PH.D IN MURDER
A Cozy Mystery Short
By R. Barri Flowers
Cover Image Copyright 2013 by Bekki Schwartz
Used under license from https://www.shutterstock.com
PH.D IN MURDER is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
OTHER BOOKS BY R. BARRI FLOWERS
FICTION
Before He Kills Again (A Veronica Vasquez Thriller)
Dark Streets of Whitechapel (A Jack the Ripper Mystery)
Dead in the Rose City (A Dean Drake Mystery)
Forever Sweethearts (A Love Story)
Justice Served (A Barkley and Parker Mystery)
Killer in The Woods (A Psychological Thriller)
Murder in Honolulu (A Skye Delaney Mystery)
Murder in Maui (A Leila Kahana Mystery)
Persuasive Evidence (A Jordan La Fontaine Legal Thriller)
Seduced to Kill in Kauai (An Exotic Thriller)
State's Evidence (A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller)
TEEN FICTION
Christmas Wishes: Laura's Story (A Young Adult Holiday Fantasy)
Count Dracula's Teenage Daughter (A Transylvanica High Novel)
Danger in Time (A Young Adult Time Travel Mystery)
Ghost Girl in Shadow Bay (A Young Adult Haunted House Mystery)
TRUE CRIME
Mass Murder in the Sky: The Bombing of Flight 629 (historical short)
Masters of True Crime
Murder at the Pencil Factory: The Killing of Mary Phagan 100 Years Later (historical short)
Murders in the United States
Serial Killer Couples: Bonded by Sexual Depravity, Abduction, & Murder
The Pickaxe Killers: Karla Faye Tucker & Daniel Garrett (true crime short)
The Sex Slave Murders: The True Story of Serial Killers Gerald & Charlene Gallego
* * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Ph.D in Murder
Kill and Say Goodbye – Bonus Short Story
Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery – Bonus Excerpt
About the Author
PH.D IN MURDER
"I think that's a marvelous idea, Madsen," Elliot Arness said with a mouthful of blueberry pancakes.
"You do?" I asked, raising a skeptical brow.
"Of course. Anyone interested in the dark side of American history would find the notion intriguing."
Elliot was my current beau and a history professor at Everly University in Pearl's Village, Oregon. On the side, he wrote western novels. Like me, Elliot was happily divorced, in his early thirties, and glad to have someone he could bounce ideas off.
In this case, as a doctoral student in criminology, it was my idea to do as an independent study a reenactment of the real life, well-known, and still unsolved murder of Marilyn Sheppard. She had been found beaten to death in bed on the morning of July 4, 1954. Her husband, Dr. Samuel Sheppard, was the fall guy, first convicted of the murder; then after the conviction was overturned, acquitted in a second trial. All along, Dr. Sheppard insisted that a "bushy-haired intruder" was the true culprit, though it was never proven.
I doubted I could improve much on what two TV series and a movie of the same name, The Fugitive, tried to do in pointing toward a killer and/or collaborators. But I thought it would be fun and enlightening to stage a recreation of the murder based on Sam Sheppard's perspective that someone else had gotten away with cold-blooded murder. The fact it would move me a step closer to my PhD didn't hurt matters any either.
Nor did having the support of Elliot.
"Well, I sure hope my advisor agrees to it."
"I don't see why he wouldn't." Elliot dabbed a napkin at the corner of his mouth. "Like most professors, Harrison loves to see students show initiative over and beyond the norm. Trust me, he'll pat you on the back for this one."
I didn't think that would be necessary, but felt a bit more confident about my meeting with Professor Harrison Tucker that afternoon.
"Well, as long as he doesn't expect me to actually solve the mystery."
Elliot flashed a half smile. "I doubt that. But if anyone could, it would be you, given your amazing sense of timing and intuition."
I chuckled. "You give me far more credit than I deserve. Lending my two cents in solving real homicides is something the local authorities would surely have little use for. I'd rather spend my free time walking on the beach, reading, or having fun with you."
"The fun with me part sounds good," he said.
"Yeah, I thought it would."
That said, the best laid plans did not always go my way or his. Fortunately, staging a cold case for credits toward my degree didn't seem like it would step on any toes.
I looked at Elliot's handsome face and gave him a sexy smile. "So what are you going to do today on your day off?"
"Oh, I'll write a couple chapters of my latest book, jog a few miles, and hope I can return the favor of breakfast by making you dinner at my place tonight."
"That's a great idea! Consider it a date."
What seemed to make things work between Elliot and me for the past six months was that we lived apart and got together when we chose to. Unlike with my ex-husband, Ray, who proved to be way too clingy for me to deal with, leading to the inevitable breakup. There were also major trust issues in our marriage.
But the prospects for a long-term relationship with Elliot seemed very promising at the moment.
* * *
I parked my Subaru Outback in the student lot and began to walk across campus on a somewhat blustery spring day.
