Dancing
With Other People’s Money
Prologue
(Sunday)
Priests, who joined their gods millennia ago, celebrated a ritual on a panorama around the crucible. Shiny, black, shaped like a small serving bowl, it was protected from the twenty-first century by a glass enclosure.
Jennifer stared at the broken case that had held one of the school’s most prized possessions. It hadn’t been touched since the school was founded. “My bowl, Todd! My bowl’s gone. Look! Someone stole my bowl!”
It was so shiny, she remembered, and what were those guys doing on it?
* * *
Jennifer arrived
at the
“You waiting long?” He asked as he put his free arm around her waist.
“No, Hot Toddie,” she said with a big smile, “just got here.”
On the stairs up to the 900’s, Jennifer said, “I don’t understand why there isn’t anything on the Internet?”
“Fifth century BC Athenian economic info is not the stuff of action movies. I mean, who cares? If we didn’t have this paper to do, nobody would ever read that stuff,” he said. She nodded in agreement.
On the second floor, they walked passed light oak display cases housing the pride of the history department. Arrowheads, beaded chest protectors and a tomahawk were near the books on American history. The next set of cases held a massive bronze hinge from an English castle’s drawbridge that shared the bottom shelf with a dagger and gloves of a long dead nobleman. His dark velvet cape, although threadbare, hung regally above it. Against the back wall, at a right angle to these cases, was the school’s small collection of pottery and shards from the Ionian peninsula.
Three comfy chairs complemented a low round table in front of the case, an open skylight was in the high ceiling above. No one used this area and, on warm sunny days like this, birds could be heard through the skylight.
Last Tuesday, a bird flitted in and quickly felt his confinement. He darted out but not before startling them and losing a few feathers, one of which floated down onto Jennifer’s open book—the source of prolonged laughter. Then Jennifer’s smile drooped. “If a feather lands on your hand, it means that bad news is coming.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, I read it
somewhere, something to do with magic or some old
Their books were on the table. Todd was sitting on the edge of his chair looking through his notes on his lap for the exact name of the subject they were here to look up. Jennifer, far back in her soft chair, glanced at the display case against the back wall. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open. “My bowl! My bowl’s gone. Look, Todd, someone stole my bowl!”
Todd jumped up and rushed to the empty display case. Slowly, he touched the edge of the broken glass front. “What do we do?”
Jennifer had her hand on her chest, eyes wide, not breathing, then: “Listen, we’ve got to report this—now! This is serious!” She was standing now, arms akimbo, shaking her head and finally seeing all the little broken glass shards on the carpet.
“OK, OK, you’re right. Let’s go tell someone at the desk downstairs.”
I’m working on a floppy disk drive, trying to
get the Post It out of it. Real funny,
I’d sure like to find the idiot who put it in the library computer. My job’s
fixing the school computers after boneheads screw them up. You’ve got a problem
with floppy discs? Our new computers have CD drives but the older ones sill
have the floppys. In most cases, kids are copying an article, no pictures, just
words so it’s better, and cheaper than burning a disc for one dumb article,
right?
I finished my Sanka and
put the cup on my spiral notebooks next to the computer. That means that I’m in class. If I put the
cup on my keyboard, it means that I am doing some computer work somewhere. It’s
my way of telling people where I am. If it’s in the sink it means that I just
washed it. It’s not a perfect system, it won’t replace words but, you have to
admit that it’s good. Sanka as a tool of communication, another use for the
drink of the gods—and me.
I checked my Zolex. Time to leave for
Criminology, my favorite class. Speaking of the Zolex: 27 bucks and it’s
identical to a Rolex except for the Z and the price.
I left my dorm and headed down the main walk
to Johnson Hall where they have the
sociology and language courses. It’s also where the snack bar is, in the
basement. The main walkway connects
everything, the classrooms to the dorms and the north parking lot. We call it
the “Kennedy” after that expressway in
Braxton U is in the middle of
Walking
across campus is really nice. The leaves are changing. The temperature is not
too hot, not too cold. The girls are still wearing their summer clothes so
there are many great sights on the way to class. I live in Foster Hall, the
coolest of the four dorms.
I just passed the bell tower. It’s three
stories high and red brick like everything else around here, with a big clock
face on all four sides. On special days, they have concerts with the bell
tower. You know, the bells play certain songs, usually old stuff that I never
heard of. Last year, I was in a class with the girl who played the bells. She
called it Caroline for some reason or another and said it was a big privilege
to play it and we were fortunate to have one.
I walked into Johnson Hall and down the
stairs to the snack shop. Johnson is one of the four classroom buildings and
the farthest from the dorms, a two minute walk for me. I saw the LaMonica
sisters sitting on the other side of the room. I just met them this year and
they seemed nice. I joined them.
Monica was wearing her mandatory navy pledge
blazer and Veronica had on a bright red sorority sweatshirt. Monica was
pledging Beta Omicron Delta and Veronica was one of their queen bees. Their
members were known as the “bod girls.”
Interesting that most of them were lookers. There aren’t that many frat
and sorority events; people join them for the cool sweatshirts and something to
put after their names in the yearbook.
“Good morning Monica, good morning
Veronica. How are you today?”
“We’re fine, Bobby, but
the important thing is, how are you after last night’s date?” Monica replied.
“Ya know, I don’t think
I’ve got this dating thing down yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, take this last
night thing for example. See, they were twins.
So I thought that I didn’t want to hurt one of them’s feelings so I
thought it was a normal thing, like you know, I thought everybody did it.”
“Did what?”
“I
thought everyone asked them out.”
“Whatever are you
talking about?” Monica asked.
