“Maybe some evidence at the crime scene can help us,” Jason said. “But what?”
“We didn’t get anything useful from the crime scene,” I said. “It was contaminated by all the traffic that was there before the crime was reported. The question in my mind is still: why the bowl? What does the bowl possess that other things around the school don’t. The only thing that we learned from the crime scene is they wanted the bowl and nothing else: that was the only thing they wanted.
“Even though most crimes are committed for money, I think that we should put money as a low priority on our list of reasons for the crime. So then, the other big reason for committing a crime is love. Love of what? The beauty of the bowl? The love of Greece? The love of ancient civilizations? The love of a woman? The love of power, of knowledge? The opposite of love, hatred of our school, or Professor Noone?
“The crime scene can’t help us so what can we use? His choosing this bowl. What is its value for the thief? That is the question. What does the bowl do for the thief?”
“I agree with you, Professor. I think it was for love, for love of beauty. That girl who discovered it missing really loved it and maybe many other people might feel the same,” Veronica said.
“Maybe it wasn’t love but something that someone needed,” Jason said.
“What do you mean, Jason?” Veronica asked.
“I mean maybe it was needed to complete a collection or something like that,” Jason replied.
“What if it was needed for some ancient religious thing, some old guy cult,” Ralphy said.
“How could it be used by a cult?” Monica asked.
“I don’t know. Pottery worship? I don’t know!” Jason said.
“Pottery worship? Good Jason,” Ralphy said.
“Who are my researchers here?”
“We are,” Veronica said. Monica raised her hand and waved.
“OK, researchers, go on the internet and see if there is a pottery worshiping sect, or, for that matter, any group that might worship antiquities. See what you come up with, ladies.
“The rest of you, keep your ears open and do your school work,” I said.
“Tell us when you find something, Professor,” Ralphy said.
“I’ll let you know when we find something useful,” I said as they started to file out.
* * *
“I think we found something, Professor,” Veronica said as she walked into my office with her sister the next day after their 4 o’clock class. Now the whole gang was here. Ralphy and Jason had stopped in to see what advances had been made.
“We started by looking up ancient pottery worship and we didn’t get anything useful. We tried ancient religions but, although it was interesting, there was no mention of pottery in any of them,” Veronica said.
“But then, after reading about those old religions we started thinking about cults. Maybe some cult would use the bowl. So we looked into cults and religious groups.”
Monica broke in, “We found several sites about witchcraft and they have many rituals that use sacred items. We think that we should look into this witchcraft stuff more. What do you think, Professor?”
“You ladies might have something. See if you can find out more about the specific items used in their rituals.”
“What about those channelers and psychics? I think that they need some special things for their meetings with ghosts,” Jason said.
“Spirits, not ghosts,” Monica said. She looked at the ceiling in exasperation.
“OK, spirits,” Jason replied. “Are you our new expert on unnatural things?”
Both ladies let the statement go.
“Jason,” I said. “why don’t you look into these mediums and seers and see what else you can come up with?”
“I believe,” Veronica looked at me and nodded, her eyebrows down very low. “The thief has a beaker full of evil and, until we catch him, he will pour his evil all over this campus.” She looked around at all of us seeking affirmation while continuously nodding.
How can you not love this girl?
Chapter 8
First Library Tour
On my way down the corridor, I bumped into the mailman who gave me an armful, mostly catalogs and flyers, mostly for my officemates. I sorted out my stuff and brought it into my office. I sat down and looked through the pile.
There was something from the State of Wisconsin. Wisconsin? What do they want from me? I read the letter… something about my grant was granted and the check is enclosed. I looked at the second sheet which was a check for seven thousand dollars and a check stub. It said pay to the order of Fay Reynolds. But why did they send it to me? Where’s the envelope? Oops. It’s addressed to Ms. Fay Reynolds.
I could hear her in the outer office at the shredding machine. Boy will she be happy when she hears this. I walked up to her at the shredder. She had a whole bundle of grade reports in her lap and she was methodically feeding the machine a handful at a time.
I smiled, “Here.” I gave her the cover letter and the other sheet with the check and stub. She looked at me and added the two papers I just gave her to a half dozen other papers and stuffed them into the shredder.
“No!” I shouted, but it was too late. The shredder did its work on all of the papers that it had just received. Fay looked up. “What?”
“Those papers, they were for you. It was a grant with a check.”
She didn’t move. And then she looked into the shredder, her mouth open in shock. “What did I do? How stupid am I?”
“There, there, Fay,” I patted her shoulder. “I’ll call and tell them it was my fault. I opened the letter and the check got misplaced. Don’t worry. We’ll get you that check.” She still wasn’t moving.
* * *
After lunch, I walked to the library and up to the head librarian’s office. She was in and greeted me like you would greet a reptile.
“Well, Professor Palma, and to what do I owe this visit?”
“I’d like to look around, if I may. Perhaps you could give me a tour. I’ve never really seen the entire library.” I looked at her with my pleading little boy smile. It worked. She reached in her drawer and pulled out a big keyring with dozens of keys on it.
With a disgusted look she said, “Let’s go.”
