Physics Can Be Fatal (13 page)

     Edwina thought Will was being plain rude. Now that she knew Professor Sidebottom’s death was a murder, her curiosity was full blown.  She couldn’t possibly step aside from the investigation now. After all, hadn’t she been the one who dug up the first significant clue in the case––the haircut business?

      Will stood up, signaling for Edwina to do the same.

     “How about if we stay in touch, and I let you know how things are progressing?” he said solicitously. “I really don’t want you out there conducting your own, private investigation. It could be dangerous. Don’t forget that curiosity killed the cat!” 

    
How very patronizing,
Edwina thought.
Lucky for me cats have nine lives.

*

     Edwina returned to Sanborn House and knocked on Professor Cake’s door.

     “Come,” came Prof. Cake’s thin voice.

     “Ah, Edwina,” she smiled. “I’ve been expecting you.”

     “Why is that?” Edwina asked, settling into her usual chair.

     “Because you feel you are somehow responsible for Alan Sidebottom’s death––even though you are not––and you don’t know what to do about it.”

     “Well?” Edwina replied.

     “Well, what?” the old lady said.

     “What
should
I do about it?  I can’t help thinking that if I had stayed longer with Professor Sidebottom the night he died, everything might have been different,” Edwina said.  “I could have protected him.”

     “Edwina, my dear, you must know that whoever wanted Alan dead was going to kill him sooner or later.”

     “How did you know it was murder?” Edwina asked.

     “Just a hunch. Which you’ve now confirmed for me,” Professor Cake replied. “Do you really believe you could have prevented it?”

     Edwina looked at her lap for an answer.

     “No. I suppose not,” Edwina replied. “My problem is, it happened on my watch. So I can’t help feeling somehow responsible.”

     Professor Cake leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.  A few moments passed in silence, and Edwina wondered if she had dozed off.

     “So, you are wanting to approach this problem as a mathematical proof?” Professor Cake asked, fixing Edwina with a level gaze.

     “Nobody’s opinion will help you feel better?  You won’t settle for anything less than
quod erat demonstrandum
?” the old professor continued.

     Edwina nodded again.

     “Then let me ask you something,” Professor Cake said.  “Remember that night at the New World, when Helen had too much to drink, and confessed to all of us about a youthful affair with Alan?”

     Edwina nodded.

     “Consider that fact more carefully.  See how many variations you come up with by studying that bit of data. You may be pleasantly surprised by what you find.  I think it’s an important piece of the puzzle.”

     “And by the way,” the old professor added, “that handsome, young detective who has been spending time around here has a wee crush on you, in case you’re interested in such things.”

      Excited about this new angle on the investigation, Edwina started back down the hallway toward her own office where she would be able to shut the door and think about it to her heart’s content.

     Donald Gaylord came scurrying toward her halfway down the hall.

     “Edwina, they’re saying Alan Sidebottom was murdered!  Is it true?” he said anxiously.

    
Wow, word sure travels fast! 
Edwina thought.

     “I think so, yes,” she said.

     “My god!  Who would do such a thing?” Donald gasped.  “It’s unthinkable!  I simply can’t believe it!”

     “It’s awful, I know,” Edwina said. “Are you okay, Don?  You look a little flushed.”

     “No, no; I’m fine,” he answered. “Murder!  It’s such a shock. Do you think someone in the Department could be responsible?”

      Before Edwina could answer, Donald turned away abruptly.

     “Must dash, I’m late!” he called back, bounding down the hall.

     Edwina stood there for a moment, wondering why Donald would be in such a nervous state. Against her better judgment she decided to follow him back to his office and do a little reconnaissance, having no idea what she would do once there.

     When she reached Donald’s office the door was closed but she could hear his voice from inside.  Pauses in the conversation and the absence of a second voice told her Donald was on the phone.  As a subterfuge she took her phone out of her pocket and pretended to be having a text conversation.  If someone came along she would continue the ruse and slowly stroll away, still ‘texting’. In the meantime, she eavesdropped on Donald’s conversation.

     The pitch of his voice was subdued but sounded angry, then he would backtrack to sounding apologetic and contrite, and back to angry again.  Edwina managed to catch only a few words here and there.  The last word she could make out before the conversation ended was “weekend”.  Edwina wondered if Donald were speaking to his wife. When the phone call ended she walked quickly back down the hallway.

      Edwina stopped in Reception and poured a cup of coffee, adding milk and sugar. She returned to her office and closed the door. Setting the coffee down carefully on her cluttered desk, she sat down and closed her eyes.

     She tried to imagine a set of facts that would illuminate Donald’s nervous behavior in the hallway, and his alternately angry and beseeching tone of voice on the phone call. Did he suspect his own wife of somehow being involved with Alan Sidebottom’s murder?  Or did he think she might suspect him?  How would Donald’s wife fit into an equation? Edwina wondered if she would recognize Donald’s wife if she were to see her, having never met her, and knowing her only from the picture on Donald’s desk.  Had Edwina possibly seen her around town in recent days, and not known it?

     Edwina opened her eyes and took a sip of hot, sweet coffee. Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation with Nedda Cake. 

