Conundrum (2 page)

YES! Iris thought.
Let’s go up to that spa in Vermont and take long walks with Sheba,
and get massages, and when we come back they’ll be gone.
“Well, if you don’t want to go…”

“Then again, C.C.’s going to be there. Norman’s house would be perfect for her magazine and the publicity would be great for you. Something good could come out of this. Besides, we always said that if we could just get all five of them in one room again…”

“I know, but it’s completely hopeless. How can we possibly find out
who
followed Carey onto that balcony twenty years ago?”

“If we can steer the conversation that way, we might be able to piece together people’s whereabouts at the party. We’ve talked about this.”

Iris felt the invasion of cold seeping through the window glass. Outside, the wind was rustling the dead leaves in her garden.

“Besides, the attempt alone might stop your nightmares. Have you been sleeping at all? I’m worried about you.”

Iris knew that the gray shadows under her eyes had returned. “It’s this reunion business that’s started them up again. This happens every five years, remember? They’ll recede on their own after it’s over.”

“
Darlin
’, it’s been twenty years. You’ve got to let go. It wasn’t your job to protect Carey.”

“Tell that to him. Tell him to stop haunting me.”

“You sound like you’re in a horror movie. Aren’t we being a wee bit over-dramatic?”

“He’s not going to leave me alone until I find his murderer.”

“Oh, come on. You told the police what you suspected and they wouldn’t believe you. What more are you supposed to do? Maybe we should stage an exorcism. Have you been biting your nails?”

“No.” She tucked her hands under the table.

“Norman’s welcome letter says G.B.’s going to be there too. You know, I’ve been wondering if we should add him to the suspect list. The graduation party
was
at his apartment.”

“Why would he kill Carey? G.B. wasn’t one of the jealous classmates.”

“He might have had an affair with him. Maybe Carey was going to expose him for sleeping with students. G.B. wouldn’t have wanted to lose his Harvard teaching gig.”

“Maybe.
That would bring it to six suspects.” She stared at her ragged cuticles, blinking. “All I know is that Carey didn’t fall off that balcony. And it was one of these six, I’d stake my life on it,
who
drugg
ed him, shoved him to his death—
and got away with murder.”

Chapter 3

R
ight after Ellie left, the phone in Iris’ office rang. She ran from the kitchen to the next room to answer “Reid Associates” in her faux-receptionist voice.

“Iris, it’s C.C
.—
C.C.
Okuyama
from GSD. Long time,
yadda
,
yadda
… I’m calling because I understand from G.B. that you’ve designed a house for Norman that I might want to put in
cuttingedgedecor
. I’m not making any promises, but we’re doing a “green” issue and my managing editor says that I need to dig up some examples outside the New York area for a change. But it’s always murder to find anything decent in the provinces.”

Iris could picture C.C. rolling her eyes and running her stubby fingers through her black page-boy. Sheba appeared at Iris’ knee, favorite hide-a-squirrel toy in her mouth, making low, growly noises. For some reason the phone ringing triggered a “play” button in her head. Iris glared down at her and mouthed “no!”

“Great, C.C. I’d be happy to show you the house. We’ve used several of Norman’s inventions and we’re going through accreditation for LEED platinum. When do you want to see it?

“G.B. roped me into that Friday night reunion shindig Norman’s hosting, so why don’t you show me around then?”

Sheba pulled one of the baby squirrels out of its tree trunk and pranced around with it, trying to get her mistress’ attention. Iris
swivelled
away from her.

“Actually, I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to the reunion. But I can give you a private tour that week-end.”

“No, no, I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying up there. It’s more convenient for me if you show me the house while I’m also doing the dinner thing.
Two birds, one stone.
By the way, Iris, I looked at your website. You only have a few published write-ups listed. How about showing a little Harvard hustle? You should jump at opportunities like this. So, shall I assume that I’ll see you in three months at the Friday night dinner?

Iris massaged her temples. Sheba dropped to the floor with a dramatic sigh, her paw stuck in the tree trunk.

“Fine.
I’ll be there.”

“Oh, and Iris, don’t mention this possible feature to Norman, okay?” Click.

Iris turned to look down at her dog. “You squeeze oranges, Sheba, you get orange juice. These people never change.” Sheba gave her an “I’m ignoring you too” look.

She’d call Ellie to let her know that, apparently, she was going to at least the Friday night portion of the reunion. Maybe she would get lucky and someone would talk about that long-ago graduation party.
As C.C. had put it: “two birds, one stone.”

Chapter 4

I
n early June, 1988, Iris Reid was making a long, careful slice with an x-
acto
knife. The earlier manic energy in the large open fishbowl of GSD’s architecture studio had settled into a workmanlike hum. Snatches of Bob Marley leaked from behind a walled-in desk to her right, warring with Jimi Hendrix coming from the left. Harder to tune out was the pungent stench of pepperoni pizza, cigarette butts and unwashed students.

The sheet of white foam-core under her knife started to go blurry. Two in the morning was an inad
visable time for model-building—
especially at the tail end of a triple all-nighter. She needed another infusion of vending machine coffee. She hesitated, running her tongue over her teeth. They already felt fuzzy.

A crown of auburn curls moved across the top of her wall, followed by the rest of Ellie leaning into the opening of her enclosure. “Let the slaves rise up and slay their oppressor. Let my people go.”

“You can leave anytime, you know, Moses.” Iris said. “There’s a soft pillow waiting for you two blocks away.”