“I asked them out. I
thought since they were twins, they came as a pair, you know, inseparable? So I
thought I was doing what everyone did with twins and asked them out.
“I wasn’t looking
forward to paying for dinner or the movie, but I was really relishing the
thought of the making out. I kind of was
thinking along the lines of one of those sultan guys with the harem, you know?
Being smothered in kisses by these two girls who shared their looks with each
other.”
“What happened?”
“It started off nice
enough, they did let me buy them dinner and we did go to the movie, me with a
twin on each arm. I thought I had it down.
But they blew me off at the dorm. I got simultaneous hand shakes, one
from each.
“So now I know. You’ve
got to split them, just as if they were individuals.
“But they are individuals, meathead!”
“Ya think? I said, believing that
Veronica probably new more about this
than I.
“Hey, have you started the paper yet?” I
asked Monica.
“No, have you?”
“Yeah, I finished it and I think it came out OK.” From the back of my notebook I pulled out the three typed sheets that were almost neatly folded and delicately placed them on the table.
“What did you write about?”
“ “Well, it’s supposed to be a description of something so I wrote about the Cornfest.”
“Really? Could I read it?” Monica asked.
“Only if you don’t make fun of me. I’m not a hot-shot
journalist like you.”
She picked it up and recited from the paper:
RobertDiedrich
ENGL 201
Professor Clement
Assignment 2
THE CORNFEST
I could smell it from my dorm—sort of cooked leaves and I don’t know what else but it sure smells good. That’s the corn on the grill I’m talking about. It’s good—mom’s cooking good. A half dozen tent covered booths sprouted on main street for the Cornfest, just like this one in front of the bank.
If I could bottle Cornfest atmosphere, it could be sent worldwide as an example of American Life—camraderie, neighbor helping neighbor, food fresh from the field, and hope in ourselves and the future.
Enough about me. Now the town.
Up and down Main Street, people crowded the booths, mostly men and students, all bending over trying not to get butter on their shirts, moms carrying kids jackets flowed toward the park and the beanbag toss, I could hear the Hastings high school band behind Mercle’s Drugs, some of Hastings’ finest were attempting to clear a path down main street accompanied by joking and greeting friends and storekeepers. Lawn chairs were laying on the sidewalk staking out individual watching spots for the parade. The chairs were there since yesterday—no one would think of taking the chair or the space.
A lot of students and kids wore costumes. I don’t want to say that they’re corny but… Some moms had pilgrim hats picked up at Mercle’s—a dollar fifty, they’re paper and looked just like the hat a pilgrim woman would wear except for the Mercle’s, your source for Good Stuff Cheap printed on the brim.
Fortunately, the weather was doing its part to make Cornfest better than last year when the wind blew over all the booths and scattered corn under the parked cars. The gust lasted for only half a minute but the whole festival was knocked down. The corn was alledgedly washed and put back up for sale. Everyone knew that they all weren’t washed so the “broasted corn” sales fell to zero. I got some damaged corn free. The wind also hurt the arts and crafts people so this year most paintings were flat on tables in the tents and not on easels as they were last year. Next year, back to easels?
The people with the saved spots on the sidewalk will have a good view of the parade when everyone gets off the street. The firetruck was there in front of the three police cars. I can’t see the ambulance but I’m sure it’s somewhere. Rumor on the street is that the Braxton Library bought four new books on corn for the celebration and has them on display at the check out counter. No, you can’t take them out—yet. Is there no end to this extravagant school spending?
Now
the camera pulls slowly back into the sky showing
The camera spirals higher in the clear blue exposing miles of harvest criss-crossed with black topped ribbons. A lone yellow car wanders north toward and a beer truck heads into town. I lied, it’s a bread truck.
The buzz that you hear is the plane’s engine, the plane that I’m riding in over this Midwestern town, this town with the school attached: or is it the other way around? The town is a part of the university, the university is the heart and the town is the muscle, the lungs? I don’t know.
When I first arrived last year, all this was new, the stores, the restaurants, the school itself, but now, it’s an old hat, a comfortable place where I don’t only live, but rule. And I got a free plane ride today. Thank you Braxton Uinversity Computer Club for letting me take the pictures today.
“The end,” Monica said. She put down the paper. “I’m impressed, Bobby, I could really see the town.”
“I agree,” Veronica said, “I felt like I was there.”
I said “thank you” as humbly as I could, but it was hard because I did think it was a good paper.
“Well, It’s not due till
next week,” she mumbled, “so I’ll start on it on the weekend. “Life’s so boring that working on the paper
will probably be the most exciting thing happening.”
Little did she know.
“What’s this about a missing something from the library?” I asked Fay as I took off my coat and saw the small pink note on my desk.
Fay continued putting final exams into a gray filing cabinet and said without looking up, “Good morning, Professor. One of the security guys asked me if this was Professor Zygoti’s office. I said yes and he said I should give that note to you as soon as you come in.”
Fay is my girl Friday, if I can use that expression. She does everything for me. Sometimes she’s a little, how could I say it, unfocused? But I like her a lot because she tries to do her best and always thinks of my needs first.
“This looks like it could be something big,” I mumbled under my breath as I pulled out the thin writing board that was on top of my desk drawers. It had the school phone directory taped to its top surface.
“Myrna, this is Zygoti. What’s up? I hear you lost something.” I said when the assistant librarian picked up.
“A bowl? Why not go down to the caf and get another. The breakfast rush is over.
“Oh, a special bowl. Am I in trouble for making light of it? Are we still pals?”
“All right, we’ll get right on it. Goodbye.”
She told me that the bowl was one of the most important pieces in the school’s small collection of antiquities. Myrna also said that it was loved not only because of its age but also because of its beauty—small and precious.
