The Skeleton Haunts a House (8 page)

O
nce class was over, I texted my parents to see if they had time to join me for lunch. Phil was busy, but Mom said she'd meet me at Hamburger Haven, McQuaid's very own fast-food place. We got there at about the same time, went through the line to get our cheeseburgers and fries, and grabbed the last free table.

After applying ketchup and mustard as needed, I said, “How does it feel being back on campus?”

“Aggravating,” she said. “I'm not overly impressed with Dr. Eberhardt.”

I hadn't seen that much of the new English department chair myself. There'd been a short meeting during which Dr. Parker, the retiring chair, introduced Dr. Eberhardt to all the adjuncts. Then I'd dutifully attended the departmental welcome-aboard party and sipped my share of punch while listening to the dean extol his virtues and eaten a meal's worth of cheese and crackers while Eberhardt extolled his own virtues. While I knew there'd been buzz about hiring
him from another school rather than promoting from within, it was hard for me to get my panties in a twist about internal people getting passed over when I was eternally external. So far, the only difference I'd noticed in his regime was extra paperwork for us adjuncts.

“I take it he wasn't very sympathetic to Roxanne's issues.”

“Would you believe he quoted that old line to me? ‘We call it graduate school because we want our students to graduate.'”

“What do you think? Politician?”

“Definitely.”

We Thackery academics divided department chairmen into categories: the Fair-Minded, who only took the chair because it was his or her turn; the Rebel, who wanted to shake up the department, the university, and the world, in that order; the Functionary, who was a lousy academic but a decent paper shuffler; and the Visionary, who actually had a direction and a flair for management. Unfortunately Dr. Eberhardt was our least favorite: the Politician, who saw departmental power as the first step on his ascendancy to university dominion.

“At least he's fairly young,” I said. Young Politicians didn't stay long on their hikes upward. “Maybe the next one will be better.”

“Possibly, but it won't be in time to help Roxanne.”

“So you couldn't get her an extension?”

“He said she could have through the beginning of next semester rather than the end of this one, but that was only because I'm still officially on sabbatical this semester and therefore can't oversee her final work. Roxanne is in a panic, needless to say.”

“She
has
been taking a while to finish her dissertation. Technically she passed her deadline a while back.” As in five years before, according to campus gossip.

“She's had a lot on her plate. She had to take a leave of
absence at one point because of family problems, and while she was gone, her thesis advisor changed jobs. Then her second advisor took over, but he retired, and she had to start over with me. Eberhardt just doesn't realize how valuable Roxanne's work is—you can't rush academic progress.”

I nodded, but I thought Roxanne was one of those people who was afraid to graduate into the real world or even into academia. Grad school could be very cozy and safe, particularly once one had finished classes and qualifying exams, with only the research and dissertation to attend to. Of course, most people ran out of money sooner or later, but according to Mom, Roxanne's family was both wealthy and willing to fund her studies indefinitely. Since I had Madison during grad school, I'd had an urgent motive to get my own dissertation completed, so I wasn't overly sympathetic toward anybody who had time and money to burn.

I was, however, sympathetic for my mother's concern, so I let her fuss about Dr. Eberhardt, and made the right noises at the right places.

When Mom had gotten it out of her system, I asked her if she knew anything about the McQuaid family's string-laden bequest, but she knew less than Sara did about the situation. We moved on to other topics until we finished eating, and then both headed back to her office.

“I'll let my students know that I won't be seeing people in your office after today,” I said. “Just be warned that a few of them will keep showing up for a while.”

“No worries. I'll direct them to your office.”

“Actually, I'll probably try to see folks in the Campus Deli. Or maybe pick out a corner in the student center.”

“That won't be very private.”

“It'll be more private than the adjunct office. You know what it's like down there.”

“No, I've never seen it.”

I described it to her, and the more I said, the more appalled she became. “That's . . . That's inhumane! How do they expect you to work that way?”

