The Skeleton Haunts a House (12 page)

W
ith Sid working so hard on tracking down the mysterious missing McQuaid, I felt justified in not even thinking about murder for the rest of the day. Had I run into Sara, I would have tried to pick her brain for McQuaid family lore, but our schedules didn't mesh. Instead I was forced to pay attention to my job. It was oddly relaxing.

After my trifecta of classes was over, I went to my parents' offices. Mom was deep in conversation with Roxanne and a horror-makeup-free Linda Zaharee.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Georgia, this is Linda. She's a math major and is helping Roxanne with the calculations for her paper.”

“Actually, Linda is one of my students, or at least she was,” I said. “And Linda, your skin has cleared up nicely.”

Mom looked shocked, but Linda giggled. “Dr. Thackery saw me made up for McHades Hall.”

“That's a relief,” Mom said. “We're working on Roxanne's dissertation.”

“So I gathered.” Every available surface was covered with papers, open books, journals, two laptops, and an iPad. “Is Phil around?”

“No, he's doing a guest lecture for another professor, then they're going to talk shop over lunch.”

“Okay. I was going to ask if you wanted to go eat, but under the circumstances . . .”

“There's no time,” Roxanne said. “I can't even think about food.”

Upon seeing a pained look on Linda's face, I said, “Could I bring you guys something?”

“Would you?” Linda said. “I'm starved.”

“No problem.” I took orders and money, headed for the Campus Deli, and brought back sandwiches, chips, cookies, and drinks for all. As I lugged, I realized it was my second stint as a delivery person in recent days. Maybe I could start a service on campus and work for tips. It might make for a nice supplement to my per-class pay from McQuaid.

That day's delivery was particularly lucrative because Mom insisted on paying for my share, and I didn't want to argue with her in front of company. But even without that, I would have been glad I'd made the offer. While Roxanne barely touched her meal, Linda went through hers like only a hungry college student can, and accepted Mom's cookie, too.

Later that afternoon, I was even more glad that Linda had gotten something to eat. By then, I was at Phil's desk grading essays. A couple of students had come by for office hours, but I'd quickly dealt with their concerns, leaving me time to work in relative quiet. I was just wrapping up when there was a tap at the door.

I opened it to find Louis Raymond, a state trooper, Officer Burcell, and Oscar O'Leary, McQuaid's chief of security.

“Can I help you?”

Louis said, “We're looking for Linda Zaharee, and we were told she might be here.”

“She's next door in my mother's office.”

While they went to knock on Mom's door, I opened the adjoining door.

Mom was already at the door and Roxanne was saying, “Not more distractions!”

Louis stepped in and said, “Linda Zaharee?”

“Yes,” Linda said.

“Do you have to do this now?” Roxanne asked. “We're in the middle of something important.”

Louis ignored her. “Ms. Zaharee, when we spoke to you on Friday night, you said you hadn't known that Ms. Fitzroy was in McHades Hall. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I only found out she'd been there when you told us.”

“And at that time, you said you knew her from high school but hadn't been in contact with her since then.”

“Right.”

“Then can you explain the e-mails you exchanged with Ms. Fitzroy on the day before she was murdered? In which you planned to meet up the day after her death?”

She looked distressed. “Kendall e-mailed me out of the blue. I know I should have told you, but since I didn't have a chance to meet her, I didn't think it mattered. I guess I didn't want to get involved.”

“Can you tell me why you were meeting?”

“She wouldn't say. If you've got the e-mails, you know that.”

“And you had no idea what it was about?”

“No. I swear, I barely knew her at PHS.”

“Then can you explain these?” The trooper handed him a plastic bag labeled
EVIDENCE
. Inside was a pair of yellow rubber gloves with dark-brown streaks and smudges. The stains could have been fake blood, but I didn't think they were.

“Those aren't mine,” Linda said.

“Are you sure of that?”

“Of course I'm sure.”

“Then can you explain how they were found inside your dorm room?”

“What? I didn't . . .”

“Your roommate found them there and called us.”

“But they're not mine. I've never seen them.”

“Really? Because they match the description of the gloves that are missing from McHades Hall.”

