Murder is Academic
Murder Is Academic
By Lesley A. Diehl
Copyright 2014 by Lesley A. Diehl
Cover Copyright 2014 by Karen Phillips
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Other Titles by Lesley A. Diehl
A Deadly Draught (the first book in the Microbrewing Series)
Poisoned Pairings
(the second book in the Microbrewing Series)
Angel Sleuth
Dumpster Dying
Grilled, Chilled and Killed
A Secondhand Murder
(book 1 in the Eve Appel Mysteries Series) out Sept 15, 2013
Murder Is Academic
By
Lesley A. Diehl
This book is dedicated to all the students who enrolled in my classes: You kept me young, you kept me humble.
Chapter 1
In the fading light, my eye caught a flash of yellow on the shore. It looked as if someone had dropped an article of clothing next to the stone pile near the bridge construction site.
“This is stupid,” I said to my friend Annie. “Let’s head in and give it up for the evening. We’re losing the light anyway.” From my position in the back of the canoe, I watched her head of short, brown curls bob up and down in agreement, and we paddled for the shoreline. We hit the sandy bottom of the Susquehanna River and jumped out to haul the canoe onto the bank.
I headed up the shore toward the construction equipment parked in the clearing near the project trailer. Wow, I thought as I walked past a mountain of rock, they sure are using a lot of gravel.
“What is that?” I walked over to what I spied from the canoe. Probably a construction crew member dropped it or threw it down during work today. I’d leave it on the steps of the trailer for the foreman to find when work got back underway in the morning.
Ugly plaid. Reminded me of the pants some golfers wore along with their Kelly green shirts and white patent leather belts. Not my idea of fashion.
“I’ll give Frank a call to come get us.” Annie pulled her cell phone out of her shorts.
“Good. I’ m beat.”
It was stupid, this paddling thing. Annie and I were a couple of middle-aged professors, both carrying more fat than muscle, delusional that we could compete in the upcoming canoe regatta. Frank, my nearest neighbor on the lake, shamed us into giving it a try by pointing out he competed last year and was ten years older than we. Of course, Frank was all stringy muscle and lean body mass, and he liked to take on any challenge. This was our first day of training, and I knew my muscles might never forgive my overindulgence. The most I ever required of them was to lift a coffee cup.
“Frank said to sit tight. He’ll be right here.”
I pulled at the clothing to dislodge it from under the gravel and touched something far more substantial than cloth. I felt flesh. Not warm, living flesh, but cold, hard skin, the kind you read about in crime novels. Dead flesh.
“Annie! Come here. Quick!”
We both looked down at the body, most of it still buried under the gravel.
“Ugh,” said Annie. “What do we do now?”
Annie was no more eager than I to share our resting spot with a dead body, but, until Frank arrived, we were stuck. We debated calling the police, but thought we’d like Frank to be here when we did that. I don’t know why. It just seemed safer somehow. But we did feel compelled to sit with the body until he showed up. As if someone would carry it off?
I wished Frank would hurry. The sun was setting, shrouding the construction area in shadows and making me shiver with apprehension. I didn’t believe the body found its way under that gravel pile by accident. Someone put it there and moved rock to hide it. That someone could still be around. I scooted closer to Annie on the downed log and picked up a rock in each hand for defense.
Annie got up.
“Where are you going? Don’t leave me.”
“I’m going to get our paddles. They could come in handy.”
“What’s up, ladies?” said a voice out of the darkness behind us.
Annie sat back down with a thump. I started with fear and dropped both of my rocks.
“Oh, I know you.” A tall man dressed in a tee-shirt that clung to his muscled chest approached us and, when he got nearer, I recognized him too.
“You work on the bridge crew,” I said.
“And you drive by the site on your way into the college every day. Right?”
“How did you know that?” Annie’s voice shook with fear, but I heard suspicion too.
I stood and pulled her up with me. “What are you doing here? I mean, now, at this hour? When the construction is over for the day?”
He smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but notice his straight white teeth. Was it better to be accosted by a killer who brushed and flossed daily and had regular checkups than someone who couldn’t take the time for dental hygiene?
“I stopped by to make certain the foreman locked away the keys to my road grader once he moved it. He didn’t. Here they are.” He dangled a set of keys from his fingers. “Can’t have the public going for a joyride on the equipment. They might get hurt.”
Annie and I exchanged looks and moved closer together.
“You two seem on edge. Anything I can do for you?” He took a step towards us. We moved further toward the end of the log. “This is a work area, you know. The company wouldn’t be happy to find you here. There are ‘no trespassing’ signs out front.”
“We came by canoe,” I pointed toward the river. “And we should be going.”