I sat back in my
leather swivel chair and surveyed the wall of books that stood in front of me.
I looked to the right through the leaded glass window that faced Mittler
Auditorium, and saw the yellow leaves fluttering on the big
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I’ve got class and I can’t find my French notes. I’ve got the 402 notes but where are the 312’s?” She mumbled more to herself than to me as she moved her hand around inside her big carry-all bag.
I spun back and looked at my shelves behind my desk, my classy walnut stained shelves. I keep my stuff there, things that I like to look at, art if you will. An MG TC model car is on the shelf at desk height along with a model of a red 1948 Indian Chief motorcycle. Next to it are a skull, a squid suspended in a bottle of clear liquid and a compressor from an under-the-counter refrigerator. The shelf above it has several computer manuals, a ten inch piece of galvanized pipe, threaded on both ends, and a cottage cheese container half-filled with different size screws and nuts. Next to that is a tarnished bugle and a nine volt power supply for a computer printer or CD player or some such gadget, I don’t remember which. An old British SU carburetor and a stack of CDs—Gypsy Kings, Ravel, Muddy Waters, stuff like that—sit on the window sill.
I
really like this place, it’s beautiful, not like
What to do, what to do? I scratched my chin while thinking of the direction that I should take. I heard Fay putting on her coat and gathering her things, getting ready for class. She must have found her notes.
I should talk to Larry, see what he knows. Lawrence Schwartz is the Dean of Students and a person in the loop. Either he made the decisions for the school or was consulted before the decisions were made. I was lucky to have him a fan as of mine.
“Larry, it’s Zygoti. How are you?
“Good. What can you tell me about the theft in the library?”
We talked for several minutes. He told me that it was a very delicate situation. The theft might dissuade donors from contributing to the school’s collections because of the “appearance” of lax security. Also, there were political overtones. Several administrators’ contracts were coming up for renewal shortly and this may affect some careers, what with all of the politics going on in the ivory towers. Homecoming was only a few weeks away and it would be bad PR if something as important as the bowl were not on display at that time.
It looks like the ball is in my hand. I must make things right, and if it takes more than two weeks, some people are going to look mighty bad, maybe even me.
As soon as Fay
came back from class I, asked her to type up invitations and hand deliver them
to some of my students. By
The note said that
we were to meet at a
They all arrived before the appointed time and were sitting there waiting for me. I said, “Please help yourselves to the snacks and there are cups over there on that table for the drinks.”
The two girls got up to get cups and the boys ripped open the bags of chips. The chips were the individual size bags and were on a regulation Formica cafeteria table.
So I said, “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you all together today.” I was standing at the head of the table.” Everyone nodded. “OK, something has happened here, here at Braxton.
“All of you are now taking or have had a criminology course with me. I chose each of you for several reasons. One of them was that you are all interested in a career in law or law enforcement. Another is that you’re all smart. And what I consider the most important reason: I think that you’ll be able to work together. You will be a team.” They all smiled self-consciously.
“This task will take away from your study time and your social lives. I don’t know how long this will take but I need a commitment from you. This is a criminal investigation and it will be a paid job, $8 per hour, just like working in the cafeteria. You will be paid for twenty hours a week, the maximum that the school allows a full time student to work. Most weeks, you will be working more than that. Please don’t consider this investigation for the money. I put in for a budget to pay you so you won’t have other jobs competing for your time. This will be good practical experience for you. You will be doing the same work a detective would do on a case.
“I’m going to leave to make a phone call for a minute. While I’m gone, think about what I said. When I get back, I’ll answer any questions you have and then if you want to do this job, you’ll sign an agreement.” I left.
They all stopped talking when they saw me reenter the room. “OK, I’m ready. Any questions. Yes? Ms. LaMonica.”
“Yes, I’d like to know if we would be working regular hours every day?”
“No, we’ll work when we need to. If you have a test or a paper due, you can be excused. But, don’t forget to tell me first. You see, we’ll be a team and every one should be able to count on everyone else. Yes? Mr. Diedrich.”
“What are we going to investigate? What’s the job?”
“It’s a burglary of school property. I can’t say anymore until we have all of the questions answered and those of you who want to do this have signed up. I don’t believe that the person who did this is violent so I’m not expecting this to be dangerous.”
“I’m working at the post office now.” Ralphy Diedrich continued, “Can I continue working there while working on this investigation?”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to quit that job in order to work with us. This investigation will take considerable time and effort so if you have any other activities that you’re involved with, I suggest that you put them on hold during the investigation.”
OK? Next question. Mr. Driscoll?”
“Are we going to work five hours a day or ten hours a day? Will we work on weekends? And, will we have to get up early?”
“The answer to all those questions is yes. I don’t know what is going to happen. Sometimes we will be waiting for something—lab results, something in the mail, someone getting back to us with some information. Then everybody does their regular work. And then sometimes we are all needed right now. We work when we need to, just like the police. Only with us, we will only have this one investigation. Yes? Mr. Schultz.”
“I was wondering. What if you don’t feel comfortable doing this? I mean I know it could be good experience but I’ve got other things to do also. Like my studies and I go home every weekend.”
“If you don’t feel comfortable doing this then that’s OK. We only want you on the team if you want to be on the team.
“Any other questions? All right then. Who would like to give this a try? Who would like to be on our team? Raise your hands please.”
Two boys got up and left. The rest raised their hands looking around with smiles on their faces. I passed around an employment application/waiver of lien form which they all began studiously filling out, consulting wallets and purses for personal information that was not committed to memory.
