Murder as a Second Language (20 page)

“Then where is she?” he asked sadly.

I had a pretty good idea where she was, assuming she wasn't allergic to cats, but it wasn't my place to tell him. She had the right not to be bullied by him—or by Gregory. “Miao is most likely staying with a friend for a few days. Give her some time to cool off.”

“She is too hot?”

“Cool off from her anger, Jiang. Women are like that. She doesn't seem like the type to punch you in the nose, so she retreated. I'm sure she's fine.”

“Then she will still go to her classes. I will watch her building on the campus, and when she comes, we can talk again. Thank you, Ms. Malloy.”

“No,” I said hastily, “that's exactly what you shouldn't do. If she catches you spying on her, she'll be really angry. You need to wait or you'll make matters worse. She may be back here on Monday.”

He said something under his breath and went to the lounge. I kept an eye on him until he settled down to brood. My theory that Miao was at Miss Parchester's house seemed more than plausible. Wily Miss Parchester had only said that Miao told her she was returning to China. I looked at the phone. Would Miss Parchester admit her complicity if I bluntly asked the pertinent question? I envisioned a conversation in which she evaded every accusation with a vague murmur and an invitation to tea. I couldn't barge into her house like a thug. If I mentioned this to Peter, I would be told to run along and bake something for the potluck. Which was a whole 'nother problem. My version of macaroni and cheese came from a box. Neither Caron nor Peter would eat my meat loaf. I'd sworn off frying anything after I'd been dinged with a splatter of oil. I couldn't hide behind another dish of
coq au vin
. I made a mental note to tackle the
haute cuisine
of my native country when I had some free time.

Gregory emerged from Keiko's office and went straight to his own without giving me so much as a nod or a quick smile. I suspected Leslie had confided in Keiko, who'd confided in Gregory. I waited for the phone to ring so that Frances could tell me that I'd been booted off the board and was no longer welcome at the Literacy Council. I was now a pariah, a veritable redheaded stepchild. It was the time for decorum. I took the magazine back to the lounge, sat down at my desk, and began to straighten the paper clips.

Shortly before noon Keiko came out of her office. Ignoring me, she stuck a sign about the potluck on the bulletin board, consulted with a couple of students, and disappeared into the bookshelves. I tapped my finger on the desk. Her behavior was immature, as if we were back in junior high and I was the designated “mean girl.”

When she finally emerged, I said, “Will you need me this afternoon?”

“No, it is not so busy in the afternoons. Thank you for your help. I will try hard to find another volunteer so you will not have to do this. You are a very busy person with many better things to do.”

“Oh, no,” I said, “I enjoy meeting the students. Such a diverse group from so many different cultures and backgrounds. Please don't worry about me.”

She was not prepared for my parry. “We need someone permanent. I would never ask that much of you. There is one thing that would be helpful. Ludmila's bag and a bowl that she brought her dinner in are still in my office. The police do not want these things. Can you take them to her grandson?”

Throw me in that briar patch. I saw no reason to tell her that Bartok was coming the next day for the potluck. I much preferred having a legitimate reason to call on him. “Of course, Keiko, I'll be happy to do that this afternoon. I'm sure he'll be grateful to have his
babcia
's personal items.”

A few minutes later Caron, Inez, and their students came out of the cubicles. I was still amazed by Inez's transformation, but I knew better than to comment on it in Caron's presence. “Would you two like to go out for lunch?” I asked.

“I have a session with Graciela,” Inez said.

“Caron and I don't mind waiting for an hour.”

She blushed. “I have plans for this afternoon, but thank you, Ms. Malloy.”

“I don't,” Caron said. “I don't have any plans for the next three days. Joel gets home on Sunday night. I might as well go out to lunch with my mother.”

I bit back a tart response. “Don't let me twist your arm, dear. I'm sure you can find someone more suitable to fill the void for the next three days. There's not much to eat at home, but you can find something. There's some brie, and maybe apples. Plenty of ice cream in the freezer. I need to go by the Book Depot anyway.”

“You can take me out for lunch,” she said.

