Stay of Execution (11 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-­Seven

J
ULIA PULLED OFF
her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She was tired and it was late, but it was more than that. Why had Detective Cancini felt the need to warn her about a man who'd spent years in jail for crimes he didn't commit? Her head fell back against her pillow and her hands dropped into her lap. He was undoubtedly just a crank and bitter about a case gone wrong. It was all probably some kind of psychobabble scare tactic, and yet he'd seemed dead serious. Shaking her head, she replaced her glasses and sat forward again.

The diary lay open in her lap. She considered putting it aside and getting some sleep, but she was a night owl at heart. Sleep could wait. Brenda Spradlin had written in great detail about life as a college student, yet most of the entries were remarkably similar. Class descriptions. Tests and papers. Praise for her professors. Her social life was virtually nonexistent. The scholarship was an obsession. Terrified of losing it, young Brenda spent most of her free time studying. If she felt as though she were missing out, she never mentioned it. The monotonous entries covered weeks and then months. Julia grew bored. Why had Spradlin given her this? Adjusting the pillows behind her head, she turned the pages quickly, skimming over the remaining repetitive descriptions of the girl's life.

Three classes today. Psychology was really interesting. After class, I approached Professor Bauer about the student assistant opening she had in her office. She said she normally didn't take freshman, but my work was so good she would consider it. Hooray!

Julia yawned. The entry dates were farther and farther apart.

Professor Bauer is letting me work in her office five hours a week, but, for some reason, she doesn't seem happy about it. I don't understand.

Then a few days later.

Professor Bauer left Blue Hill. Dr. Baldwin came to our class today and gave us the news. He said he would be taking over temporarily until a replacement could be found. After class, he asked me to stay on as the student assistant.

Julia traced her fingers over the name, Dr. Baldwin. She had studied up on her history of the college. He was Ted's father and the grandson of the original founder of Blue Hill College. He'd gotten his doctorate in psychology and was the head of the department. Eventually, he would take over as president, a position he would keep until he passed away.

The diary slipped from her knees to her lap, and she leaned back into the thick pillows. She'd told Cancini the truth. Most folks were reluctant to talk to her, suspicious of her motives. Only the maid had been eager to talk—­or gossip, if she were more accurate—­and Dr. Baldwin, long dead, was an easy target. It made no sense. Credited with building the college's reputation and expanding its student population, Dr. Baldwin had been admired in the academic world. What was it about powerful ­people that prompted wild stories of debauchery? Spradlin hadn't been spared, either. “Scum of the earth,” the maid had said. Norm had loved that one.

With her fingers, she counted the remaining pages. Almost finished. She rolled onto her side and read.

I met a nice boy yesterday in the cafeteria. He told me his name was William Spradlin. Seems nice. He asked me out, but I said no. I'm afraid I hurt his feelings. At first I was afraid he would think I was stuck up like all the rest of the boys do, but he didn't. He said he understood. It's not that I wouldn't like to meet more ­people, but Dr. Baldwin has increased my hours. Between that and my classes and exams coming up, I just can't.

Julia looked at the date. It was early December when young Brenda had met Leo's father. Clearly, the young girl had eventually found the time. Julia flipped the page.

Exams weren't as bad as I expected. Dr. Baldwin asked me to work on some of his papers and assist him with some research over the break. I was looking forward to some time off, even though it meant going home. But I could use the extra money. I know I should be grateful, but I don't like it when Dr. Baldwin brings up my scholarship. He does it a lot.

Julia set down the book. The girl sounded tired of both the work and her boss. The next entry came two weeks later.

Thank goodness William stayed over the break, too. I don't know what I would have done without him. It's so quiet here without the other students. And so cold! He brought me chicken soup today and held my hand. No one has ever done that before. I didn't know boys could be this nice.

Julia smiled and turned the page. The next entry came after classes had resumed.

The new psychology professor started today. He's old and made it very clear he did not need my help. I don't think he likes me. I'm not sure I like myself.

