Murder as a Second Language (19 page)

I was unable to come up with a counterargument. “Sometimes a car is just a car.”

*   *   *

Duty beckoned the following morning. Keiko came out of her office as soon as I opened the front door. “Claire, I want to thank you again for volunteering. It will not be so crazy this morning, I think.”

I hesitated. Although her effusive gratitude was growing tiresome, her tone of voice was dispassionate. Her expression was flat, and her eyes exuded no twinkles. “Have all the students and tutors been contacted?” I asked.

“Yes.” She went back into her office and closed the door.

Leslie was in the classroom, reading aloud a gripping story about a woman in a grocery store. A dozen students were in the lounge area with newspapers and notebooks—and cell phones. I found a newspaper and sat down behind my desk. I was reading about natural disasters across the planet when Yelena came out of the ladies' room.

“Claire!” she said. “How are you? This is nice day, yes?”

I smiled. “I'm fine, thank you. It's a very nice day.”

She sat on a corner of the desk. “We have plan for tomorrow. It is day for monthly potluck. You must come. Everybody makes food from home country to share. I bring
soleniye ogurscy
and
okroshka
. Salted cucumbers and cold soup. You will like very much. I invited Ludmila's grandson to come and share with us. He said yes. We will all act like we are sorry that Ludmila is dead. In Russia, everyone goes to funeral and weeps and wails, then gets very drunk with vodka afterward. It is good tradition. I went to funeral in this country. Nobody cries. They have faces like dead person in coffin. I will weep for Ludmila, but I cannot get drunk on vodka because I have to go to work. Is a pity.”

“Oh,” I said. I hadn't wailed over Carlton's coffin, nor had any of his numerous nubile friends. A professor in the English Department had insisted that everyone come to his house afterward. We stood around and made stiff conversation, but we also made frequent trips to the array of bottles on a kitchen counter. Eventually it turned into an exceedingly jovial gathering. “Am I supposed to bring something?”

“Traditional American dish.” Yelena picked up a pen and began to doodle on my pad. “Ludmila's grandson did not have funeral for her. He said that her body was…” She grimaced. “I do not know word, but he will send her ashes back to Poland to be buried with family.”

“She wasn't happy here.”

“That is truth.” She glanced over her shoulder, then bent down to whisper, “I hear Keiko and Leslie talk about you earlier. Leslie said you are making her nervous. Keiko said you are with police. Leslie looked not happy to hear this. Then they see me and go into office to keep talking. Do you think Leslie killed Ludmila?”

“No,” I said emphatically. The last thing the FLC needed was a rumor fest, courtesy of me. “Neither do the investigators.”

“So what did you do to Leslie to make her feel this way?”

Beyond breaking into her house and calling the cops on her? “Nothing. We're all upset about Ludmila's death, even Keiko. I am not with the police, just married to one. They're still sorting out who was here Monday night and what they might have seen. What time did you leave?”

“Not until almost eight. I wanted book from library to learn idioms, but I could not find it. Miao helped me look. Am I out on a limb when I say this? Am I burning my bridges?”

“Not at all, Yelena,” I said, trying not to laugh.

She laughed loudly enough for both of us. “These idioms make no sense. One time my husband tells me to get my ducks in row. I tell him I have no ducks, so how can I get them in row? Why would I want to? Ducks are stupid, but very good stuffed with
antonovka
apples and roasted in oven.”

“So Miao was here until almost eight? Ludmila was, too. Did she speak to anyone?”

“Maybe you are KGB, or what you call it in this country. Ludmila sits in chair, making ugly faces and grumbling. I offer to bring her tea, but she shakes her head so hard that I hope one of her warts falls off. Poor Gregory is trapped in his office. He opens the door just a crack, sees her, and closes door. He does this two or three times. Miao and I hide behind bookshelf and giggle. Soon it is time to close, so I drive home.”

“Can you remember who was here when you left?” I took the pad away from her and picked up a pen, as ready as a stenographer to record the boss's words.