“It’s too dark to paddle now. I’d give you a ride, but…”
Annie held up her cell. “Someone’s coming for us.”
“Good. Great. I’ll wait with you until your ride gets here. For protection. Just in case.”
“In case of what?” It occurred to me that, if he didn’t know we found the body, then we had nothing to worry about. I really was stupid tonight. He knew someone would find the body, and then we could tell the authorities we had seen him here. I had to take action.
It had been twenty years since my martial arts classes in graduate school, but maybe self-defense was like riding a bicycle or swimming. Maybe you didn’t forget it.
“How rude of us. Let me introduce myself. I’m Laura Murphy.” I got up and pushed Annie back down onto the log. I put out my hand to take his. I intended to pull his arm up and over my head while I moved under his armpit, turned and flipped him over my back. It didn’t quite work out that way. Once his hand touched mine, I remembered I’d flipped someone a total of maybe two times with the help of my instructor. I got in close enough to get a whiff of woodsy aftershave, which distracted me for a moment, making me forget to turn. His hard chest slammed against my breasts, a position I wouldn’t recommend when trying to subdue a murder suspect. We must have looked like a jitterbugging couple in the middle of a twirl.
The headlights of a car pulling into the parking area caught a puzzled and somewhat amused expression on his face as I twisted and pulled his hand, grunting and groaning in impotent frustration. He let go of me, and I fell on my ass in exhaustion.
“Annie, Laura,” called Frank. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Grab him, Frank. He just killed someone, and he buried the body under that rock pile. He was going to get us next.” I was breathless with the fatigue of my martial arts maneuver, but I managed to raise my hand and gesture toward the leg peeking out from under the rocks. Mr. Road Grader’s eyes followed my pointing finger, and his smile faded.
Frank jumped out of the car, leaving the headlights on. They illuminated the three of us, me on the ground, Annie motionless on the log and the construction guy standing over us. Frank ran toward us, stopping just short of the bridge worker, to take up his karate stance.
“Get away from the women,” Frank said.
Mr. Road Grader shook his head. “This guy your rescue party? “Did he take any more martial arts classes than you did?”
Frank lowered his arms. “Take me, and let the women go.”
“No, Frank. You’ve got a new grandbaby. Take me,” I said. We both looked at Annie who continued to sit silently on her log.
“Take one of them. Either one. I don’t care.” She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
The man reached into his pocket. I expected a gun, or at least, a knife. He withdrew a cell phone, walked away from us and talked to someone.
“He’s calling his buddies to help him,” I whispered to Annie and Frank. “There are too many of us. Let’s rush him.” But before we could act, he turned and called back to us.
“I called nine-one-one. Now, if the three of you crazies will just stay where you are until they arrive, I’d feel a lot better. Somebody could get hurt here with all your physical flailing around. I think you dislocated my thumb.” He wiggled it back and forth.
“I wasn’t ‘flailing’. That was karate or judo, one of those defense moves. Very deadly.” It was deadly when it worked.
*
“Okay, let me get this straight. You found the body. Right?” Lieutenant Detective Derek Pasquis, Onondaga Police Department, “Der” to me, and an old friend, addressed the question to me. I nodded, happy to be away from both the crime scene and the man we encountered there. I think the three of us, Annie, Frank and I were feeling a bit foolish about our behavior at the construction site. I confided my embarrassment to Der.
“If I were in your situation, I might have jumped to the same conclusion. You still might be right, you know. He could be the killer.”
That didn’t make me feel any better.
“What I wouldn’t have done,” Der continued, “was to try out twenty year old judo moves on someone his size.”
“I was scared he was going to kill us.”
“That was a good plan then, to get him angry at you.”
Here we go again, I thought. Every time Der and I got together, we argued. It was good-natured. He was the brother I never had, someone I could fight with, no romantic or sexual attachments. We met through his ex-wife. A social worker with the county mental health clinic, Sylvia, along with me, was a member of the county-wide committee on substance abuse. After the divorce, she moved to Washington, DC, but we were in constant touch, and Der remained one of my closest friends. Neither of us questioned our odd friendship.
A uniformed officer approached Der’s cruiser where we were gathered. Headlamps of the ambulance and crime scene investigation vehicles lit the area for a hundred yards down the road. From a distance, the red, yellow and blue lights made it look like a party on the river. I shivered a bit to think that the guest of honor was in no condition to enjoy all the activity.
“The construction worker’s name is Guy La France. He’s a Canadian citizen. Works in the US summers. He wants to know if you’re going to charge these three here with murder,” the officer said.
“That jerk! Of course we’re not being charged. He might be though. Huh?” I looked at Der for confirmation.