Beems was hiding something. She seemed embarrassed as we toured the basement.
“We don’t need to go in there,” she said. “It’s only junk storage, things that we haven’t thrown out, but should.”
“Could I see it anyway? You never know where we’ll find something important,” I said.
“I’d let you in but I don’t know where the key is. It isn’t on our regular key system for some reason or another,” she said.
I tried the doorknob, gave it a twist, and pushed. Nothing happened. It didn’t turn. And the door didn’t move. It looked serious, a single thick panel of wood with brown pealing paint.
“I suppose l could look for the key and let you know when I find it,” Ms. Beems said while standing behind me with her hands in her lap, clutching the keyring.
“That would be good. And if you could look for the key for that other door too, that would help.” These were the only two doors that we couldn’t open.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said and looked away.
I made a note to myself to have Jason or, better yet, Ralphy, see if he could talk to one of the student workers and see if he can get into those rooms. I don’t think I’ll hear from Ms. Beems in the near future. I left and went to my office to think, to dream, perhaps to sleep.
Both Jason and Ralphy were waiting for me, talking to Fay in the outer office.
I don’t have Fay to myself. She also works for Bill Neilson and Sandi Rhodes whose offices are, like mine, attached to the outer office. They both teach undergrad psychology. Sandi is newly married to Coach Bob Rhodes which is why she has that stripper-like name. No loving p
arents would name their precious daughter “Sandi Rhodes.”
“I have a project for you, Ralphy,” I said while ushering them into my office.
“What’s up, Professor?” Ralphy asked.
“I need you to use your charms on one of the student workers at the library.”
He grinned. “What do you mean, Professor?”
“Tomorrow, after class, see if you can wend your way into the heart of one of the library workers and have her show you those two rooms that I didn’t see with Beems today. They were in the basement and were numbered L028 and L013.”
“Sounds pretty spooky. Are you sure you’re up to it, Ralphy?” Jason said.
Ralphy just looked at him with a look that said, “What a bonehead.”
Jason grinned back, nodding.
Chapter 9
The Faculty Party
We were in the most elegant room in the school, the President’s Room. Three chandeliers spread their light over the dark paneled walls and the scarlet carpet which turned conversations to murmurs, unintelligible mumbles of people enjoying themselves. This was the room that the administration used for events covered by the press.
The first gathering of the school year, a party where the administration thanks the faculty for their good work last year and welcomes everyone back to a new academic year. It was a reason for all the ladies to get a new dress. Everyone dressed, not tuxes, but nicely, for this evening. Not a pair of cowboy boots could be seen. Free food, free booze, they would have perfect attendance again this year.
I was to meet Landra here, my date for the evening. I wanted to pick her up. The Jag can be very impressive when I shine it up and polish the upholstery but she was having none of it. She said, “I’ll be your date—but I’ll drive my own car,” I agreed because I’ve asked her out several times before and she just flat out said no, not interested. I think she agreed this time because she didn’t want all the other men at the University hitting on her. I was her ticket to a hassle free night.
I remember the first time we went out, last spring, to a wedding of some history professor. Every man, married or not, who had more than two drinks was making a fool of himself over her, asking her where she worked and probably less acceptable things. Fortunately, the groom was able to control himself. Anyway, I’m well pleased that she accepted my invitation. Maybe next year I’ll be promoted to escort and driver. At this rate, we’ll share our first kiss sometime after Mars is colonized—something to look forward to.
“How is your investigation of the bowl coming?” she asked.
“Could be better.”
“Not going well?” she asked.
“I mean I haven’t a clue. Nothing concrete has linked anyone to anything. I feel like I don’t know what direction I’m going.”
She was silent, then, “You’ll find it. I know you will.”
“Maybe,” I answered with my impressively quick wit.
“How could someone reach you? Do they know you’re the man to see? Do you have a website, one where they could contact you anonymously, to tell you some secret about the bowl’s whereabouts?”
“You’re good. That’s a good idea.” I put on my winning smile. “How about we skip this party and go make a web page?”
“You know, Frank, the only reason I came with you tonight is because I feel safe with you. I don’t feel like you are going to be ‘all over me.’” She looked up at me with her man melting green eyes.
“I’m just kidding, you know that. Don’t you?” I said.
“I hope your kidding because I enjoy your wit. You’re not as stupid as most of the men I meet.”
Was that a compliment? Landra Lodge is tall, slim, and, well, perfect. She looks a lot better than the models in Cosmopolitan and Elle. The cut of her short, blonde-streaked hair fit perfectly with her sculpted features. Lips, eyes, ankles—can’t be improved. She’s everyman’s idea of the perfect woman and she affects me like she does the rest of the men at the University, the universe. It’s hard for me to act like James Bond when she’s around. I feel more like Barney Fife.
She works in the Bursar’s Office, something to do with statistics. She taught math somewhere, but moved into administration. I don’t know if she was motivated by money, power or just didn’t like teaching. Landra keeps her cards close to her chest, a place I would like to be close to also.