Five minutes later everyone was finished and looking at me for directions. I collected the forms and said, “This is about the theft in the library last Sunday. Has anyone heard about it?” They all raised their hands. “OK, we will discuss that in a minute, but first I would like you to introduce yourselves to your team members. Tell us your name and what you think that you will get out of this investigation. Who wants to go first? Yes, Mr. Diedrich?”
“First, call me Ralphy, everybody does.” He was chewing gum while he talked.
“I think that I’ll see if this is the type of work that I want to do. I mean I think it is but maybe it isn’t like what I am expecting. It would be bad if I spent four years here and a lot of money and found out that this is not the job for me. So I want to see what law enforcement officers really do.”
“That’s good, Ralphy. Who’s next? Miss LaMonica, Veronica?”
“Well, I’m Veronica. I’m a junior and this is my sister Monica. She’s only a sophomore. We talked it over and we want to do this to meet people, and to learn more about the school, the different offices and the secret nooks and crannies. And,” she said as an afterthought, “to learn more about criminology.”
“Good. Bobby, Mr. Malloy?”
“I’d like to know more about the technical aspects of investigating. You know, the finding of evidence and testing it in the lab. Will we do that Professor Z?”
“I don’t know. Most detectives in most cases don’t have the luxury of using a lab. Because of budgets and backlogs, even if the lab is in a detective’s district, the chances are not good that the lab can be used for everyday cases. If we’re lucky we’ll be able to use the lab. We will be the only people looking at this crime scene for evidence. This isn’t like television where a dozen people in lab coats are seriously examining everything at the crime scene.”
“And I guess I’ll have to quit my job at the library. I fix the computers there.” Bobby said.
“Yes,” I replied, “but only temporarily. This should be finished up in a couple of weeks.”
“Before Homecoming?
“I sure hope so.” I said. “Yes, Veronica, a question?”
“Yes, why aren’t the police doing this? Aren’t we covering up a crime?”
“No, were not covering up a crime. The police have been notified of the theft as has the insurance company. This is a valuable object that has been taken and it is insured.
“After a meeting
of ‘The Powers that Be,’ it was decided that this issue could be resolved with
the least amount of disruptions if it were done in house, so to speak. A police report has been filed but since
“I worked at MAW, that’s what we called it, ‘Maw,’ several years ago as an investigator so they know me. They hired me to investigate this incident.”
“Question!”
“Yes, Ralphy.”
“Well, why the eight dollars? I mean, if the insurance company is paying you, they aren’t paying eight dollars an hour. That’s a big company with lots of bucks. Aren’t we poor students getting short-changed by the man?”
“Normally, I would do this alone. You have been brought into this for experience in an actual investigation. This will be beneficial to you and will be good on your resumes.
“There are several
of you, each on the payroll, and there are expenses; this adds up. These expenses aren’t only for things like fingerprint
powder, but they are for more practical items like copying and
transportation. If we have to
investigate off-campus, the costs mount very quickly. For example, if we had to travel to
“And food, we usually will meet at a restaurant so we can be spending $70 dollars for just a half hour meeting that we’ll be doing almost everyday. That is one of the perks of the job—free food.
“This whole cost issue is something that you will have to understand if you are self-employed or working for a company. You’ll always have a budget for your investigation, expenses that someone must pay.
“Any more questions? OK, after I leave here, I’m going to work out a plan and things for you to do.
“I’ll see you all at the Bar Bar at seven tonight. Oh yeah, another thing, I’m going to write a letter that says that you’re working for me. You can use it to show people that you have a right to inquire about this theft. I should have it ready for pick up tomorrow morning. So come in and pick them up from Fay at my office.” If they don’t know Fay already, they’ll meet her tomorrow.
* * *
The meeting at the Bar Bar was short—just to give everyone their assignments. I thought over what the kids did best. Ralphy was the most outgoing and oldest so he’ll be our interviewer. Bobby was a technogeek, he loved computers and repairing anything. He’ll be our technical consultant, and the LaMonicas will be our researchers, digging around for anything that relates to the case. I told Bobby to go as soon as the library opened tomorrow and check the crime scene for any evidence. I wasn’t expecting much since the bowl was probably taken several days ago and dozens of students have been in that area since. I told them that we would meet tomorrow for lunch at the Bar Bar and discuss what we had found. They left with Bobby telling the LaMonicas how he was going to impress everyone on campus with his cool new job. Did he really know what he was expected to do?
I watched the sun go down while having my twentieth Sanka.
These
Day begins with the light seeping into the sky. At Braxton U, the sun is first seen on the roof of Bellerman Hall, at least from my room it is. A slight illumination (good word eh?) and then this ball of light creeps over the roof’s ridge and into view of all in Foster Hall.
Sunset uses the trees beyond the pond. It aims for the tree tops along side the highway which is the western border of the campus and then filters through these trees dimming the whole campus and then, when it is totally under the treetops, we get some color, red, bright red usually, unless it’s Friday. Why is that? I don’t know. Am I a chemistry major or something? Wait, I should know that. I should know everything. After all, I am almost a Criminal Lab Technician!
“Hi guys, what’s going on?” Ralphy Diedrich said as he pulled up a chair. ”Can I have some, Professor?” he said to me as he put one of the tortilla chips into the melted cheese dip before I could answer. He was the last one to arrive.
“Bobby was just telling us what he found at the library. Please go on, Bobby.” I said.
“There really wasn’t much to see. I dusted for prints and found smudges. It wasn’t that the guy was being careful or anything. It was that so many people touched the glass that there was nothing useful on it.” Bobby grabbed a handful of chips and stuffed them into his mouth as soon as he finished speaking.
“Did you dust the inside of the glass? You know, behind the broken piece. He might have touched there and it would only be the thief’s prints because the back of the glass is not available to the public,” I said.