“Ludmila,” Yelena said, “and Gregory, unless he climbed out office window. Keiko in her office with man, Miao looking at books. Zayha, Nasreen, and Salima left to walk to bus stop. Graciela was getting in car of Herminia. I heard them talk about going to bar on Thurber Street. Aladino was teasing them from his car.” She rubbed her mouth as she thought. “I think girls from South Korea were in restroom. I am not sure.”

“All the board members had already gone?”

“I don't know. I saw woman with blond hair go in Leslie's office with movie star man, and I did not see them again. This is giving me headache, all this thinking. I want to think about how I make
okroshka
tonight. I will have to go to grocery store on way home after work.” She wafted away.

I looked at my list. It was peculiar that Sonya and Rick had felt the need for a private conversation in an empty office. Either I had been totally fooled by their animosity toward each other or they'd made up. Leslie was in the classroom. I abandoned my post and walked nonchalantly to her office. I had my hand on the doorknob when she tapped me on the shoulder. “Are you looking for me, Claire?”

I froze—and my brain as well. I looked at the ceiling for inspiration. It was not the Sistine Chapel. “I wanted to borrow one of your teaching manuals so I'll be ready for tutor training in August. I didn't want to disturb you during your class.”

She nodded. “Let me see what I can find for you. You're certainly more eager than most of our tutors. It's a mess in here.”

I followed her into the room and glanced around. If this was a mess, my lovely library would qualify for a visit from FEMA. There were a couple of folders on her desk next to her cell phone, and a coffee cup. The bookshelf behind her desk was full but not overflowing onto the floor. Unlike Gregory, she did not utilize cardboard boxes for a filing system.

“I'm new to this, so I'd better start with the basics,” I said.

“Please sit down for a minute. We need to talk.” She went around her desk and settled into her upholstered office chair. I sat on a sofa that was too small for a romantic tryst unless Sonya and Rick were contortionists. “You seem to be determined that I have something to do with Ludmila's death, even though I wasn't here Monday night. What can I say or do to convince you otherwise? I was at home on my computer, grading tests. I did not leave the house.” She gave me an exasperated look.

“No, I don't think you had anything to do with Ludmila's death. The only reason I … ah, entered your house was to make sure you were okay. For all I knew at that time, Monday night you could have been here briefly to pick up a folder and been seen by the perpetrator.” Have I mentioned that I have an overactive imagination, along with a talent for improv? “As for the business yesterday, I was convinced that I was followed home by someone in a black car. I saw you speak to someone in a black car. When the police arrived, I mentioned it. That's all.”

“I assume you know what I told them.”

“My husband is Deputy Chief Rosen, and he's leading the investigation. Yes, he told me. It was just a pesky coincidence, and I apologize if it inconvenienced you.” I wasn't sure why I was pleading my case, since I didn't much care what she thought of me.

She looked at me for a long moment. “If you were intending to snoop through my files, you would have discovered that you need the key.”

I couldn't admit that I was more curious about Sonya and Rick's rendezvous. “Not at all,” I said earnestly. “I wanted to see if the perp could have hidden in here until everyone except Ludmila was gone. Do you keep your office door locked?”

“No, I keep my filing cabinet locked. It contains personal information about my online and private students. There are times when I need their Social Security and green card numbers to help them expedite paperwork. I have copies of birth certificates and visas. As far as I know, no one is a felon.”

“I understand why you're concerned about their privacy. I'd better get back to desk duty before Keiko misses me. I don't want to be fired on my third day.”

Nothing of significance happened for the next ninety minutes. I finished the crossword puzzle, answered the phone without panicking, and greeted students as they came in. Shortly before eleven o'clock, Caron and Inez arrived. I was thankful they were talking to each other, since I lacked energy for perpetual teenaged angst. I waved them over. “I love your hair, Inez,” I said.

“Thank you. My uncle Carson sends me twenty dollars every year for my birthday. I've been saving it for something special.”

I glanced at Caron, who's never held on to a quarter for thirty seconds if there was a vending machine within sight. She looked exceedingly disgruntled. “Who are your students today?” I asked her.