Inez waggled her fingers and went to the lounge to seek her prey. Caron waited while I collected my purse and the list I'd made of those in the building Monday night. I contemplated telling Keiko that I was leaving, but decided she would figure it out when the phone rang and I failed to intercept the call.

Once we were outside, I looked around for a black car. Nothing in the parking lot or across the street qualified as such. I forced myself to relax. “Where would you like to eat?” I asked Caron as we walked to my car.

She shot me a sly smile. “How about that place by the old mill?”

It was the most expensive restaurant in Farberville. The lunch entrees cost more than dinner entrees at less pretentious places. “We may need a reservation.”

Her cell phone was whipped out of her purse, and her fingers darted across the tiny keypad. Within seconds, she said, “I made them for one o'clock. That means we have time to stop at the mall. I have absolutely nothing to wear when school starts. I'm going to be a senior, you know, and that means I have the responsibility to be a good role model for the pitiful freshmen girls. Got your credit card, Mother?”

I did, but it wasn't burning any holes in my wallet. “Yes, dear.” As I drove toward the dreaded mall, I said, “What's with you and Inez? I sensed hostility.”

“I am not hostile. I am very happy for her now that she doesn't look like a loaf of day-old bread. In the last three days, she's had three dates with different boys. It's like she's trying to prove something.” My darling daughter snorted. “Tonight she has a date with Toby Whitbream.”

 

11

“Inez has a date with Toby Whitbream?” I echoed. I would have added something pithy, but I was too astonished.

Caron sniffed. “It's not much of a date, if you ask me. They're going to Toby's little brother's baseball game. That's not my idea of a good time. Inez gripes every time she has to go to her own brother's games. She says the parents get all weird and scream at the coaches and the umpires. I'm sure this game won't be any different, even if she's sitting by the big-shot quarterback.”

I found a parking space at the mall. “From what you've told me I didn't think she'd even spoken to him in the past. Now a date?”

“Inez is like the new girl in town. She's been wearing skimpy tank tops, and she bought a bikini that wouldn't cover up a squirrel. So she got contacts and highlights in her hair. So what?”

“Do I hear undertones of jealousy?”

She got out of the car. “I came to shop, not to mope.”

*   *   *

She wasn't kidding. In less than forty-five minutes, she dragged me into every upscale store in the mall. My only assignment was to proffer my credit card and stash the receipts in case she changed her mind. We both carried bags back to my car and put them in the trunk. I was then told to drive to the restaurant, where I was allowed to pay for an elegant lunch comprising tall salads and artfully arranged bits of things. Even after dessert, which consisted of squiggles of mousse and a sculpted
tuile,
I was still hungry. Caron's car was at the Literacy Council. I parked there and waited until she put her booty in her trunk and drove away, then went inside. All was calm, all was bright. I knocked on Keiko's door. Once I was given permission to enter, I did so and told her I was there to gather up Ludmila's things.

Keiko grimly handed me a paper grocery bag that contained a notebook, a purse, and a plastic container. “Thank you very much for doing this, Ms. Marroy.”

“What happened to ‘Claire-san'?” I asked with what I hoped was a warm, reassuring smile.

“I am so busy trying to get everyone organized that I forgot, Claire-san. Please excuse me. I am in a bad mood today. Kazu's tutor sent home a note yesterday that he was not respectful. My husband and I tried to talk to him, but he was rude to us as well. He will not be allowed to play video games for a week.”

“I can sympathize,” I said. “My daughter was grounded for a weekend after she convinced her friends that she was an alien and would beam them up if they didn't obey her. She was in second grade at the time. She spent her incarceration building a spaceship out of Popsicle sticks and aluminum foil.”

Keiko giggled. “I am not the only parent with such problems.”

I hoped that I had patched things up between us. “I'm still planning to come in tomorrow so that I can share in the potluck.”

“It is always great fun. I am bringing sashimi made with tuna and mackerel. I hope you like it, Claire-san.” She bowed deeply.

I imitated her bow. “I know I will, Keiko-san. If you don't need me to do anything else, I'll drop off the bag at Bartek's house.”