“I checked that, too, and came up negative. There really wasn’t anything there except the broken case and the missing bowl. We’ve got nothing to work with here.” Bobby added.
“What about fiber evidence?” I asked.
“I vacuumed in front of the case and there was so much there because it was a public area that I couldn’t tell what was left by our villain. I also checked inside the case and there was nothing. So I drew a blank on that. Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. You did good.” I said, trying to cheer him up.
“Do you think anything else was taken?” Veronica said. “Maybe some other items were taken but nothing was broken, you know? Maybe they got into other cases and didn’t have to break them. Maybe they took some books.” Monica nodded in agreement.
“Good point, Veronica.” I said.
“The library had one of their guys go through and check everything out and they found nothing else was missing.” Bobby said.
“One of their guys?” Ralphy said disgustedly, “Their guys are freshman jocks. They couldn’t find a bull in a bathroom with a searchlight.”
“Searchlight?” Bobbie asked.
“You get my drift.” Ralphy replied.
I thought for a minute. “After we break up, Ralphy, go to the librarian, either Ms. Beems or Ms. March, and ask to have one of the permanent staff, not a student, go with you through the collections and make sure that everything is OK. Better yet, have the person in charge of the collections go with you.
“Monica, you and Veronica go to the library and get the names of those who were working on Sunday. You’ll have to interview them. Ask them if they noticed anyone suspicious or anyone who acted strange.
“OK,” Monica replied.
“Did everybody pick up their ‘letter of transit’ from the office?” They all nodded.
“OK, next thing is the phones.” I gave each of them a cell phone and charger. “These will help us keep in touch. Always have this with you and keep it turned on. I don’t want to hear anyone say, ‘Oh, if only I had my phone.’” They nodded.
“Please notice the speed dial feature. Number 7 is setup for a conference call. After you press the speed dial button and 7, it dials all of our phones. So, if I hit 7, it dials Bobby, Monica, Ralphy, and Veronica. Then I can talk to all of you at once. Another use is if someone is in danger. The chances that all of us would be unavailable at the same time would be pretty slim so someone should pick up. Put it on the charger when you go to bed. But be sure to always take it with you and always keep it on.
“Any questions?” They all shook their heads no. “All right. Ralphy, get back to me after you’re done at the library. The rest of you, I’ll see tomorrow.”
They filed out playing with their new toy and left me alone with the bill for their mid-morning snack The bill wasn’t too much and even if it was, it’s being paid for by MAW. I put MAW money on top of it and walked toward our waitress. The bill felt funny, it was like two sheets thick. I turned it over and saw the yellow post-it that was stuck on the back. There was a small drawing of a dagger with drops of blood dripping from it. It was done in red ink and looked like it was hastily done, not an art major I’m sure. Who could have put it here, and why? What did this mean for our group? Should I tell them? I pondered this question as I marched back to my office in Fogal Hall.
* * *
“Security was lax on the bowl since it was in that same place for such a long time and nothing happened.” Ralphy said. I was just about to leave the office for dinner when he popped in. He was standing in front of my desk “The person in charge of the collections is Wydra Beems.”
Wydra Beems,
everybody knows Wydra Beems, I mused.
She’s been around the school since before Arizona was a state, first as
a student, then as an administrator, as library staff, and finally as head
librarian. She is wiry and fast for a
person who dated
“Anyhow,” Ralphy
continued, “the archive’s in the basement of the library and that’s where the
majority of Braxton’s collections are.
It’s one of those places that most people don’t know about. She said that the school has over 1,300 pieces
in its permanent collection and it’s her job to keep track of it all. They are
loaned to other schools and museums or are studied by students here in history,
archeology, or sociology classes. Either
the students come to the archives, which she told me she hates, or the object
is signed out by the teacher and brought to the class, which she also hates.”
Ralphy said while fidgeting with the small carburetor that adorns my desk. “And another thing, 1,300 objects? What, historic corn? ‘And here is corn grown by
I nodded in agreement. Thirteen hundred what in our library basement? “Well, what about the day in question? Was she there?” I asked returning to our main topic.
“It was a Sunday so she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there on Saturday either. She was there on Friday but she said she doesn’t remember the last time that she saw the bowl. She said she rarely goes up there because her office is on the first floor. She also works a lot in the basement— she calls it ‘the archives.’” He made quotation marks with his fingers. “It’s still the basement to me.”
“When you get your advanced degree, it’ll be the archives to you too.” I said. “So, when was it taken? It could have been taken a week ago, two weeks ago. How do we know?”
“We know that it wasn’t taken before Wednesday night because that’s when the cleaning people came. They would have noticed the broken glass and mentioned it to someone.”
“Yeah, that sounds reasonable.” I said, “but let’s check with them to make sure. I’ll call them tomorrow.”
I got up and
followed Bobby out the door, locking it behind me. I walked to the lot and got in my car. It started without a fuss. It’s been doing that lately. It is an XJS
Jaguar that I love even though its reliability wears my nerves
thin. I’ve replaced everything that
could prevent the car from starting with good old American parts (made in
My place is in
town, Hastings, a few minutes from the campus.
In the mornings I pick up hordes of students who are trying to get a
ride to school. On the five minute ride
home, I try to get the fine arts music station from
I parked in the garage next to my apartment and walked to the front of the building, up the squeaky stairs to the second floor. I unlocked the door, hit the lights in the living room and set the mail on the coffee table. I went through the dining room down the hallway to the kitchen and into my big bedroom. I threw my coat on the bed and went back to the kitchen to listen to my messages—nothing. Tonight, supper will be penne with tomato and basil and a salad. The pasta and sauce come in a box, frozen and the salad, well, I make that. Sounds healthy but I’ll make up for it tomorrow.
