The Skeleton Haunts a House (18 page)

T
he situation looked a little better in the morning, partially because I remembered I still had Hector Garza's ring to return, but mostly because my father made French toast for breakfast. After that, a drive to McQuaid seemed like a fun thing to do. Sid, predictably, wanted to come along, so I indulged him by putting his skull back into my oversized handbag.

To make sure Hector was actually there, I'd had Madison call and ask for him, and when he responded, she hung up. I suspected real detectives didn't count prank calls among their usual techniques, but it did the job for us.

The McQuaid student center is a concrete-and-glass building, and it had been ultra-modern when it was built, but these days it was looking stuck in the seventies. The design clashed with the older parts of campus, which may be why it was located as far from the main gate as possible. I found Hector Garza at the center's information desk, looking worse for the wear. Either he'd been out later than I had or had woken up considerably earlier.

I plopped my bag on top of the counter to give Sid optimum eavesdropping range. “Hi, Hector.”

He looked at me with absolutely no hint of recognition.

“We met Friday night at the carnival.”

Nothing.

From in the bag came the whispered word, “Costume.”

I thumped Sid. “I was in costume—the Day of the Dead outfit. And I helped rescue you from your ex-girlfriend.” Of course, I'd also chased him down, but I preferred to lead with my strengths.

“Yeah, right.”

“I stopped by to bring you this.” I pulled his ring from my pocket. “You dropped it at Bailey's place. She was going to toss it, but I convinced her to let me give it back to you.”

“Man, I'd totally forgotten I left it there. I've been going crazy looking for it, too. If Dad ever found out I lost it, he'd blow a gasket. Thanks! I owe you one.”

“No problem,” I said. “So did you talk to the police about finding that ninja suit in the lost-and-found?”

“Oh, hey, no. I meant to, but I haven't had a chance.”

“It's probably not a big deal, anyway, what with them already having somebody in custody.”

“Yeah, you're right.” I had a hunch he didn't want to confess to “borrowing” from the lost-and-found.

“How did that costume end up here anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't you guys keep track of who turns stuff in or where it's found?”

“Why would we do that?”

“I don't know, I just thought you might. Were you on duty when the costume was turned in?”

“I don't think so. I didn't notice it until Tuesday, when somebody came by hunting for a missing textbook and I had to look in the box.” He looked over my shoulder. “Hey, Oscar!”

“Hi, Hector, Georgia. What's going on?”

“We're not supposed to keep track of when stuff comes into the lost-and-found, are we?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“This lady here was asking about the ninja costume.”

He blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“Somebody left a ninja costume in the lost-and-found, but I don't know where it came from. Do you know?”

“Can't say as I do.” He looked at me quizzically.

“I was dropping off a ring Hector misplaced, and I was just curious.” A thought occurred to me. “Oscar, do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, sure. Come on into my office.”

The security forces at McQuaid had a small block of rooms right off the student center lobby, and Oscar opened the glass-fronted door to let us in.

“Are you running things all by yourself?” I asked.

“Not quite, but it's definitely a skeleton crew. I've had people working extra hours on the Howl, and they've got to get rest sometime. Have a seat.” He waved me toward a chair and took his own behind a desk nearly as battered as the ones in the adjunct office. “What can I do for you?”

“I've been helping Deborah with the haunt, and a couple of the scare actors have complained about items going missing. Nothing valuable, but props and such. I know Deborah is careful about locking up, but I wondered how difficult it would be for somebody to get into the building.”

“I'll be honest with you, Georgia,” Oscar said, “McQuaid Hall isn't as secure as it should be. There's no alarm system, just smoke detectors, and the locks on the doors have been there since the place was built, so there's no telling how many keys are floating around. Of course my guys keep an eye out, but you know how it is. McQuaid is a busy campus, and a building that's left empty most of the time isn't our
main concern. So when you ask if somebody could have snuck in there, I have to say that he could have, and it wouldn't have been hard.”

“The cops know this, right?”

“Oh, they know. Sergeant Raymond didn't mince words when he told me what ‘real cops' think of security around here. And what could I say? He's right, and there are going to be some changes. For one, we're requisitioning a new set of locks for McQuaid Hall. Of course that's locking the barn after the horses have run off, but in our defense, we'd never had a problem involving that building until now.”

“You haven't gotten into any trouble about the murder, have you? I mean, it's not something anybody would have expected, and you guys responded right away.”

“Thanks for saying that, and no, I'm not taking any heat from the administration. I just want to make sure nothing like this ever happens on my watch again.”

“Deborah feels the same way.”

“Yeah? She and I see things the same way a lot of the time. She's not, you know . . .”

“Seeing somebody? Not a soul.”

“That surprises me. Sergeant Raymond said . . .”

My ears pricked up, and I felt Sid wriggling in my bag as if he, too, wanted to be sure he didn't miss the end of that sentence.