“I've had worse setups.”

“This has to stop. I'm going to talk to some other professors, and in the meantime, you can keep using my office.”

“Are you sure? I feel as if I'm imposing on you and Phil, first at the house and now here at work.”

“It's not an imposition—we're glad to help. I'm just embarrassed that I wasn't aware of the situation before now. We're going to do something about this.”

I smiled, but I didn't really expect anything to change. Mom wouldn't just be going against Pennycross administration, she'd be fighting what was being done at colleges and universities all over the country.

Phil was talking to a crony in his office when we arrived, so Mom went in to join them so I could close the adjoining door for my meetings. As far as I'd been able to tell at a brief glance, Charles had cleared out all traces of his stay, and I hoped that Phil would attribute anything that had been disturbed to my having used both offices.

There was a knock on the door, and the first of a steady stream of students started flowing in and out. Since I'd handed back three sets of graded essays that morning, I knew there would be requests for explanations of and/or arguments against their grades. It was the time of the semester when good students were buckling down and poor ones were starting to realize that they actually had to work to pass the class.

I ended up staying past my scheduled time, and even then had to firmly turn away a couple of students who'd come late. I might have stayed even longer, but Mom's grad student Roxanne showed up and anxiously asked, “Is Dr. Thackery here? I mean my Dr. Thackery. I need to talk to her.”

“I'll check.” I knocked on the door to Phil's office and when he answered, said, “Is Mom still around? Roxanne Beale is here to see her.”

I don't think Roxanne heard Mom's sigh in response, but I did and understood it. “I'll be there in a moment,” she said.

Usually I resent the fact that as an adjunct, I don't have the opportunity to mentor grad students, but in this case, I was glad I wasn't going to have to give Roxanne the sad news. Since I doubted she would take it well, I decided it was time to leave. As my mother came in the side door, I was on my way out the front. “See you later, Mom!”

I had other work to do and could have gone back to the adjunct office to tackle it, but home was a lot more appealing, especially since I wanted to compare notes with Sid. I still wasn't sure which one of us was Watson and which was Holmes, but I did know that his empty skull was great for bouncing ideas around.

Madison was home, so I stopped by the living room to say hello, pat the dog, and steal a handful of grapes before heading to Sid's attic.

When I tapped at the door, Sid yelled down, “It's open!”

I went on up the stairs to where Sid was sitting at his desk, tapping at his laptop. When I'd first moved back, the attic's furnishings were made up primarily of castoffs, but I'd managed to upgrade the desk, lamp, and chair to secondhand or even vintage, and while the sofa looked awful, it was pretty comfortable. At least Sid's laptop was decent, thanks to my educator's discount.

“What's the word on campus?” Sid asked. “There is nothing—and I mean nothing—new about the murder on the Web. I've been reduced to doing my homework for amusement. Please tell me you've got something.”

“I've got an idea anyway. Have you found a decent motive for Kendall's murder?”

“I repeat, there is nothing new about the murder on the Web.”

“What if Kendall's murder was a way to break the will that gave McQuaid Hall to the university?” I explained what Sara had told me about the odd bequest.

“Why would anybody attach strings like that?” Sid asked.

“Are you kidding? You've heard of Widener Library at Harvard? It's named that because Mrs. Widener gave them the money, but she had stipulations. One, there could be no additions or alterations to the building's facade, which is why they built a bridge to another building through a window, because that wouldn't disturb any bricks. When they needed to enlarge the library, the only way they could do it was to fill in the courtyard, which must have been a nightmare for the contractors. The other stipulation was that Mrs. Widener would be allowed to do landscaping on the grounds of the building, so that one wasn't so bad.”

“Is something like that enforceable? Could the McQuaids really take back McQuaid Hall?”

“I'm no lawyer, but they could try.”

“If they won, they could sell the building and land back to the university,” Sid said. “You know the administration would be desperate to get it, even if it meant paying through the nose. The McQuaids could make a whole lot of money.”