What should I do about that note? I took it out of my pocket, where I stuffed it in the restaurant. Looking back, I should have preserved it like a piece of evidence which it very well might be. The drawing was on a yellow post-it, the most common size, about three by three. The lines were drawn too long or too short, not connecting. The drops of blood (what else could it be) were all of different size and they weren’t falling straight down from the blade. Either the artist was not very good or he was hurried in his drawing—maybe both.
Should I tell my student investigators about this? Would this scare them? If I didn’t tell them, would that be dishonest of me, keeping from them an important fact of the case or possibly, a potential for harm to them? What is best for the investigation? What is best for them?
Homecoming is something I always dread. You know, it’s like New Year’s Eve. You must have a date. And that ain’t easy what with my classes and working with Professor Z. I set my cup of Sanka on the table.
I sort of asked the LaMonicas but they both politely said, “Bobby, we don’t want anything to spoil the friendship that we share.” I mean, what are friends for if you can’t use them, right? Especially in a social situation like this.
I tried the twins, each as an individual this time, and they didn’t mention friendship. They, like in the public service announcement against drugs, “just said no.”
I’ve had my eye out for Mary Alice. She’s in my English class and she is prime. So I talked to Ralphy because he knows her a little. I said, “Ralphie, go find out if she has a date for homecoming. Kind of sneak it in so she won’t know that you’re spying for me, OK?” And he says, “Yeah, sure.” So he takes my cell phone right there and dials her up. Then he does some small talk like, “How are you?” and, “How are classes?” Then he says, “Do you have a date for homecoming?” and I can’t hear her answer. Then he nods his head and says, “Sure, OK. Bobby wants to talk to you.” Then he hands the phone to me and says, “She already has a date. Here, talk to her.” And he hands the phone to me. And I freeze up. Ralphy walks out of the room as if nothing happened and I just look at the phone, my palms wet. I looked at it and didn’t know what to say so I clicked it off and fell into a chair. Needless to say, I cut English all that week. I’m still afraid to look at her, the beautiful Mary Alice.
So, homecoming will be pretty bleak for me, unless… Is there some place where I could rent a girl—rent a date? Is that against the law? I should check into that.
Anyway, Professor Lloyd Fisker-Muesson laid a bomb on all of the Braxton community including the High-and-Mighty Administrators with his appraisal of our stolen bowl. He was here because of the insurance claim. The insurance company, Mutual Assurance of Wisconsin, had him fly out to give a current appraisal of the stolen bowl. After viewing pix of the bowl, he said that it isn’t from the Greek mainland but from one of the islands, Thera to be exact. Couldn’t he have done this from the comfort of his fax and computer? I don’t understand the ways of big business.
It was a big shock to everyone since Professor Blake was such a hot-shot and this goes against his original findings. Does this mean that he bought it instead of digging it out of the ground? Does this mean that there’s going to be a scandal? Good thing he’s not here any more. He’s probably a hundred by now.
The History and
Archeology departments have called a big meeting to decide what to do—to
proclaim the bowl
In spite of this shocking news, he—Professor Fisker-Muesson—was still escorted around campus with an entourage of half a dozen of the power people, fawning over him as if he were all the Rolling Stones rolled into one super Stone.
I’m really hopping today, along with the LaMonicas. Professor Z has us scouring the net for anything about Thera and its pottery. My classes and this investigation are cutting into the time that I should use for getting a homecoming date.
So far, we’ve
checked the library and found that Thera is a small island in a group of islands off of the Greek coast.
Because of a volcanic eruption around 1500BC, it was inhabited by only a
handful of hardy folks. It is now called the
So, you could say
that our little bowl is not what we thought it to be but an artifact from—you
guessed it—the mythical
The good professor based his findings on the clothing, or lack of, on the figures decorating the bowl. He also said that it was common in Thera to only decorate the outside of the bowl since their pottery was not for decoration but for daily use.
I told all this stuff to Professor Z last night. That was when we were still friends.
I had never been at Bobby’s place before. He asked me to come over because, “all the gang would be there.” I left my office, walked down the two flights of stairs and out onto the walkway in front of Fogel Hall. Although it was already dark, the temperature wasn’t bad. I felt warm in my dark green trench coat with its fuzzy liner. The trip to his place wasn’t far. I went down the Kennedy and turned left toward the dorms. His was the closest building. All the dorms are red brick, three stories high, with a gabled roof. The white trimmed entrance has a flat roof supported by two columns which minimally protects those saying a long goodnight from the Midwestern elements—the standard Midwestern college building. I opened one of the double doors, walked past the mailboxes, and up the stairs to the third floor. His room was in the back facing the quad, a small common area between the four dorms. All of the back rooms had balconies. In the warm months this was luxury living. After a lengthy internal discussion, I decided not to tell them about the note with the dagger. It might have been a joke in poor taste. Or if not that, it could give them a feeling of danger where, I believe, it doesn’t exist. I hope that this decision is not proven wrong.
“Professor Z, welcome to my humble abode,” Bobby said while bowing and stepping aside so I could come into the living room. His place wasn’t really a room, it was more a suite. There was a living room with a counter and sink in one corner and bedrooms on the left and right sides of the room. Eight people shared one of these suites, two in each bedroom. It looked liked someone’s mother was about to arrive, the place was immaculate—for boys—no litter on the floor, no dishes in the sink, and it didn’t smell bad. I guess Bobby spent his afternoon cleaning up the place. “It looks great, Bobby, and you really keep it clean.” I said as I patted him on the back. He hemmed and hawed for a moment and then said, “Well, I did pick up some stuff around here today, but thanks Professor.”