“I didn't take them!” Her voice was getting shriller and shriller.

“Excuse me,” Mom said in her most professorial manner, “are you intending to arrest Ms. Zaharee?”

Louis said, “Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid we are.”

“Then Linda, I advise you to say nothing further until you've spoken to a lawyer.”

“Look, Dab,” Louis started to say.

“That's Dr. Thackery, Sergeant Raymond.”

He looked unhappy, but said, “Dr. Thackery, don't you think it would be in Ms. Zaharee's best interest for her to tell us the truth?”

“I believe there's some sort of warning you're supposed to read now,” she said pleasantly.

“Yes, ma'am. Linda Zaharee, you're under arrest for the murder of Kendall Fitzroy.” And just like on TV, he read her her rights. I thought Linda was going to faint, but she pulled herself together and allowed the officer to handcuff her.

“Is it necessary to humiliate her by walking her across campus like that?” Mom said.

“I'm afraid it's procedure,” Louis said.

But Oscar said, “Have you got a jacket, Miss Zaharee?”

Linda nodded at a McQuaid fleece hoodie that was still on her chair.

Oscar draped the jacket over her cuffed hands, making it look as if she was just holding it. “Is that acceptable, Sergeant?”

“That'll be fine.”

Oscar nodded at Mom and me, then he, the state trooper, and Officer Burcell led Linda away. Louis stayed behind and asked, “Is either of these laptops hers?”

“Why?” Roxanne said.

“If you prefer, I can take both.”

“No!” she said, grabbing one of them and clutching it to her chest. “This one is mine. That one's hers.”

“Fine.” Louis packed it in the bag Mom identified as Linda's.

“How long will Linda be gone?” asked Roxanne, who clearly didn't understand what had happened.

“Don't worry, dear,” Mom said, “we'll get this squared away as quickly as we can.” She looked at Louis. “Unless you intend to arrest somebody else, I suggest you leave.”

He started to speak, but I think he'd finally realized where Deborah got her uncompromising streak. As soon as she closed the door behind him, Mom said, “Roxanne, do you have Linda's parents' number?”

“No, just her cell.”

“Then I'll get it from the registrar.” Normally university registrars won't share information like that, but Mom was well known enough at McQuaid that she got what she wanted. “I'm going to let her parents know what's happened. Georgia, you better call your sister.”

I retreated to Phil's office to do so, but when Deborah didn't answer, left a message for her to call me back ASAP. I could hear my mother explaining the situation and telling somebody to get a lawyer for Linda right away. She even had recommendations.

I took the opportunity to call Sid. For obvious reasons, he doesn't normally answer the landline, but he usually enjoys getting calls on his cell phone. Not this time.

“I still haven't found the McQuaid heir,” he snapped as soon as he answered.

“That's not why I'm calling. The police just arrested Linda Zaharee for Kendall's murder.”

“Who's Linda Zaharee?”

“One of the scare actors.” I told him what Louis had said.

“Deborah's going to flip her cranium if she finds out one of her people was the killer after all!”

“We don't know that she's guilty.”

From the open door I heard Roxanne say, “She's not guilty of anything! She's a statistician, not a murderer!”

I wasn't sure that one necessarily contradicted the other, but was glad to know that Roxanne was showing loyalty to something other than her dissertation.

Sid said, “I'll see if anything about the arrest has hit the Web. Call me if you hear anything else.”

“Will do.”

As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again.

“What?” Deborah barked.

I went through the story again, but when I finished, heard nothing from the other end of the line. “Are you there?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Finally she said, “I'm going to the police station to find out what I can. I'll call later.”

I went back to Mom's office in time to hear Roxanne say, “Dr. Eberhardt can't hold me responsible for my stats maven getting arrested, can he? He has to give me an extension now.”

I don't know how Mom kept her voice cordial, but her years of soothing manic grad students must have paid off. “I'll make sure he knows, but I'm afraid it might not affect his decision.”

“Do you suppose the police will let Linda use a laptop in jail? Because I could e-mail her my data and she could—”

“Why don't you just work around the numbers for now? Keep polishing your introduction, and then put together a table with your raw data. We'll get to the results section as soon as we get this straightened out.” She helped Roxanne pack up her papers and other detritus, and ushered her out the door. Then she took a long, deep breath.