Unfortunately for both of us, Oscar's phone rang, and he said, “Sorry, I need to take this. Anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I'm good.” I went past the information desk on my way out, but decided not to hector Hector any further. As much as I would have liked to know where that ninja costume was abandoned, I didn't think he'd be able to help me.

It was one of those glorious fall days that show up on travel shows, sunny with a bit of a breeze riffling the flamboyantly
colored foliage, so rather than head straight for my car, I strolled toward the quad.

“Where are we going?” Sid whispered.

“Just getting some exercise. It's a nice day out.”

“We're heading for the carnival, aren't we? You want to canoodle some more.”

“Shush,” I said. “Somebody might hear you.” Nobody was close enough, but why take chances? And what if I was thinking of popping in to see Brownie? He'd come by McHades briefly the night before, but I'd been so busy there'd been no time to do anything but wave and accept the caramel apple he'd brought me.

I was nearly to the main gate when I glanced over at McQuaid Hall and spotted somebody familiar. Treasure Hunt was sitting on the stone bench in front of the building, looking up at it. I changed course to go toward him.

“Now where are we going?” Sid asked.

“Shush!” When I got close enough, I said, “Good morning, Treasure Hunt.”

“Oh, hi, Doc,” he said. “How's the skeleton?”

“Still dead. Are you considering coming to college? Or are you another stealth academic like Brownie?”

He snorted. “The boy can keep his books and papers. I was just curious about this place.”

“Because of the murder? Yeah, that's where that girl was killed.”

“That's not why I was looking at it.”

“Oh?” I sat down next to him.

“I'm interested in the building itself. You see, it's mine.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That building belongs to me.”

I
finally put it together. “You're a McQuaid?”

“I used to be,” he said. “Nelson Paul McQuaid the Third. Mannix is my mother's name, and nobody has called me anything but Treasure Hunt since before you were born.”

“You're not— I mean, I would have expected—” I stopped. “You know, there's no way out of that sentence that won't end with me sounding like a jerk.”

He grinned. “I don't exactly fit your image of a missing heir, do I?”

“Let's just say that you've got a very different style than the McQuaids I've met.”

“I'll take your word for it. I haven't seen my sisters since my father's funeral, and never have met any of my nieces. I left all that family crap behind—at least I meant to. You see my mother died when I was young, and my old man and I never did get along. He had all kinds of plans for me, but I had other ideas. Plus I got into a little trouble. So I took off and joined a carnival. I never saw him again.”

“Really? That's sad.”

He shrugged. “Once or twice a year, I'd send him a letter to tell him that I was still alive, and then when I got married and had the kid. All I got back was a fat lot of nothing until he died, which is when his executor let me know that Dad had cut me from his will. That was what I'd expected, and I figured that was the last of my connections to the family until a couple of months ago.

“That's when some lawyer tracked me down and told me I was the heir of record for that building there.” He nodded at McQuaid Hall. “Apparently Dad couldn't think of a way to disinherit me. Granddad wasn't what you would call a modern thinker, but he knew how to make a bulletproof will, and he wanted his aunt Persephone's legacy honored. So he specified that McQuaid Hall pass to the oldest male descendent. Meaning Dad, then me, and then Brownie. I might be the McQuaid black sheep, but I'm male. Of course, the building still belongs to the college as long as they play by the rules from Granddad's will.

“Except the lawyer claimed that the college had broken its side of the bargain by only using the place a few nights a year, meaning that it's mine after all. He called again after the murder, said he wants to handle the case. Dad must be rolling in his grave, and my relatives are probably burning up the phone lines to their lawyers, seeing if they can make it all go away.”

“Something like that,” I said, remembering how upset the Quintet had been.

“If things do go my way, we're talking serious money,” he said with satisfaction, “but the best part is going to be messing with my relations. When I came for Dad's funeral—which I only did out of respect for my mother—they acted like I was dirt. My own sisters wouldn't talk to me! Brownie thinks I should let it go, but can you blame me for wanting to get a little payback?”

“Not really.” Deborah and I didn't always get along, but I couldn't imagine her treating me that way.

He looked up at McQuaid. “It's a hell of a thing. For the past umpteen years, I've been going by a different name and never even living in a building for more than a month at a time. Now suddenly I own one with my old name carved into the bricks. At least I will until I sell it, assuming the college doesn't find a way to hang onto the place.”

“I imagine they'll try to buy it back if all else fails.”

“They can have it if they pay me enough to beat out any other buyers.” He gave me a sideways glance. “I suppose you think I'm a louse for thinking of selling the building out from under the school.”