The next entry was dated a week later.

Stayed up until two last night writing my term paper for freshman English. So tired today and feeling sick. I couldn't eat anything. Also, my roommate asked me if I could ask William to stop coming over so much. I know I should, but he's so nice to me. I don't deserve it.

She looked up from the page. Brenda's self-­esteem had slipped to a low level. The only bright spot in her life seemed to be the boy.

I let William kiss me last night. This morning when I woke up, I kept touching my lips with my fingers. We kissed and kissed. They felt swollen, but I liked it. I didn't know I would. I didn't know I could like it. I wonder what he thinks about me now.

Flipping the page, Julia stifled another yawn. Brenda didn't write anything for another four weeks, but when she did, it was brief and to the point.

I'm pregnant.

Julia sat up. She turned the page but there was nothing, the rest of the diary blank.

 

Chapter Twenty-­Eight

C
ANCINI PRETENDED NOT
to see Baldwin. It wasn't hard as long as he kept his nose buried in a newspaper and his coffee cup filled. Baldwin glad-­handed his way around the diner, slapping backs and guffawing over twenty-­year-­old jokes. The detective hoped he could finish his coffee and sneak out before Baldwin saw him. His luck ran out. The mayor plopped into the seat opposite him.

“Cancini, I've been looking for you,” he said. Cancini decided the less he said, the sooner Baldwin would leave. “They told me at the hotel I'd find you here.” Cancini set his newspaper on the table. “Kinda like old times, I guess.” Baldwin's voice faded. He grabbed a napkin and mopped beads of sweat from his wide forehead.

“Why were you looking for me, Teddy?” Cancini's brooding eyes held Baldwin's pale ones.

“I don't want you to overreact,” he said. “I wasn't even going to tell you. But I know you. You'll find out anyway and then make an even bigger deal out of something that's most likely nothing.”

The detective's shoulders tensed. Pushing his cup and saucer away, he placed both hands on the table. “Spit it out, Teddy.”

“It's not official yet . . .” The mayor looked up, his expression pleading. “I pray, I hope this is nothing. God knows there's no one who wants Spradlin's threats to mean nothing more than me. The thing is, it's probably just typical college behavior. I'm sure that's all it is, so please don't jump to conclusions.”

With his teeth clenched, Cancini's words sounded clipped. “Jump to conclusions about what, Teddy?”

Baldwin's eyes wandered around the diner. It was packed with regulars, townsfolk who grabbing breakfast or coffee. His fingers twisted a napkin as he spoke. Cancini leaned forward to hear. “Campus security called this morning. Seems some girl didn't make it back to her sorority house last night.” Cancini's hands tightened to fists, but he remained quiet. “The roommate said the girl went out for a run and didn't come back. She didn't think much of it though, because the girl has an on-­and-­off boyfriend and sometimes sleeps there.” The mayor stopped speaking when the waitress appeared with a steaming pot of coffee. The two men sat in silence while she poured. When she left, they continued.

“So why did she contact security?” asked Cancini.

“The roommate has a morning class and ran into the boyfriend on campus. He said he hadn't seen the girl all week and had no idea where she was. The roommate also said the girl wasn't responding to texts or answering her phone.” The mayor grabbed a sugar packet, dumping it into the steaming coffee. “But it's barely been over twelve hours. There's nothing official. Nothing. I'm letting you know as a courtesy. The roommate admitted the girl could have met another guy and stayed with him. You know how college kids are these days.”

Cancini frowned. He didn't know. Still, he couldn't disagree with the possibility that the girl might have spent the night elsewhere. On the other hand, he did know young ­people and their phones. They never went anywhere without them. “What time is her first class today?”

“Not until eleven.”

“Okay. I want to meet with the head of campus security. I want to be outside that classroom to see if she shows up.”

The mayor shook his head. “You see? This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you.”

“Teddy, if the girl shows up, then what's the harm? I go home happy. We're all happy.”