The artwork was limited to posters of rock and roll legends: Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, and the Beach Boys (The Beach Boys?). All of the other furnishings were supplied by the school, the three chairs (wooden arms and green upholstered seats) and the sofa (wooden arms and green upholstered seats) and the two end tables with lamps (yes, a green shade) and the coffee table. What color was the rug you ask? It was green, like the rest, forest green. It didn’t look bad, it looked cheap but it didn’t look bad. The perfect furnishings for an educational setting. I could get smart here.
The LaMonicas and Ralphy were there, snacking on chips and cokes. I’m sure if I wasn’t invited they’d all be having beers.
“First, I talked to the cleaning people,” I said to my cast of assembled investigators-in-training. “They said that they didn’t see any glass when they cleaned on Wednesday night so it was taken after they cleaned and before our students found it missing on Sunday. That’s as close as we can be to the time it was taken.
“How are we going to find this guy? Why did he do this? Is he going to fence this art object or will he keep it for his own reasons?” I asked.
Monica raised her hand and said, “I think he’s evil and did this to cause trouble for the school, Professor Z.”
“What makes you think that, Monica?” I said.
“Because you can’t sell it. It’s too rare to sell. Anyone who would buy something like that would know that it was stolen from here. So all he could accomplish is to make the school look bad.”
“Does that mean that we can expect other thefts to occur?” I asked.
“Yeah, I would say that’s a reasonable conclusion.” Ralphy said. “We should warn people.” He was wearing a frown most frequently seen on Sherlock Holmes in the middle of a case.
I wrote on my legal size note pad evil, and on the next line, will happen again.
“I think what Monica was hinting at was… What, Bobby?”
“Motive.”
“That’s right. Motive. When we find out the why, then we can make up a list of who—suspects, the people who would gain from the crime.
“Besides trying to make the school look bad, what are some other reasons for the theft? Yes, Bobby?”
“A crazy collector who must have this bowl for his collection.”
“Money.” Ralphy said.
“Good. Any other reasons, Guys, Ladies?” I asked. “What about some off-the-wall reasons? Maybe this guy is a kook, some nut case, or just some strange bird.”
“How about patriotism?” Veronica asked.
“What do you mean, V?” Ralphy asked.
“Maybe this guy’s ancestors come from that island…”
“Thera?” Bobby said.
“Yeah, and he feels that we have stolen it from his people.” Veronica said.
“Or maybe,” Ralphy said, “this guy just did it for the thrill. You know, the guy’s really dull and he thinks that this will make him a man.”
“Or,” Monica said, “maybe he did it for the media. Something he did is talked about in the news.”
“This doesn’t have to be a guy who did this, a woman could have done it.” Veronica said.
“That’s right, it could have been a woman. Anything else? Anything else to add?” I said as I finished writing down their suggestions.
“Usually the motive is money. That’s the reason for most theft.” I said. “Why wouldn’t it be the reason for this crime?”
“I think that it would be too hard to sell—too easy to track.” Ralphy said. I mean there are other things around campus that could easily be taken and easily sold.” Ralphy said.
“Like what?” Bobby asked.
“Well, like computers for instance.” Ralphy said.
“Yeah but they’re big, bulky, not easy to sneak around.” Bobby said.
“OK then laptops.” Ralphy countered. “There’re worth more and easier to hide. Maybe software disks or papers in the offices or maybe there’s cash in some buildings, like the cafeteria and the Bursar’s Office. And the bookstore, there’s no security there, you could take anything.”
“You’re probably right, Ralphy.” Bobby said.
“How can we find out what the true motive is of this guy?” I asked the room. “What information do we need and where can we get it? You know that if we have the motive nailed down then we’ll be able to name some suspects and get this show on the road.”
“But, until we
have the name,” Ralphy added, “let us to
refer to the thief as The Evil One.”
“I like that.” Bobby said.
“ Me too.” Said Ralphy.
Veronica said, “Wait, why do you always say it’s a guy? Women commit crimes too!”
“That’s right Veronica, but the greatest majority of crimes are committed by men.” I said. “Men are more violent, aggressive, and just more psychologically suited to crime.
“Have we covered all the bases? Are there any reasons for the theft that we haven’t listed?”
“What
about hate?” Ralphy said. “You know, someone hates Thera or
“Or, what about religion. Someone thinks that we are desecrating the bowl by having it displayed in the library. Maybe they think it should be in a church somewhere.” Bobby said.
I broke in. “ Some mystery author I read said that all crimes are done for money or love. How could this be a crime of love?”
Nothing for a minute and then Veronica said, “Well, it could have been a gift… to someone’s love. Something that she always said that she admired.”
“Or,” Monica said, “it could be that someone loved the bowl so much that they had to have it.”
“How could someone love a bowl?” Ralphy said. “I mean a bowl?”
“I love Monet paintings. I wouldn’t steal one, but I would love to own one.” Monica said. “It’s just like that.”
“OK, I think I get it,” he said.
I banged my pencil on my notepad. “Now, how are we going to find out which one on our list is the right one?”
“Maybe some evidence at the crime scene can help us.” Bobby said. “But what?”
“I don’t think we got anything useful from the crime scene itself.” I said. “It was contaminated by all of 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
“The crime scene can’t help us much; so what can we use is the 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 Z. 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,” Bobby said.
“What do you mean, Bobby?” Veronica asked.
“I mean maybe it was needed to complete a collection or something like that.” Bobby 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!” Bobby said.