Everly University made up the lion's share of Pearl's Village, which was located on the coast, some ninety miles or so from Portland. The campus was filled with beautiful red and white dogwood trees, numerous flowering shrubs, and Ponderosa pines. Bicycle paths bordered meandering walkways that led to buildings rich in architecture and history.
I'd grown up in Pearl's Village with parents who were professors, and I attended Everly as an undergraduate. I returned two years ago after my divorce hoping to get back to my roots. Unfortunately, around the same time, my parents decided retirement sounded better in Hawaii, leaving me to start fresh on my own. I accepted the challenge, for better or worse.
Before meeting with Professor Tucker, I decided to head over to the library for some advance research. Admittedly, I knew few details on the Marilyn Sheppard murder insofar as the police investigation, evidence gathered, and the actual scene of the crime.
I wondered what initially led them to conclude that Sam Sheppard killed his wife. And why had the bushy-haired intruder been given such little credence before and after Dr. Sheppard's acquittal?
I gathered up several books on the subject and took them to the front desk to check out.
The pretty young library clerk seemed to study each title as she passed them under the scanner.
"You must really be into true crime cases," she said.
"Just one case right now," I told her.
"I prefer fiction. That way nobody really gets hurt."
"That's one way to look at it."
She stacked my books on top of one another neatly as if for display, sliding them toward me. "I guess most true crime books are pretty fictionalized, so you really never know the truth about what happened."
I smiled. "The way I understand it, true crime books aren't meant to be taken literally word for word. The focus is to present the actual facts of the case as accurately as possible and leave the rest u
p to the reader's imagination."
I wasn't sure I believed my own words, knowing some true crime writers were far more interested in glamorizing and dramatizing a crime than being true to it.
I stuffed the books in my bag and said goodbye to the girl before walking toward the stairs. Before I could reach them, I saw someone coming at me from the corner of my eye.
"Madsen Vensetta! I thought that was you."
I turned and saw Professor Glenn Fenkell from the Theater Department. He was in his forties, tall, lean, and easy on the eyes. I'd taken his course on theater production and scriptwriting last semester.
"Hi, Professor Fenkell."
He nodded at my overstuffed bag. "Looks like you've been busy."
"Yes, you could say that." I noted he was holding a single volume of Shakespeare. "But I think what you're reading is even more powerful."
Glenn shrugged. "While I wouldn't say if you've read one book by Shakespeare, you've read them all, they can start to lose some steam after a while."
"I've never found that to be the case."
"Well, maybe you would if you had to teach this stuff to students who don't really care about Shakespeare's genius."
I doubted I would ever put his theory to the test, as my doctorate studies had me focusing more on criminal theory and psychology.
"I've gotta go."
"Same here," he said. "See you around."
I watched briefly as he walked to the checkout desk. The girl was all smiles as Glenn handed her the book. When she spotted me looking, a scowl replaced the smile.
Guess she's into older men, I thought. And not into women who aren't minding their own business.
I didn't think Glenn would be anything more than flattered, knowing he was married to a fellow professor, and by all accounts happily so, though I'd never had the pleasure of meeting her.
I left well enough alone and again moved toward the stairs when a striking, red-haired woman whisked past me without casting a glance and raced up to them. Then she stopped as if lost and looked around till zeroing in on Glenn, who was still chatting amicably with the girl at the counter.
Glenn turned to face her. Since I knew he didn't have eyes in the back of his head, I suspected the girl had tipped him off.
The wife, I assumed.
Glenn took a few steps toward her, and the two seemed to have a heated exchange, though I couldn't quite make out what they were saying.
I decided to quit while I was ahead and get out of there.
* * *
I walked to Benson Hall, where the Criminology Department was located on the fourth floor.
Professor Harrison Tucker was in his sixties with fine white hair. He was sitting at his desk, seemingly deep in thought when I knocked on the open door.
"Hope I didn't come at a bad time."
He looked up, quickly shook off his reverie, and stood. "Not at all, Madsen. I've been expecting you. Come in."
I took a seat across from his desk as he sat back down.
"So let's hear about this proposal you have for your independent study," he said eagerly.
I gathered myself, wanting to appear knowledgeable enough about the subject so it wouldn't seem I was in over my head.
"I'd like to recreate the murder of Marilyn Sheppard."
"Sounds like an intriguing project. Tell me more."
I did, laying out my vision, which included getting volunteer actors to play the parts, having a killer other than the victim's husband, and videotaping the reenactment.
"That's about the size of it," I finished.
"You should do it," Professor Tucker said without prelude. "It'll be interesting to see how things work out."
"I agree." I was feeling optimistic now.
"So, will you be on the lookout for a one-armed man?"
I smiled. "Only if I were recreating the TV series. As far as I'm aware, no such man existed in the real case."
"Ah, I see you've done your homework going in. Nice work. I'd say you've gotten off to a good start."
I agreed, but still had plenty more to do. And the way he kept looking at his watch, I assumed Professor Tucker also had better things to do than talk to me.
"Where did you plan to get your cast?"
"The Theater Department." I figured Glenn Fenkell could help me find some actors who were looking for a short but juicy role.
