn't have a coat, but her face was flushed as if she were experiencing the onset of a hot flash.

“I did what I was told. That was it. It was my job,” she said sharply to someone on the other end of the phone line. “Are you insane? There's no way that I'm going to the police.” She looked in my direction and her eyes widened. “I have to go.” She hung up. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She burst into tears.