It was difficult to know how to respond. Should I go on one knee and beg him to let the university keep the building despite the terms of the will, or berate him for trying to take it back? What I said was, “I do have some loyalty to McQuaid, since I work here, and even more because my parents are tenured here, but I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing if somebody offered me that kind of money.” Even the idea roused my old dream of buying a house of my own someday. “Besides, there's nothing I could say to change your mind anyway.”

He grinned again. “You're pretty bright for a college gal.” He stood and stretched. “I think I'll be heading back toward the cook shack. You want to come along? Stewpot is making fried chicken today.” He waggled his eyebrows. “College Boy will be there, putting on the feed bag.”

“Thanks, but I've got plans.” I didn't, but after Treasure Hunt's bombshell, I had things to think about and discuss with Sid. Besides which, Brownie had known of my interest in the McQuaid bequest, and hadn't said a word about his father being involved. He could eat fried chicken all by himself.

“I
did not see that coming,” Sid said, though at least he waited until we got into my minivan before speaking. “You realize that this gives Treasure Hunt a motive to commit murder. Ditto his wife and the mysterious lawyer. And um . . .”

“I know. It gives Brownie that same motive, especially since we know he was at the haunt on the night of the murder. But I'm not buying it.”

“You could if you had that money.”

“Look, the lawyer claimed there was a good chance of Treasure Hunt getting the building before the murder, so why get drastic? And it didn't even work—we reopened the haunt.”

“Okay, that's a point.”

“And say I've decided to sabotage the haunt. There are plenty of easier ways: arson, bomb threats, planting religious protesters saying that Halloween is the devil's day.”

“That's two-thirds of a good point.”

“How about planting rats or bugs and then calling health
inspectors? The risk would be a lot lower. Getting caught putting rats into a building is probably no more than a misdemeanor—”

“I could look that up when we get home.”

“Don't bother. Whatever it counts as, it's less risky than murder.”

“I guess,” he said, not sounding convinced.

“Then what about opportunity? How would either Brownie or Treasure Hunt have gotten into McQuaid?”

“Didn't Oscar just say it would be pretty easy?”

“He said lots of keys are floating around, but how would they have one? Treasure Hunt said he'd been avoiding Pennycross for years.”

“He did
say
that, but people have been known to lie. And doesn't the carnival have a pickpocket on staff? Maybe she picks locks, too.”

“You're profiling. Even if Soda Pop can pick locks, the carnival only set up on the Thursday before the murder. They wouldn't have had time to do all this key finding, lock picking, and baseball bat arranging.”

“Actually,” Sid said, “you remember how I checked to see if there had been any other murders in towns where the carnival had been?”

“You actually wasted time on that?”

“I've got nothing but time! It turns out that Fenton's last stand was half an hour away, tops. That's an easy commute for dirty work.”

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “What about framing Linda? Why and how would they do that?”

“Now that is a worthy point, untainted by your wish to hook up with Brownie.”

I stuck out my tongue at him, both because I thought it was justified and because he can't reciprocate. What he
could do was roll his skull over, which is the closest he could get to turning his back on me.

Our mutual silent treatment lasted until just before we got home, when I finally said, “Sid, do you really think Treasure Hunt or Brownie killed Kendall?”

“Bottom line? I think that just about anybody could kill given the right provocation—”

“Thanks a lot.”

“What if somebody was about to shoot Madison?”

“Fair enough. We both know I'd kill in a heartbeat to protect her.”

“So of course I think Treasure Hunt and Brownie could kill for the right reason, but I don't think the reasons we've found would be enough. Therefore you have my permission to suck face with Dr. Mannix.”

“No, thank you.”

“Don't tell me you think he's guilty!”

“I don't think he's a killer, but I know he wasn't honest and forthcoming with me. That's reason enough to forgo face sucking.”

I meant it, too. Sure, Brownie was attractive and intelligent, and had a wonderfully quirky way of looking at the world, and was a good kisser—I made myself stop counting up good qualities, and concentrated on the failings instead.

The rest of the day was taken up with the trivia of normal life. I went grocery shopping, resisting all efforts by my mother to “help out” with some money. I did laundry, graded papers, and planned out lessons for the week. And I tried very hard to not think about murder or Brownie Mannix's kissing skills.

Once classes were over on Monday, I headed for the adjunct office, grabbed my mail, and went inside. As luck would have it, Brownie was at his desk chatting with Sara Weiss when I came in.

“Hi, Georgia,” Brownie said.

“Dr. Mannix,” I said and sat down.

Brownie was clearly taken aback and Sara's ears perked up like Byron's when he heard us open the bin where we kept his food. I ignored them both and set up my laptop to start grading papers.

A moment later, there was a ping from my phone and a text from Brownie appeared.

What did I do?

I deleted the message, and went back to work. A few minutes later, there was another ping.

This isn't fair. I give great apologies, but I can't apologize if I don't know what I did.