“Pottery worship? Good Bobby.” 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 Z.” 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 after their last class. Now the whole gang was here. Ralphy and Bobby had stopped in to see what advances we have 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.” Bobby said.
“Spirits, not ghosts.” Monica said.
“OK, spirits.” Bobby replied. “Are you our new expert on unnatural things?”
The ladies let the statement go.
“Bobby,” 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 very seriously, “the thief has a beaker of evil and, until we catch him, he will pour his evil all over this campus.” She looked around at all of us while nodding again.
How can you not love this girl?
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. There was something from the State of
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 Zygoti, and to what do I owe this visit?”
Beems was hiding something. She seemed embarrassed during my tour of the library 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 any way. 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 panel 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 some papers.
“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.
I made a note to myself to have Bobby 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.
Both Bobby 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 parents 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 Z?” Ralphy asked.
“I need you to use your charms on one of the student workers at the library.”
“What do you mean, Professor?”
“Tomorrow, after classes, 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?” Bobby said.
Ralphy just looked at him with a look that said, “What a bonehead.”
Bobby grinned back.
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 there, 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.”
“You mean it’s not going well?” She asked.
“I mean I haven’t a clue. It’s been almost two weeks now and 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.”
“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 fits 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 know what kind of car she
drives.
In spite of her physical and 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 seconds 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 Cubs game.
I see Larry, my friend the Dean, turning with two hands filled with drinks, he spots me. “Professor Z, 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 Becks, 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 Heinekens?”
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 Heinekens 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, darted 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.
“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.
“Hello, Herman.” She gave him a slight smile and turned to me. “Frank, this is Herman Walsh. We work together in the Bursar’s Office. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Great party, eh? I hear that the caterers are from
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 patted his sleeve.
“Can I get you a drink, Landra, Professor?”
“No thanks,” 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 that Schwartz. And Groden, even if he could throw, he’s on the injured list this week so they’ll have to start someone else.”
Landra and I nodded in agreement. I was worried that he would ask my opinion of some team or player and I don’t know anything. OK, I do know that he’s talking about football.
Herman spent a few more minutes discussing the Bears’ chance this year and then eased into the Bulls. Finally, he noticed that we weren’t contributing to the discussion. With his head down, he said that he was going to get another drink and were we sure that we didn’t want one. We indicated that we were full up.
“He’s a nice boy.” Landra said after he left. “Let’s see what’s to eat.”
By the time we sampled the canapés and finished our second drink, the room was emptying. We walked through the lot to her car in silence. She looked at me and said, “Thank you, Frank. It was a nice evening.” She squeezed my hand and then got in her car. She started the car, looked at me and waved. I watched her drive down the tree lined road to the highway.
I don’t know what got into me. I thought that if I went there now, no one would be there and I could find out something useful. I had the keys for the front door that I got from ___ so I was able to get to step 1. I’m sorry I can’t name the person who gave me the keys since this would violate my ethics, the Bobby Malone Code of Professional Ethics.
I glanced around when I put the key in the lock. I shouldn’t have done that. The correct thing to do would be to walk up the steps and stick the key in the lock like you were supposed to be in the building and you were late. But, I’m learning and I have to admit I’m nervous.
As you would expect, it was dark inside. There were a few lights on but if I was a burglar, which I almost am, these few lights would not showcase the evil that I was perpetrating on the library.
Next to the elevator was the stairs. I opened the door and tried the lock to see if I closed the door, would I be locked in the stairwell. OK, it wasn’t locked. If Professor Z found out that I was doing this extra-legal action, he would say, “Bobby, who told you to break into the school library? What were you thinking?” That is, unless I found something that was of value. Actually, even then he would kill me. He is a stickler for ethics and for setting a good example for us.
Down the stairs I went. Slowly because the lights were so dim that I could easily trip and make a noise that would alert any evil-doers that were in the area. The air felt dry and warm like a boiler room of an apartment building.
At the bottom of the stairs, I heard sounds, like humming or singing—something human—it wasn’t a machine or the creaking of the building. I went left, toward the sound. There was a light on in a room at the end of the corridor which lit the path for me. There was no other illumination. The sound was louder as I got closer. I pressed myself against the wall next to the open door and sneaked a look into the room.
I can’t believe what I saw! Wait till I tell Zygoti! At the end of this forty foot square storage room were about eight or nine people in a circle, holding hands. They were all naked. Naked as the day they were born. There were two men and the rest were female. They all looked ready for retirement. Droop and flap are the words that I would use to describe the scene. Pretty or beauty was not here tonight. If I wasn’t such a horny perv I would have quietly ran from my spot next to the door, but the opportunity to see our zany librarian was too much. They were singing or chanting something in a foreign tongue or they were saying something backwards. I can’t believe it! Our Ms. Beems, naked as a jay bouncing up and down, holding hands with the two men and prancing around a big candle that must have been a half a foot in diameter and twice as tall. The candle was in a bowl. A bowl colored like the missing one only much larger, large enough to accommodate the candle. They stopped now. They turned to their partners, the person on their left, held both of their hands and very chastely kissed on the lips. Then they looked like athletes after an event. Coming down, unreeling from the experience. It looked like they were through and were getting ready to leave.
With the utmost care, I slowly moved backwards, away from the door. I stopped. Someone was behind me and was pushing a board into my back. I raised my hands in surrender and carefully turned around to see my captor. I just about passed out from relief. What happened was I backed into a partially open door. I looked around to see if those in the room had heard me. Did I make a noise? I don’t know. I tip toed backwards down the corridor to the stairs. Yes, I could have probably learned more if I stayed around longer and observed but, let’s face it, I’m chicken, a pussycat at best.
Who were those people with Beems and what were they doing down there? Wait till I tell the gang!