“Just Yelena. I was supposed to have Ludmila, but that's not going to happen. Have you figured out who did it?”

“The police are still investigating,” I said. “Are you two aware of the potluck tomorrow? Apparently, it's a major deal.”

Caron shrugged. “Yeah, we're going to go halves on a pizza. Are you going to make something disgusting?”

My darling daughter was not at her most charming. “Yes, dear,” I said sweetly. “I'm bringing chicken-fried snails and watermelon pie. Oh, look, it's eleven. You'd better round up your students.”

She and Yelena disappeared into one cubicle, Inez and Zayha, her Egyptian student, into another. I was curious to know what had transpired between the girls. It seemed to have resulted in a cease-fire, but not a peace treaty. No one had warned me about the lethal summer before the senior year.

Gregory arrived, looking chipper. He acknowledged my presence with a wave and went into Keiko's office. I resumed reading a magazine one of the students had left in the lounge. The entire issue was dedicated to exposing celebrity shenanigans. Since almost all of them were unfamiliar to me, I was not engrossed, which was for the best when Leslie's friend Omario came through the front door. I gulped, then managed a civil expression and said, “Good morning. May I help you?”

At close range, he was far from menacing. His face was pudgy and wrinkled, and his lips were soft. He did not look as though he could hike the distance required to reach the apple orchard from a safe parking space. “Is Leslie available?” he asked with only a trace of an accent.

“She's in her office. Would you like me to let her know you're here?”

“You are Claire Malloy?”

I presumed the question was rhetorical. “And you are Omario. I saw you with Leslie yesterday afternoon.”

“I needed her advice about a complicated matter.”

We looked at each other for an uncomfortable moment. If it was my time to produce a witty response, he might be disappointed. I pictured him dressed in a long white robe and a headdress with a black band. Even in such garb, he would not make a dashing sheik. He might prefer me in a burka. I looked away when Jiang banged open the front door and advanced on my desk.

“I want to talk to Keiko,” he said loudly.

I blinked. “She's in her office with Gregory. She should be free shortly.”

Omario blinked, too. “Perhaps we will meet again, Ms. Malloy.” He nodded and went in the direction of Leslie's office.

Jiang did not move. “You know Miao?”

“Miss Parchester introduced us last week, and I've seen her several times. I was told she went back to China for her grandfather's funeral.”

“I saw you go to her apartment yesterday. Why was that?”

I wasn't sure I didn't prefer Omario's company. Jiang had a distinct redolence that suggested he had yet to be swayed by TV commercials for deodorants. I scooted my chair back before my eyes began to water. “I wasn't looking for Miao. I went there to make sure that Luo was all right. She discovered Ludmila's body Tuesday morning.”

“What did she say about Miao?”

“That Miao is in China,” I said.

“She is not there!” His face mottled with anger. “I e-mailed her brother, who has not heard from her. He said his grandfather is well.”

Although Omario was not a sheik in polyester garb, Jiang could have been a model for one of the terra-cotta warriors from the Qin Dynasty. I reminded myself that I wasn't even the messenger. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

“Gregory is all the time bothering her. He asked her for a date.
Yin chong
! He is old enough to be her father. Still he keeps asking her and she says no, but she is worried. She is afraid he will not let her come here to learn better English.” He sucked in a breath. “Do you think he did something to hurt her?”

“I don't know,” I said, bemused by this new information. “I don't think so. Men get turned down for dates all the time, but they survive. Did she say something about him Monday night?”

“No, not about him. We had an argument, and she was angry at me.” His ferocity deflated, and he looked close to tears. “She is so beautiful, even when she is angry. I want us to get married now, not wait three more years for her to get degree. If we have a baby, we can stay in the United States and apply for citizenship. Miao says we must wait, that she cannot have a baby while she is writing her dissertation. We have had this argument many times. The college has a place where people take care of babies. Our parents will help us pay rent, and I can find a job at night.”

“Maybe she was so angry at you that she doesn't want to see you for a while. She told everyone that she was leaving so that you wouldn't try to find her.”