He had a point—I was angry, but he had a right to know why and I deserved the satisfaction of telling him to his face. So I turned toward his desk and said, “By the way, I ran into your father yesterday. He was outside McQuaid Hall, taking a good look at it.”

“Oh,” he said faintly. I went back to my laptop.

Five more minutes passed before another text arrived.

Would rather not discuss with Sara listening. Can we go somewhere?

Knowing he was watching, I started getting ready to go. Sara, who must have realized that Brownie and I were communicating in some way that did not enable her to listen, said, “Leaving so soon, Georgia?”

“I just remembered a lunch date,” I said. I walked out slowly, and a couple of minutes later, Brownie caught up
with me, though we didn't speak as we walked. We continued not talking until we were seated at Hamburger Haven and supplied with drinks and burgers that I suspect neither of us had an appetite for.

“So, Dad told you.”

“That he's the lost McQuaid heir I was telling you about the other night? Yes, he did.”

“Do I get any credit for not pretending that I didn't know?”

I held up my thumb and index finger so there was just a sliver of light showing between them. “You get this much credit.”

“Look, I knew about this lawyer tracking down Dad with a song-and-dance about getting a lot of money, but we all figured it was gaffed. That will has been in place for a lot of years, but no money had made its way into Dad's grouch bag, so we didn't expect anything was going to happen now. He didn't even want to take the stand in Pennycross—you heard him say so yourself.”

“He did say something about that,” I allowed.

“Still, I can't say I wasn't curious about McQuaid and Dad's relatives.”

“You're a McQuaid, too, so they're also your relatives.”

“I'm a Mannix—that's the name Dad was using when Mom and he got married, and that's the name he gave me. I've never had anything to do with the McQuaids. But once we got this gig and I heard through the grapevine that the school had an opening in my field, I figured what the hell? Getting paid to teach here would be the first money the McQuaids had ever given us.”

“They don't own the university.”

“I know, but it still feels like poetic justice. I don't care about meeting any of them, but I did want to see the building.”

“I can see why you'd be curious.”

“That's all it was, too. After the murder, the lawyer called my father again with a lot of talk, but neither Mom nor I
really think anything is going to happen. The only people who make money off a deal like this are the lawyers. Who needs the aggravation? Dad just wants to stir things up.”

“You still haven't explained why you didn't mention this the other night.”

“Other than it not being any of your business?”

“Oh.” I took a bite of my rapid-cooling cheeseburger. “You know I'm trying to find out who killed Kendall?”

He nodded.

“And even more important, I'm trying to get an innocent girl out of jail.”

He nodded again.

“That means I'm finding out all kinds of stuff that isn't any of my business.”

“Are you saying this stuff with my father has something to do with that girl's murder?”

“It might.”

“Do you think my father killed her? Or that I did?”

“If I did, I wouldn't be eating lunch with you.”

“That's good, anyway.”

Neither of us spoke for a while, but finally I took a deep breath and said, “I think an apology is called for.”

“You're right. Georgia, I'm—”

“Brownie, I'm sorry.”

“Okay, that wasn't what I was expecting.”

“The fact is, I've been being a pain in the coccyx. I have no right to be offended. We've been having fun together, and I hope you consider me a friend, but we haven't known each other long enough for me to expect you to trust me, especially when your family is involved. So I apologize.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I was expecting him to look gratified rather than nonplussed. “Was I not abject enough? I really am sorry.”

“No, I accept your apology unreservedly. I just feel bad because I didn't trust you.”

“Wait, you can't apologize to me—I'm the one apologizing.”

“I can apologize if I want to.”

“No, you can't.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Can not.”

“Can too.”

“Can not.”

“Can too.”

We started laughing at the same time, which ended the argument nicely, and when he did make an attempt to apologize again, I stopped him the best way I knew how.

He really was a good kisser.

After lunch ended much more pleasantly than it had begun, Brownie had to run to make it to his next class, and I knew I probably had students waiting at Mom's office. Sure enough, when I got there, one was leaning against the wall looking terribly aggrieved. I'd have felt more guilty if he hadn't missed the past three classes with no good explanation.

When the line petered out later that afternoon, I remembered that I'd been so busy shunning Brownie that I'd forgotten to look at the assortment of envelopes I'd picked up outside the adjunct office.

It was mostly made up of the usual notes from students asking for more time to complete papers and/or extra credit assignments, and questions that would have easily been answered by their reading the syllabus I'd handed out on the first day of classes. Of course, if they'd read the syllabus, they'd know I preferred that such communications come by e-mail.

The last piece was a plain business-sized envelope, with my name written on the front in printed, capital letters. No postmark or university interoffice stamp, so somebody had
put it into the mailbox personally. I opened it up and pulled out a single piece of white paper with three lines of text:

STOP LOOKING FOR ME OR YOU'LL BE SORRY.

THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING.

THE NINJA