   
How many variations of the data are there?
Edwina repeated in her mind.
 

    Helen Mann and Alan Sidebottom had an affair some thirty years ago.  Could this information be damaging?  And if it was somehow a threat to someone, are we talking about blackmail?  But why would Helen confess to a long-ago affair if it might do damage to her or someone else?  Maybe Helen didn’t mean to blurt it out at all––maybe she doesn’t even remember saying it––after all, she was drunk at the time.

    
Edwina gazed out the window, sipping the comfortingly milky-sweet coffee.

    
Wait a minute,
she thought. 
What if their liaison wasn’t so long ago? What if Helen and Alan Sidebottom had kept on seeing each other all these years?  Could Alan be the reason Helen never married?  Did Alan come to Cushing to end their affair?  Did Helen kill him in some sort of apoplectic fit of scorn and rage?

    
The view outside Edwina’s office window was always active. The continual motion and flow of life helped her think, aided in her momentum of thought.  Members of the college population came and went along the path––on foot, on bikes––crisscrossing the Green in all directions. Hawks glided and swooped over the hills in the distance. Squirrels chased each other up and down the trees and across the Green. 

     Directly below Edwina’s window a young mother was pushing a sleeping toddler in a stroller, a sippy cup clutched in her little hand.

     Something suddenly clicked in Edwina’s mind.

    
Helen and Alan had an affair thirty years ago.

    
What if a child resulted?

*

     Will visited ‘Eazy Cutz’ bright and early, the first on his list of New Guilford’s hair cutting establishments.  The owner was a personable man named Tony, who offered to give the detective a free trim during the interview, which he politely declined. Tony’s manner was open and friendly, and he had photographs of his grandchildren taped around the edges of the wall-sized mirror. Tony did not recognize the photograph Will showed him of Alan Sidebottom.

     The owner of Total Allure assured Will her clients were all women.  No exceptions.

     “No offense,” the owner explained good-naturedly, “but that’s part of the appeal of spending a couple of hours at the salon.  No men!  Most women don’t want men around when their heads are wrapped in tin foil and they reek of chemicals,” she laughed.

     Next on his list was the lone barbershop in town.  The owner, an elderly man with thinning hair dyed black, smelled strongly of cologne.  He was giving a customer a shave when Will entered the shop. 

     The tiny establishment reminded Will of childhood trips to the barbershop.  While his dad got a shave and a haircut, young William Tenney watched intently, sucking on a lollipop and keeping a sharp eye on the razor-wielding barber, making sure no harm would come to his dad.

     The barber had no recollection of Alan Sidebottom.

     Leah’s Place was next. The newest of the five hair-care establishments, Leah’s salon was located in a white washed brick building in a little alleyway.  Whiskey barrel planters blazed with brightly colored chrysanthemums in front of the shops. Leah, tall and slender with dark hair, looked to be in her thirties.  She greeted Will cordially. He showed her the photograph of Alan Sidebottom.

     “Oh yes, I remember him,” she said. “I let him in the shop for a haircut one night when I was just about to close up,” she said pleasantly. “Poor man seemed desperate for a hair cut, and also a little bit drunk.  I felt sorry for him, I guess.”

     “Did you know he was found dead the following morning?” Will inquired.

     “Yes, I heard it on the news,” Leah said.  “So awful.  What happened to him?”

     “A heart attack.”

     “Oh, poor man!” she gasped. 

     “Was there much conversation when he was here?” asked Will.

     “Well,” Leah said, cocking her head to one side and searching the ceiling, “just the usual sort of stuff. I asked him where he was from, how he liked New Guilford, if he had kids––that kind of thing.  He wasn’t very chatty. I think he might have even dozed off for a few minutes at the sink.”

     “How long would you say he was here?”

     “Uh, well, let’s see. First we were at the sink. I washed his hair, I conditioned it, and I probably de-mineralized it, because it was in pretty bad shape. Very dried out, and a lot of breakage. Then he came over to the chair, and I gave him a haircut and a comb out.  So, altogether, he was probably here for about thirty-five minutes.” 

     “Comb out?” the detective echoed.

     “I blow-dried his hair and styled it,” she said agreeably.

     “Did he say anything when he left?”

     “Nothing in particular. Just ‘thanks’ and ‘good-night’, and that’s really it,” Leah said.

     “Did he mention anything about where he was going, when he left?”

     “No, I don’t think so. I just assumed he was going home.”

     “How did he pay?”

     “He had one of my flyers for a fifty percent discount. The rest he paid in cash. I remember, because he gave me a big tip.”

     “Well, thank-you for your help,” Will said, placing his card on her desk. “If you think of anything else – anything at all––please call me.”

*

      Edwina stopped in Reception to check her mailbox, something she avoided doing with any regularity. It was stuffed full. She carried the pile of mail back to her office and dumped it on her desk, and began sorting through the coupons, catalogs, flyers, and envelopes.

     She set aside a sporting catalog, the new issue of
Canoe & Kayak
Magazine,
and a paycheck, and was about to toss out the rest when she noticed a flyer advertising 50 % off the first haircut at ‘Leah’s Place’.  Edwina stared at it.