Professor Tucker removed his glasses. "I suggest you try the theater company on Biltmore Street. The actors are older, more experienced, and always looking to hone their skills till their big break comes along."
I cocked a brow. "I didn't know you were so into the local theater scene." As though I would have known such.
"I'm not really," he said almost apologetically. "Because they are a nonprofit group, I contribute to help keep them afloat, along with some other local organizations."
So you have a vested interest in finding the actors work, even if you're not getting paid, I thought.
"I see. Well, I'd be happy to check it out and tell them you recommended their services."
He nodded and rose. "Keep me posted on your progress."
"I will."
* * *
That evening, I went to Elliot's house for dinner. He lived on the other side of campus from my condo.
Elliot proved to be quite the chef, one of many reasons I liked him. He'd prepared breaded pork chops with sautéed onions, rice pilaf, and a salad.
"So where's this reenactment going to take place?" Elliot asked.
"I plan to rent a house for a month, assuming that's the minimum time they would allow. I'd like to find a setting reasonably similar to the one where Marilyn Sheppard died."
"I have a friend who's renting out his house for a year while teaching in Stockholm. Last I knew, it was still unoccupied. It might be just what you're looking for, if you're not too picky. I could give him a call if you're interested. I'm sure the rental agency that's handling the property wouldn't make a fuss about a one month rental if Parker agrees."
"Yes, please call him," I said, anxious to get started. "I'm sure it will work."
"Will do. And if there's anything you need for authenticity let me know."
I smiled, forgetting for a moment that Elliot was not only a history professor but a history buff. I wasn't, but did want some sense of historical accuracy for my reenactment.
* * *
The Biltmore Theater Company was located in a one-time warehouse. A production was underway when I went in. I immediately recognized the actress in a period costume and heavy makeup as the woman who had approached Glenn at the library yesterday. I presumed it was his wife.
I also recognized the young woman who suddenly burst into theatrics as the girl at the library from whom I checked out my books.
One big happy family.
A tall, dark-haired man in his thirties approached me. "Can I help you?"
"I hope so. My name's Madsen Vensetta. I'm a doctoral student at Everly and—"
"Say no more," he cut me off. "Harrison Tucker said you might drop by. I'm Jason Weiss, the director of this stage show."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Weiss."
"Same here, Ms. Vensetta." We shook hands. "I understand you're looking for a few good men and women to volunteer their services for your school project."
"Actually, I just need one woman and two men. And I can probably pay a small amount for their services."
"Don't worry about that. Harrison's already taken care of it."
I wasn't sure how to interpret that. Apparently, other than being my advisor and independent study professor, Harrison Tucker was putting his money where his mouth was. Something told me there was a bit more to it than goodwill. Maybe he would seek payment from me in the form of grading the papers of his undergrad students.
Or maybe he just wanted me to deliver one hell of a true crime revisit.
"Could I talk to some of the actors about it?"
"Sure." Jason suddenly yelled, "Stop everyone!"
r /> They did, right on cue.
"This is Ms. Vensetta—"
"Madsen," I said, preferring not to be too formal.
"Madsen has plans to reenact a famous murder case for her independent study. She's looking for a woman and two men to volunteer. Any takers?"
I thought Harrison had already taken care of it. Or was his contribution being misdirected?
"I'll do it." The striking woman from the library stepped off the stage and walked up to me. "I'm Camelia Fenkell."
"You must be Professor Fenkell's wife," I said while thinking she would be a suitable Marilyn Sheppard.
Her hazel eyes narrowed slightly. "You know Glenn?"
"Not very well. I took his course last semester. We ran into each other at the library yesterday. Then I saw you there and put two and two together."
"Well, it's nice to know at least one student acquainted with my husband actually has a brain."
I grinned at her obvious dig toward some of his younger female students. "I'd like to think I have a working brain inside my head."
A soft smile played on her lips. "Are you the Madsen who Elliot Arness is dating?"
I reacted with the same surprise she had that I knew Glenn. "Yes, I am. How do you and Elliot know each other?" I was merely curious and hoped it didn't come across as jealously. Aside from trusting Elliot, Camelia was married, even if Glenn appeared to have a wandering eye.
"We both work in the History Department," Camelia said innocuously. "He's mentioned you from time to time."
"I see." I felt flattered that Elliot thought enough of what we had to mention me by name to his colleagues. Another sign that things were headed in the right direction in our relationship.
"Anyone else interested?" Jason asked, intruding upon my thoughts.
"Yeah, I'm in," said a man in his forties with thick salt and pepper hair. He came over to me. "My name's Victor Hawthorn, but everyone calls me Vic."
"Then Vic it is." I shook his hand.
I looked to my left and saw a man approaching who hadn't been on stage and wasn't in costume.
"I'll give it a go."
"Uh, I don't think you're exactly what she had in mind," Jason said with a snicker. "She's looking for actors."
"So I'm just a lowly production assistant," he spat sarcastically. "Every great actor has to begin somewhere. I'm game, unless you have someone better and more expensive in mind."