Stalking Death (34 page)

I peeled the stockings over my toes and tossed them on top of the rest of my clothes. "Nice feet," he said, starting to unbutton his shirt.

"Nice feet?"

Instead of answering, he slid one of his own bare feet over mine. He took off his shirt, his tee-shirt, and squared his shoulders. I rested my face against his chest, inhaling him. "You've been with smokers."

"One reason we're on our way to the shower."

Like the rest of the amenities at The Swan, it was wonderful. None of those wimpy, water-saver showerheads that make you feel like you're standing under a watering can. This shower had four heads, serious hot water, and plenty of room for making whoopee. Darned good thing. We'd spent a night apart and were behind on whoopee. By the time we rolled out into the steamy bathroom, all pink and rosy, we'd made up for lost time.

We wrapped up in thick white terry robes, and I sat on the toilet seat while Monsieur Andre combed me out. It took part of a bottle of spray detangler, a number of choice curse words on his part, and the better part of twenty minutes, but in the end, the glass was dislodged and Medusa tamed. To celebrate the restoration of order to the world, we decided to go to bed. Another notch in our belts and we fell into sated sleep.

At 5:45, Andre the Efficient's watch alarm roused us from log-deep sleep. I muttered for it to shut up and burrowed back into the warm space between his shoulder and his neck, the most secure space I know. His arms tightened around me. We had a minute of grace to savor before duty called and we had to start pulling on clothes. Some minutes are shorter than others. This passed in the space of two breaths, and he was whispering in my ear, "Time to get up. You've got a meeting."

I rolled over onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. "Maybe it's time to think about a new job."

"Like what? Can you honestly think of anything else you'd be interested in doing?"

"This."

"Hard to make a living at it," he said, his voice a deep rumble in his chest, "with just one customer. Besides... even if you'd been home, I wouldn't have been there. And you're good at your job."

"You wouldn't think that with what's going on here."

"You can't win 'em all," he said. "That's not you, it's the client."

I needed some sympathy and an objective ear. I was about to launch into a description of the whole nasty business when someone knocked. I grabbed my robe and padded across the room. Suzanne was a vision in sapphire blue suede, every blonde hair in place. She took in the robe and wild hair, converted a reflexive frown into a smile, and peered around me. "Hi, Andre," she said. "Trying to keep my partner out of trouble?"

Andre reclined on his side, hairy chest exposed, loins draped with a velvety green blanket. It was enough to make a strong woman swoon. "Trying to get her in trouble," he said.

"Well, good luck. See you downstairs." She paused. "Ten minutes, right?"

"Plenty of time," he said.

"I expected to find Thea propped up on pillows with an ice bag and Bandaids." Suzanne shook her head. "You two are something else."

"We do our best."

She smiled, shrugged, and turned away. Seemed like the same old Suzanne. Maybe I'd only imagined that distance and reserve on the phone. I had a pretty good imagination, and St.

Matthews' collection of liars and looneys could really get it going.

I dropped the robe, looked at the pile of clothes in the chair, and went to my suitcase instead, challenged by Suzanne's sapphire splendor. Just because I hate shopping doesn't mean I don't care what I wear. Finding clothes is difficult. Short women complain that clothes aren't made for them. Tall women have the same complaint. I don't know who they're designing for. Not for short arms and legs, nor for long arms and legs. Not for large chests. Medium tall, medium-sized women with boyish hips and wide shoulders. No surprise, if the designers are male. They design for the body most like their own.

I dressed my womanly body in slim black pants and a gray-green sweater that made my eyes glitter. I put on soft black cashmere socks and shoes that looked professional but had quiet rubber soles for sneaking and traction. I pulled my hair back and clipped it. Looked at my honey. He had a hungry look.

"You want to have dinner with us?"

"Thought this was business?"

"I wouldn't mind hearing your reactions. And the food here is great."

"Well... if you think Suzanne won't mind. I am a little hungry." The man is as bad as I am about getting to regular meals when he's working—that's kind of a given in the cop's life—and he has twice the appetite.

She didn't even blink when we appeared together. Just smiled at Andre and offered her cheek for a kiss. "I take it we're getting some professional advice?"

"We can try."

"Look, Thea..." She modulated her voice, and went on. "I know you're not pleased with the way things are going here, and I'm sorry. But our first duty is to the client. If they think they can work better with me, we have to go with that."

"As long as you don't let them bamboozle you."

"Don't tell me you think I'm as naïve as they obviously do."

I figured truth was the only way to go. No sense in finessing with Suzanne, in trying to figure out approaches and strategies. If we couldn't let it all out with each other, this partnership wouldn't work. "You sounded pretty damned censorious on the phone."

"I did?" She rubbed her forehead wearily. "Then I'm sorry." She looked at Andre. "This business of trying to be a wife, especially a wife to someone in Paul's job, is harder than I expected. I'm always feeling torn in two directions, inadequate at both. When I spoke with you, I'd just had a ridiculous conversation with Todd Chambers followed by a ridiculous conversation with Paul's executive assistant about when she could schedule a series of small student-faculty gatherings. They were both so whiny and petulant I wanted to yell at them both to leave me alone because I had a job to do—but the truth was, they were both talking to me about doing my jobs."

She sighed, shrugged, and folded her hands in her lap. "I think I need a vacation. All by myself. Somewhere with no phones. No laptop. No e-mail."

When Andre showed up, I'd felt like singing. Now I felt like standing on my chair and belting it out. But that, as my mother would have been quick to advise, would have been unladylike and anyway, I sing like a crow. I contented myself with a smile and concentrated on the menu. I'd had a big lunch and a quiet afternoon, so why was I so hungry? I ordered soup and salad and a big chunk of swordfish. I might even have dessert. Andre went for the filet and a baked potato. Suzanne had salad and fish.