We parted on amiable terms. I put the bag in the backseat and headed for the road behind the stadium. This casual monthly potluck had become a demonic cloud above my head. Everything I thought of was ethnic. Spaghetti and tacos violated the spirit. Hamburgers originated in Hamburg, Germany; frankfurters in Frankfurt. French fries were out, as was a Greek salad with olives and feta. My recently acquired culinary skills were useless. Traditional American food. As I drove up the hillside, I promised myself that I would never stoop to a tuna-fish-and-noodle casserole, no matter how desperate I was at midnight. Presuming I found out how to make one.

Bartek was home, dressed in shorts, a bright red T-shirt, and sandals. He'd been cultivating the celebrity-style stubble on his cheeks and chin. Rock music blared from unseen speakers, and there were enough flowers and potted plants to shame a nursery. As he escorted me inside, he said, “The chair of the department insisted that I take off the rest of the week. Of course he never met dear Babcia. I'm going to sneak in tomorrow to meet with my seminar students and invite them here to debate phonological analysis of class diversity—or to get drunk and party. Would you like something to drink? I have wine, beer, and a well-stocked liquor cabinet.”

“It's early for me. How about iced tea?”

“Early? It's after three, and it's five o'clock somewhere. Please let me make you a cocktail, Claire. You've been so kind. I was sorry we didn't have a chance to continue our conversation the other day. Tradition demands condolence calls, but they are a nuisance. I have three green-bean casseroles in the refrigerator, and six trays of smoked meats and cheeses from that place on Thurber Street. My students will eat well during our seminar.”

“Just tea,” I said. I held out the paper bag. “These are your grandmother's things from the Literacy Council.”

“Joy of joys. Let me get you a glass of tea, and we can have a lovely chat on the patio.”

I sat down in a wicker chair while he went inside for beverages. I was relieved that neither of us had to pretend to be in mourning for Ludmila. I remembered that I'd promised Duke to let him know about a funeral. Since there hadn't been one, I had not failed my obligation. I decided to invite him to the potluck, since it was as close to a memorial service as Ludmila was going to get. No weeping or wailing or maudlin eulogies—just sushi and salted cucumbers and whatever. When Bartek returned, I said, “I understand you're coming to the Literacy Council tomorrow at noon.”

He sat down and crossed his legs. “I had no idea how to respond when the Russian woman called me. It was easier to agree with her than to decipher what she was saying about Babcia. She assured me that Babcia was a valued member of their little community and would be missed. Yeah, the same way I miss hemorrhoids.”

“The students consider the Literacy Council as a haven, and they are close.” I looked down so he couldn't see my expression. I am adept at lying when it's necessary, but I lack expertise. “There's something I meant to ask you about Monday night. You said you were detained by colleagues and arrived after the council was closed. What time was that?”

“Do we really have to talk about this?”

“I'm just trying to get things straight in my mind. Was the building dark?”

“It was eight fifteen, maybe eight thirty. The lights were on, but the door was locked. I pounded on it until I accepted that nobody was there. I went home, expecting to be lectured half the night by Babcia.”

“Did the police ask you why you were so late?”

Bartek smiled wryly. “Yeah, they wanted details, and I'm sure they checked my story. Some of us went to Thurber Street to have a drink. I lost track of the time. We linguists are a rowdy bunch.”

“Were there any cars in the parking lot?”

“I don't know. It was dark, and I was too busy rehearsing my apology to pay much attention. Yeah, I think there was a car in the far corner. Don't ask me what color or size it was. It may have been a sleeping elephant.”

It was likely to have been Toby's, who was scheduled to mope and mop (but not to shop). Why hadn't he responded when Bartek pounded on the door? Peter already knew, but he hadn't passed it along to his devoted wife. I promoted Toby to the top of my list. He wasn't an obvious candidate for the murder, however. He had no motive. If Ludmila was still there, she probably found a reason to squawk at him, but he would have blown her off with typical teenaged contempt. If she was still alive. I wouldn't be receiving the medical examiner's autopsy results until Farberville hosted the Olympics.