“I told Deborah,” I said. “She's on her way to the police station.”

“With luck, Linda's mother and a lawyer will meet her there.”

“Should I be concerned that you were able to recommend a criminal lawyer without any research?”

“Do you know how many protests I was involved in back in the day? Of course I know lawyers.”

“Mom, I think there are stories you've never told me.”

“Another time, dear. For now, we've got to focus on getting Linda out of trouble.”

“Are you that sure she's innocent? I thought you only just met her.”

“You're right, I don't really know her well enough to say. It's just that seeing the police handcuff her in my office brought back some very bad memories.”

“Mom, you really have to explain that someday.”

She just smiled. “I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go home.”

A
s soon as Mom and I came in the door, I saw Madison's school books dumped on top of the coffee table and noticed that Byron was missing, and cleverly deduced that my daughter had taken the dog out for a walk. Then I checked to make sure all the downstairs curtains were drawn before yelling, “It's me and Mom, Sid. It's clear!”

A moment later, he came clattering down the stairs. “Any more news?”

“Not yet. Deborah was heading to the police station the last I heard.”

“I would not want to be in Louis Raymond's shoes when she gets there,” Sid said.

“How about you? Anything about the secret McQuaid on the interwebs?”

“Nada. Nicht. Not one ossifying thing.”

“Let it alone for a while. Either you'll come up with a new approach, or we'll find out something else to go on. In the meantime, you can keep me company in the kitchen.”

After witnessing Linda's arrest, I was too restless to do anything that required concentration, so I did something I hadn't done since my parents got back: I cooked. Fortunately we had the ingredients I needed to make the chili Phil had dubbed Enamel Chili because it was so hot it could melt the enamel off of teeth. It had the distinction of being one of the few dishes I could make better than my father could, and was comfort food for Madison and me. With Sid's help, I got to work on a pot full of comfort.

Phil got home shortly after that, but when Mom and I started to tell him about Linda, he said, “I've heard. The story is already all over campus.” We gave him more details anyway, and when Madison returned with a well-exercised Byron, we went through the story again.

“I can't believe it,” she said. “Why would Linda kill Kendall?”

I said, “I have no idea, but the police must think she has a motive. How well do you know her?”

“I thought I knew her pretty well,” she said, absently scratching Byron. “She's done McHades for three or four years, so she was somebody I'd go to when I had questions about how things worked. She has mad makeup skills, and she's an awesome scare actor, totally committed to the part without ever stepping over the line with the customers. I told her she should audition for a play sometime, but she said she couldn't act on stage—she just liked scare acting. When she's in her usual clothes, she's kind of quiet, but as soon as she puts on her makeup, it's like she's a different person.”

“She would have been in costume when the murder was committed,” Sid said. “And from what Louis said, she'd been in contact with the victim and then lied about it.”

“Still,” Madison said.

“I taught her one semester,” I said, “and Mom has been working with her, but neither of us can see it, either.”

I could tell that Madison was upset about her friend, because she brought her books into the kitchen to work on homework instead of retreating to her room. Mom and Phil stuck around, too, and we talked of nothing in particular while I got the chili onto the stove to start cooking. Sid was even nice to Byron—he gave him a pizzle stick.

I stalled with the chili, expecting to hear from Deborah, but finally baked some crescent rolls to go with dinner and got Sid to set the dining room table. We heard the back door open just as we were sitting down.

I don't think I'd ever seen Deborah look so dejected. Her shoulders slumped, and if she'd been Sid, I'd have expected her to be leaving a trail of bones behind her.

“You're just in time for a bowl of Georgia's chili,” Mom said. Then she caught each of our eyes—or eye sockets in Sid's case—and gave a little shake of her head, a clear message that we should hold off on questions until Deborah had eaten.

I was just as glad. Though I've spent an alarming amount of time discussing murder, I prefer not to do so at the dinner table.