"You don't eat enough to keep a bird alive," I said.

"In case you haven't noticed," my petite partner pointed out, "I'm considerably smaller than you two. And being middle-aged has ruined my metabolism."

Middle-aged? She was four years older. Thirty-six. Was thirty-six really middle-aged? I looked at Andre, who was also thirty-six. He didn't miss the scrutiny. "Don't worry," he said. "Guys don't worry about their metabolisms and anyway, I'm barely out of adolescence."

"That's for sure," she said. "Imagine driving two and a half hours because you miss your wife when she's going to be home later on anyway." It sounded like she no longer believed Paul would do that for her. My partner was worn down, and I'd been so wrapped up in the craziness of my own life, I hadn't even noticed."

"Yeah, it's a funny thing," Andre agreed. "First someone hits her over the head. Then some jerk tries to run my wife down, knocks her through her car window and smashes the car, and I actually get concerned."

"Someone tried to run her down?" A flush rose in Suzanne's face. "Thea didn't tell me that."

"The original stoic," Andre said.

"Not," I raised my eyebrows significantly at my doting husband, "that I told Andre, either. He heard it through the old cop's network. And," I said, trying to smooth things over, "I hadn't told Andre I was coming home because I wasn't sure what the situation here would be, or what his situation was. Not that I wasn't glad to see him."

"That was pretty obvious." No. Suzanne was not herself.

"Hey," he said. "Watch who you're calling an old cop."

"If you want to eat with us, you have to be quiet and concentrate on your dinner. This is a business meeting."

"You see what kind of mother she's going to be?" He looked to Suzanne for sympathy.

It was a subject I wouldn't have touched with a barge pole. After my awful experiences last summer, motherhood was something I was doubtful of ever achieving. It sure wasn't something to joke about. But he knew that. I wondered what he was up to.

"She'll be a great mother." Suzanne glared at him and put her hand over mine.

"And she's a great partner," he said. "Now I'll shut up, eat my dinner, and let you two get down to business."

Suzanne put her other hand over his. "You're a great partner, too."

An efficient teenage girl took away our soups and brought salads. As soon as the girl had gone, I launched into my agenda, filling Suzanne in on how Chambers and Dunham had been behaving; on the incredible security lapses in Shondra's dorm and probably on the entire campus; on the rumors about a group called Neo-Skulls formed by Alasdair, who might still be bent on taking revenge, and how Chambers insisted on ignoring their existence. About the veiled hints of harassment and injuries caused by this group, which the Administration seemed to have condoned.

"I keep trying to explain that these are things he can't ignore, or that he ignores at his peril if someone else gets hurt... and he blows up and tells me he's the headmaster and he gets to make the decisions. He calls me an uppity woman trying to give him orders, when I'm only doing what he's hired me to do."

"Except that Argenti hired us," Suzanne said. "How is he fitting into all this?"

"I thought you might know. The last time I spoke with him, Chambers was trying to fire me and Argenti begged me not to go and asked for an hour to work on things. He said he'd call. I went off to the hospital to pick up their wayward student. Next I heard, I was out and you were coming in to replace me. Argenti never did call."

"It's just business," she said. "It's not personal."

"Oh, it's very personal. Chambers' wife told me they wanted you here because, being a headmaster's wife yourself, you'd understand their situation and help them do what they want to do instead of arguing with them."

"That seems pretty reasonable."

"What does?" I tried not to raise my voice. "Rubberstamping a dishonest letter that misrepresents the facts? Letting them pretend they don't have a duty to all their students? Or that they can disregard their own written procedures whenever it suits them? Agreeing that it's okay to destroy documents in a student's file if they might be damaging to the administration's position... and possibly even allowing a gang of conservative students to terrorize and abuse women and minorities?"

"Of course not. We both know those things are unacceptable. I meant it's reasonable to ask for someone they can work with more easily. Sometimes it's not the content of the advice, Thea, it's the approach. You're making them feel attacked and threatened."

I knew better than to be snappish, but I wasn't in the mood for a lecture. "And you think what, Suzanne? That you can come in and charm them into doing what they have to do?"

"I can certainly try."

"Well, I wish you luck. Better get them to sign a contract before they decide to sack you, too." I hurried on before she could interrupt. "Now, there are a few other things you should know." I told her about Shondra's overdose and disappearance, the trashing of her room. My visit from Lindsay and Jen, and their stories about Alasdair. I hesitated about reporting their parting remarks, but I was in the presence of a homicide detective.

"You're holding something back," he said.

I looked at him curiously, but his face was blank. Professionally blank. Still, I thought his comment meant he believed I shouldn't hold anything back from Suzanne. "Here's one of those things you might as well hear, but take with several grains of salt," I said. "Those same girls, the ones who told me about the attempted date rape and the administration's response? They say they saw Alasdair... or, one of them did, last night."

Suzanne shook her head wearily. I wasn't making this easy for her. She wanted a set of manageable facts, not a bunch of speculation. "Thanks for telling me." She contemplated the wisps of salad on her plate. "Who have you found to be most credible?"

"Dunham's not too bad. A little thick, but he means well. Blows hot and cold, depending on the cues he's taking from Chambers. And the coaches, Jenna Adams and Al Sideris, are helpful, but they're employees. I don't know whether their jobs have been threatened or it's just the party line, but they balk at sharing too much information—such as the names of their sources or the details of what these Neo-Skulls have done. Chambers is purposely opaque, sometimes deliberately unresponsive, and occasionally rudely aggressive. Argenti is trying to run things, and he's certainly decisive, but he's been so hands-off that he doesn't really know what's going on."

"What does Bobby say?" Suzanne asked.