“Of course, the McQuaids are rich already.”

“They wouldn't be the first rich people to be greedy or to spend beyond their means, no matter how big those means might be.” Sid stroked his chin, which made a noise like two sticks rubbing against one another. “Interesting.”

“Of course, if McHades Hall reopens, that'll blow the deal.”

“If they've killed once . . .” Sid said ominously.

“That's what worries me. If the killer is picking targets at random, the next one could be Madison.”

Sid instantly left the computer to come put a bony arm
around me, which was more comforting than it sounds. “Don't worry, Georgia. We're going to get this guy.”

“I'm probably being silly anyway. It's hard to imagine one of the McQuaids sneaking around the haunt with a baseball bat.”

“They could have paid somebody, and we know somebody snuck into the place. Unless you think it was one of the scare actors.”

“Let's leave that idea alone for now. For Deborah's sake, I really hope it wasn't.”

“Fair enough. For now, I've got something better to research. Like whether or not the will is enforceable and who exactly would get the money.” He looked delighted by the prospect. “Any other grist for my investigative mill?”

I thought back over the events of the day. “I doubt this has anything to do with the murder, but we've got a new adjunct, and it's somebody you've met before.”

“Somebody
I've
met?”

“Remember back when you were with Fenton's Family Festival? There was a little kid carny, and he grew up into the guy I talked to when I went to find out how you ended up in that carnival.”

“Wait, are you saying that the midway at the Howl is Fenton's?”

I nodded. “It turns out that College Boy is Dr. Brownlow Mannix, and he's taking over for Kate Donovan because her baby came early.”

“Now that's suspicious! I bet he'd know how to sneak into a haunted house.”

“He wouldn't have had to sneak. He was at the haunt the night of the murder—I saw him with the other customers the cops took over to Stuart Hall.”

“That settles it! Mannix killed somebody so we'd have
to close McHades Hall so the carnival could get more business at their haunted house.”

“Don't you think that sounds a bit excessive?”

“Oh yeah? What if my Web hunt shows a correlation of haunted house murders and the appearance of this carnival in other towns?”

“If you find any such relationship, let me know. Otherwise, I'm chalking this up to prejudice against Fenton's.”

“Do you blame me? They put me in a cage.”

“Dude, they thought you were dead. Which you were. Did you ever think that if you hadn't been in that carnival, and hadn't seen me in trouble, you wouldn't have come to life? I know you wouldn't have come to live with us.”

“That's true,” he said, stroking his chin again, and I realized it was a gesture he'd copied from Sherlock Holmes movies. “Still, it's an interesting coincidence. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless they're looking for me.”

“Why would they be looking for you?”

“Georgia, you told them I was here in Pennycross. Maybe they want to reclaim me and sell me. A robust skeleton like me is worth big bucks.”

“I think you're safe.” I patted his ulna. “I'm not letting anybody take you anywhere.”

“Okay,” he said, but I could tell he was nervous. Sid holds himself together purely by force of personality, so when he's anxious, the connections loosen. On a very bad day, he leaves bits of himself on the floor. Today he was still in one piece, but his connections had become noticeably looser since I'd mentioned Brownie Mannix.

To distract him, I said, “I read your dossier on Kendall. Very thorough.”

“Nothing that wasn't in the papers and on TV. Today I looked at her social media, which her family has not yet
deleted. It was set up as public so I could read just about everything. Which reminds me, you need to check your Facebook privacy settings. Madison, too. You never know who's looking.”

“I'm pretty sure I don't have to worry about a strange skeleton other than you, but I'll take care of it.”

“Anyway, she was active on both Twitter and Facebook. Her tweets and posts are all normal stuff: selfies, cat photos, life events. Lots of pictures, lots of comments about how much she loves college and her boyfriend and the Red Sox. She mentions a couple of social issues, but nothing controversial. She comes off as naïve, but well-meaning.”