Phil and Sid carried the conversation, talking about the art history class Sid was taking online which segued into movies with historical settings which led to the TV show
Rome
, which Sid had recently binge watched. By the time they got to speculating about whether HBO would ever make a third season, we'd finished eating, wiped the table, and cleaned up the kitchen.

Deborah, who'd uttered nothing more substantive than “Pass the butter,” since she arrived, said, “I guess you want to know what happened at the police station.”

There was a round of nodding, and we all sat back down.

“By the time I got there, Linda had lawyered up and wasn't talking to anybody, so I found Louis to ask him what was going on. It's not public yet, so don't go spreading it around.
Louis only told me as much as he did because of my running the haunt and us being friends. But it looks as if they've got a pretty good case against her.”

“We saw the bloody gloves,” I said.

“Plus they found those e-mails between her and Kendall. There was a phone call, too, earlier that day. Linda lied about all of that.”

“But why would she kill Kendall?” Madison asked.

Deborah shrugged. “An old grudge from high school is their best guess. You remember those friends of Kendall's who were at the haunt with her? They say that Linda was always jealous of Kendall because she was popular in school, softball star and all that. Louis isn't sure if it was premeditated or not. One scenario is that Linda saw Kendall or heard people calling her name and realized who it was. Then she targeted Kendall in the zombie party, thinking she wouldn't be recognized in that makeup. Only Kendall did recognize her and said she'd get her into trouble, and Linda struck in self-defense.”

“What about the baseball bat?” I asked. “That says premeditation to me.”

“Maybe Justin left it in the party room after all, and Linda found it.”

“Sounds pretty convoluted.”

“Yeah, Louis was trying to make me feel better. The likelier scenario is that Linda knew Kendall was going to be at the haunt because of that phone call, and hid the bat and gloves where she could get to them.”

“But the police are sure she did it?” Sid asked.

“They don't have the whole story, but they've got enough to keep her in custody until they get the rest.”

“I can't believe it,” Madison said sadly.

I was having a hard time, too. Maybe it was just because it felt so anticlimactic that after the theorizing Sid and I had done, it was something so obvious. “Wait a minute. I read in
the news that Kendall and her friends made an annual trip to McHades, and Madison told us that Linda had worked at the haunt for several years. Why did she snap this year? Had she been under any kind of stress?”

“I only chatted with her a little while,” Mom said, “but she told me that she was breezing through her courses, which is why she was able to take the time to help Roxanne. Apparently she's quite brilliant with statistics.”

“What about personal problems?” Sid asked, following my reasoning. “Madison, you spent time with her.”

“She didn't mention anything like that to me. She liked her roommate, gets along with her parents, and doesn't have a boyfriend or girlfriend, so no problems there.”

“How about you, Deborah?” he asked. “Did you see signs of anything going on with her?”

“Sure, Sid, I could tell she was about to go homicidal,” she snapped. “That's why I kept her around.”

“Deborah,” Phil said reprovingly. “Nobody is blaming you.”

“I'm blaming myself, Dad. I hired a murderer and let her loose on the public. Don't tell me that I'm not being logical. I know that, and I don't care.” Before any of us could try to comfort or argue with her, she said, “We don't know what Linda and Kendall talked about in that phone call, or what it was they were going to meet about. When the cops find out, we'll know why Linda went off the deep end.”

“You're probably right,” I said, but it still didn't feel right. One glance at Sid, and I knew exactly what was going on in his nonexistent brain. “If it's all the same to you, I think we're going to stay on the case for now. Something about this smells off. Linda just doesn't seem like a killer.”

“Don't you ever watch the news?” Deborah said. “Every time they catch a killer, his idiot neighbors and stupid family
and clueless coworkers bleat about how he seemed like such a nice guy. So this time I'm the clueless coworker.”

“But—”

“Georgia, the cops are satisfied so stop trying to prove that you're smarter than they are.”

I started to count to ten, but didn't get past three. “Let's get this straight. I got involved in this cluster because you asked me to. After all, I'm a lady of leisure. I just have five sections of expository writing to teach every week with all those papers to grade. So of course I was dying for a chance to play detective.”

“Okay, fine, I get—”

“But since you did ask me to get involved, I have been trying my best, and I do not believe that girl is guilty. Neither do you.”