I met her at a school function when she first arrived and I thought we hit it off rather well. Since then, I have asked her out a few times. I’ve been batting around .300. She says that it’s not me she’s against, it’s men in general. I guess she had a bad marriage or relationship or some serious man problem. Whatever. She’s a smart cookie. I know she has her masters and she might be working toward her doctorate. I don’t know, she never talks about herself. She’s like CIA, or maybe KGB, all my questions are deflected back to me so she ends up knowing all my secrets and I don’t even know what kind of car she drives.
In spite of her psychological baggage, she would be an asset to our team. She has a sharp mind with an encyclopedic memory. When we converse—when I talk—she has a far away look in her green eyes like everything said is being digested, words in their contexts, nuances, concepts, all going into her long term memory to be called up at a second’s notice.
I gave her my most masculine of looks—one eyebrow raised, lips pursed. “Drinky?” I asked.
She gave me her “what a pill look.” “Chablis, if they have it. If not, then any white wine.”
I don’t know why I always say dumb things to her. I guess it’s gallows humor. She’s such a knockout, I think I am trying, subconsciously, to say I’m not intimidated by her, but of course I am. Or maybe I am a bonehead.
I head to the bar. It’s crowded and the snippets of conversation I overhear are about Gallipoli, Marlowe, a border around a Gaussian surface, and String Theory. This ain’t a White Sox game.
I see Larry, my friend the Dean, turning with two hands filled with drinks, he spots me. “Professor Palma, how are you? Are you alone? Or did you bring THE WOMAN?”
“Hi, Larry. Yeah, I brought Landra. And she told me she wanted to get in the back seat of a Miata with you.”
He smiled. “Ever the jester. How’s the bowl investigation coming? Did you find it yet?”
“I wish. I’m at that point where nothing is happening and I feel like I’ll never find it.”
“Keep the faith, buddy. I got to go. I’ll talk with you later.” He went off to find his spouse, staggering under the burden of two glasses and two napkins.
It was my turn to order. “A Chablis and a Beck’s, please.” The bartender was a perky blonde with a friendly smile wearing a tux-like outfit.
“We don’t have Chablis,” she said. “How about a Chardonnay? And, we don’t have Becks. How about a Heineken’s?”
I nodded my acceptance. Wow, two out of two misses. I’m doing as well with the bartender as with Landra.
I put the tip in the jar, took her glass, my bottle with the glass on top, and napkins back to my date. There was a short, round, bald guy that I didn’t recognize talking to her when I arrived. Nice suit.
“Frank, this is John Moody. We work together, although he is much more innovative in his financial estimates than I am.” I handed her the wine.
“That doesn’t mean lying with numbers, does it?” They both gave me a patronizing smile. I poured my Heineken’s into the glass and sipped the rest of the beer out of the bottle which I stuck in my pocket.
“We were just talking about the stolen bowl. John thinks it was an inside job,” Landra said.
“Why is that, John?” I asked. Everyone knows more than the investigators.
“Well, first, it was taken at the ideal time. People were being given performance reviews then. And second, it was taken and not noticed for a week.”
“Only four days, John, not a week.”
“Don’t be so defensive, Frank,” Landra said
, darting a glance at me.
“Another thing,” John said, “is that it was a way to humiliate the school, right before homecoming. It seemed like the person who took it knew all about the politics of the school, and how bad it would be if it wasn’t on display during homecoming. I don’t think that it could have been taken for money because who could buy it?”
“Points well taken. I’ve thought these same things, John. Like minds go down similar paths, eh?” I said.
He smiled at Landra. “I’ve got to go. Nice talking to you, Frank.” He shook my hand. “I’ll see you at work, Monday, Landra. Enjoy yourselves.” He left and entered a throng in the center of the room where I could hear loud talking and see backslapping rampant among the men. The women were better behaved.
Landra wrapped her hands around her napkin covered drink. “There should be more of these. Hastings should have more social events, or concerts, where we could dress up and go out.” She looked up at me giving me the full effect of her green eyes. “We shouldn’t have to go to Chicago for everything. There are a lot of talented people in town and at the university, and there’s so much money around here.” She smiled, like a flower. I don’t think she ever did that before. I luxuriated in the warmth of her smile that was just for me, I think.
“Excuse me.”
“Huh?” I said. I was still blissed out on the smile. I turned a bit and saw a nondescript young man standing almost between Landra and me.
“Hi Landra. How are you?” he said looking not at her but at his hands which held a beer bottle.
“Hello, Herman.” She gave him a slight smile and turned to me. “Frank, this is Herman Walsh. We work together. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Great party, eh? I hear that the caterers are from Chicago. That’s why we have all these fancy little sandwich things.” He held up his little sandwich to demonstrate his point.
This guy was less smooth than I.
“I saw you standing here and I thought I would come over and say hi,” Herman said.
“That was sweet. Thank you, Herman.” She delicately touched his forearm.
“Can I get you a drink, Landra, Professor?”
“Thank you, no,” she said. “We just got one.”
“The game. We should thoroughly trounce them this weekend. The Coyotes haven’t a chance against Brokowski. He’s the best QB we’ve ever had. Even better than Darovic or Byrne. He might be on the injured list this week so they’ll have to start someone else.”