“Ha! You just want me to show up tomorrow with an unfinished model like yours. And you already have a job offer, so this
crit
doesn’t even matter for you.” Ellie crouched down to study Iris’ building. “I predict three more hours to finish it,
darlin
’. That means two hours of sleep max and another presentation with filthy hair.”

“It’s my signature look. And you, Ms. Gardenia-smell, what’s the status of your model?”

“Actually, I’m done. I came by to gloat on my way home. I’ll be thinking of you as I drift off to sleep.
Ta, ta.”

“Why has it taken me three years to recognize your mean streak?” she called to Ellie’s retreating back. Iris turned back to her work in despair. Why had she changed her floor plan last week? Would it really be so bad if it wasn’t done? It looked okay the way it was. She’d rest her head on her arms. Just for a few minutes…

“
Aaaaagh
!” an ear-splitting scream rang through the open studio.

Iris shook herself awake and raised herself up to peer out above her wall. Classmates were running toward the commotion several cubicles away.

Carey, the class superstar, whose voice never rose above a raspy whisper, was staring wild-eyed at his cardboard model. “Who did this?” he screamed, his waving arms still holding a bottle of lemonade from the nearby vending machines.

The circle of students gaped first at him, shocked that he was capable of shouting, then down at the large, brown coffee stain bleeding over a village that Carey had spent the last week constructing. Even some of the tiny trees had coffee dripping from their branches.

“What happened?”

“Someone spilled coffee on Carey’s model. Do you believe it?” got whispered through the crowd.

Iris waited for a sleep-deprived classmate to mumble an
embarrassed
apology while Carey began pacing his cubicle like a caged lion, wordlessly jabbing his finger toward the model as if he were conducting a silent argument. His face was becoming splotchy with suppressed rage and Iris worried that his brain might start to bubble.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. For three years this guy had been like her younger brother. She had helped him find his classrooms first year. She’d reminded him of his upcoming exams. She had even tried to diffuse the growing swirl of jealousy around him by pointing out his obliviousness to his own talent. In all that time, Carey had never shown any emotion but enthusiasm or his default dreamy half-smile. Certainly never rage.

“Isn’t someone going to at least admit they did it?” Iris appealed to the heads lined up along Carey’s wall.

“This really sucks,” someone volunteered.

“Yeah, sorry, man.”

“I didn’t see anyone, did you?”

Heads shook, shoulders shrugged, then people drifted away to finish their own projects, relieved that this hadn’t happened to them.

Iris grabbed a roll of paper towels from a nearby desk and started dabbing at the stains. She knew there was nothing to be salvaged, and the
final critique was the next day—
that day actually. Displaying their models and pinning up their boards to be analyzed would be the culmination of three years of total immersion. Well-known architects had already flown in from New York and Berlin to be on their studio’s jury. This time, there was no way that Carey could dazzle them with his presentation.

The two of them stood looking down at the site of destruction. A
luxo
lamp aimed in close on the model released the acrid smell of scorched coffee. Arms wrapped around his skinny chest, rocking back and forth, Carey emitted a long visceral moan. Iris wanted to put a reassuring arm around his shoulder, but knew he didn’t like to be touched.
A stillness
came over him, followed by a subtle shift in his stance, a straightening. Iris watched him look around his cubicle as if returning from a trance. He moved to his second desk and stared for a minute. Then he began to roll up his drawings, shove them into his backpack, and dejectedly slide it onto a shoulder. He looked up at her. “I’m going home now, Iris. Thanks for trying to help me.”

“Good idea. Get some rest,” she said, unable to think of any encouraging words.

Iris watched him grab his ruined model and trudge away.

She couldn’t help wondering
who would do such a mean thing
.

***

Three days later, at their graduation party, Iris congratulated Carey on the triumph of his final crit. “You had those critics eating out of your hand. When you started talking about those glass roof tiles I thought that they were going to offer you a job on the spot.”

Carey looked at his feet. “One of them did. But you really saved me, Iris, when you came over in the middle of the night with that spray paint. I’d thought that my model was a goner.”

Iris smiled at the memory of her brainstorm.”
I had a can left over from painting a chair I’d found put out on the street. Sorry about waking you up.”

“Did it look okay? The trees were a little gloppy.”

“It looked perfect. Everyone was blown away.”

“Your
crit
went well too. I love how sculptural your designs always are. And making all the walls either stone or glass was pure poetry.” Carey stared around at the large loft. The high-ceilinged space had a streamlined kitchen open to a living room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one
side.”Whose
place is this? Oh, yeah, G.B.’s. It’s really cool.”

Gilles Broussard had started teaching three years before, in tandem with their class starting the Master of Architecture program. For that reason, or perhaps due to the high percentage of cute young men on the roster, he had become sentimentally attached to their class. He enjoyed
swanning
around the design studio, well-tailored jacket draped over a shoulder, stinking
Gauloise
stuck between thumb and middle finger, complaining—”Where are the new ideas?” Students prayed that he wouldn’t make this comment while staring at their slaved-over project.

“So, you’ve never been here before either?” Iris asked.

Carey looked confused. “You mean students get invited here?”

Iris could have kicked herself. She hadn’t meant to underscore that Carey hadn’t been in the inner circle of overly ambitious, catty students who had clustered around G.B. Her boyfriend, Will,
had
been in that group. He had often been invited over with his roommate, Adam. The two of
them made a photogenic pair—
Will
Reynolds with his pierced ear and hip charm and Adam Lincoln with the clean, chiseled looks of an astronaut.