“Damn you, Mike. That's not what'll happen, and you know it. She could be off with some new boyfriend. Her cell phone battery could be dead. She may not be aware everyone is looking for her.”

“I hope you're right.”

“No you don't. You want this to be something. You want word to spread that a Blue Hill girl is missing, and a D.C. detective is nosing around campus. Folks around here are already anxious. They hear that, and the next thing you know, a mob will go running over to Spradlin's property and string him up in a tree. Then the girl will show up, and all the panic will have been for nothing.”

Cancini slid out of the booth and bent toward the mayor. He kept his voice pitched low. “You're wrong, Teddy. I don't want this to be anything. I hope to God it's nothing. But I'm not gonna sit on my hands waiting to find out. It could be the minute that makes a difference in whether she's found alive. If you're worried about Spradlin, put someone on him. If she doesn't show up today, tomorrow, or the next day, then an anxious mob is going to be the least of your problems.” Baldwin started to open his mouth, then shut it again. “Call campus security and tell them to expect me in fifteen minutes.”

 

Chapter Twenty-­Nine

T
HE LIBRARIAN LEANED
over the front desk, whispering to Spradlin. His face was in profile, her lips near his ear. When she caught sight of Julia watching, she stepped back quickly, her face pink. She grabbed a square of paper, wrote a note, and handed it to the man. He shoved it in his pocket. In a grand gesture, he stepped back, bowing at the waist. He took the woman's hand, kissing it softly. Sucking in her breath, Julia averted her eyes.

A moment later, he stood before Julia, carrying another package under his arm. He pulled out the chair opposite her, sat, and pushed the package toward her.

“Hello, Julia,” he said.

“I read the diary. I'm not entirely sure what you expect. Why did you give it to me?”

He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his face, the stubble on its way to becoming a thick beard. He smelled of cigarette smoke and cinnamon gum. “I wanted you to get to know my mother. What did you think of her?”

Julia shook her head. “I'm not sure I'm in a position to think anything. I read a diary that represents one part of her life. I don't know what she was like before or after that period of time.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “But what kind of person do you think she was at the time she wrote the diary?”

Julia considered his question. What if he didn't like what she told him? Would he leave her without the interview?

“Tell me the truth,” he said.

“To be perfectly honest, I thought your mother was sort of lonely. She seemed unhappy at home, and she didn't have many friends at college.”

“True.” He opened the new package, pulling out a second diary. He pushed it across the table.

“She did have your father, though.” She thought his shoulders sank lower in the chair. Her voice was soft. “She commented several times about how nice he was to her.”

Spradlin sat up straighter then, leaning back against the wooden chair. “I wouldn't know.” He reached across the table and took the first diary. His eyes met Julia's for a moment, then ran over her face and hair. In a voice that caressed, he said, “She would have liked you. I knew you would be the right one to read her diaries.”

Stunned, Julia said nothing. He nodded at the book on the table. “I'd like you to take a look at this one tonight. I'll meet you here again tomorrow.”

As he started to walk away, she found her voice. “Wait. I wanted to ask you some questions.”

He grinned. “Yes. Those pesky questions.”

“I am a journalist, you know. It's what I do,” she said with a smile. “That's how stories get written.”

“Right.” He stepped back toward the table but remained standing. “Tell you what, I can do one for today. Tomorrow, maybe more.”

“Great,” she said, her heart pounding. To steady her nerves, she reached for her pen and notebook. Flipping the pages, she found the list of questions she'd scratched out the night before. None of what she'd written was what she wanted to ask now.

Julia bit her lip and peeked at the librarian. The woman pretended to work at the computer monitor in front of her, but Julia knew she'd been watching them, just as Julia had been watching her and Spradlin earlier. Clearly, this woman was different from the rest of the ­people in the town. She didn't seem to mind Spradlin's presence in the library and actually seemed to like him. Or was that only her imagination? Either way, Julia's curiosity got the best of her. She nodded toward the blonde. “How do you know her?”