I glared at her, she glared at me, and our glaring might have lasted all night if Mom hadn't intervened.

“Before we raise our voices any further,” she said, “let's consider this logically. Either Linda is guilty or she's not.”

Had it been anybody but our mother, Deborah would have snarled at her for stating the obvious, but she managed to control herself and just say, “Okay.”

“If she's guilty, it's not going to hurt for Georgia and Sid to continue their investigation, is it? The worst that could happen is that they'll find more evidence against her. In fact, that would be a good thing because we'd all rest easier.”

Deborah nodded.

“If Linda isn't guilty, then the only way that she's going to get out of jail is if the police find the real killer, or at least some evidence that it's somebody else. Only the police aren't likely to find anything because they aren't looking.”

Deborah nodded again.

“So in either case, it makes sense for your sister and Sid to stay on the job. Isn't that right?”

“Georgia said she was too busy with work,” Deborah muttered.

“Georgia, do you want to continue this investigation? Because you don't have to, and you certainly don't have to prove anything.”

I wanted to tell her that of course I knew that, but maybe part of me really was trying to prove that I was smart. I didn't care what the police thought, but I did want Mom and Phil to know it, even if my academic career hadn't been stellar. Except that if that were my only aim, I'd be writing academic articles, not solving a murder. So why had I gotten involved in the first place?

Deborah had asked me to investigate, but I could have turned her down. Sid was always eager to snoop, of course, but he'd never make me do something I didn't want to. I couldn't pretend I'd been protecting Madison because the easiest way to do that would have been to pull her out of the haunt. Nor could I claim I was selflessly trying to rescue Linda—the world was filled with people being treated unfairly, and I wasn't rushing to help them. With all that, why was I refusing to give up? I didn't know what the answer was, but I did know one thing. “I am busy, but I want to do this.”

“Good enough,” Mom said. “Now since your father and I have plenty of free time until next semester starts, Phil will continue to take care of the cooking, I'll deal with household chores, and either of us can grade essays if you run short on minutes. And it goes without saying that we'll help with the detective work if there's anything we can do.” She looked from one of us to the other. “All right?”

Deborah and I nodded.

“Then it's settled. I'm getting started right now by washing a load of laundry.”

She bustled out, and Phil ambled after her. Madison stayed where she was, as if afraid that any movement would set Deborah and me off.

My sister and I weren't glaring at each other anymore, but we weren't smiling, either. Finally she said, “I guess Mom's right. You go ahead and do whatever it is you do.”

“I'll try my best.”

“Okay. I'm going home.” She got up, but stopped long enough to say, “Good chili.”

“Thanks. Glad you liked it.”

After she was gone, Sid said, “Whoa. I've never known Deborah to apologize so profusely before.”

“What apology?” Madison said.

Sid patted her on the shoulder. “Kid, trust me, I've known Deborah for most of her life. That was as close as your aunt ever gets to saying she's sorry.”

“And she knows I've accepted it,” I said.

“Very graciously, too,” Sid said. “A genuine Hallmark moment.”

Madison looked back and forth between the two of us, probably trying to decide if we were pulling her leg, but we really weren't. Deborah and I may not have a greeting card kind of relationship, but we understand each other.

Madison went to tackle her homework, but when I offered to help Mom with laundry, she told me I had more important things to do. Sid and I ended up back in his attic.

“Any ideas?” Sid asked.

“Not a one. You?”

“Maybe. If Linda isn't the killer, then the killer is framing her.”

“And doing a pretty good job of it, too.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“The usual reason to frame somebody is to divert suspicion
away from oneself, right? But the police didn't have any suspects, unless you count Scooby-Doo. Who was the killer diverting attention from?”

“That's a good question, Sid. Maybe the real killer was nervous, and thought the police would find him if they kept looking.”

“Possible, but it occurs to me that there are two things that happened as a result of Linda being arrested. One, Roxanne's screwed on her dissertation.”

“Why would anybody go to so much trouble to keep Roxanne from getting her Ph.D.?”

“Anything scandalous in the dissertation? Something somebody wouldn't want published?”