Authors: Clea Simon
‘Dulcie!’ Mouth half open, she looked up and quickly shut it, wiping at the streak of sauce with the back of her hand. Stacia, whose even tan was probably never augmented by hot sauce, was standing right beside her.
‘Lup?’ It was the best Dulcie could manage, as she choked down her mouthful. ‘What brings you here?’
‘The three-bean burgers, of course!’ As luck would have it, the bearded professor type at the next stool stood up, taking his check over to Lala’s register, and Stacia slid into the empty seat. ‘Especially when Lala is at the grill.’
Dulcie took a smaller, more ladylike nibble and chewed carefully while Stacia ordered. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’ Was all her turf going to be invaded?
But the smile Stacia gave back was wide, warm – and apparently natural. ‘Best thing about summer school. Well, that and getting to help out at the legal clinic.’
And spend time with Luke? Dulcie took a sip of her Diet Coke as she digested the thought. But something – and she didn’t think it was Lala’s hot sauce – wasn’t sitting right. It wasn’t the pickle’s fault either, it was her own thoughts. What had Mr Grey said about the same forces functioning in different worlds? If Stacia had been a beleaguered noblewoman, Dulcie wouldn’t be the jealous Demetria, would she? The thought was enough to put her off her food.
‘Luke mentioned something about you working there.’ That sounded possessive, like she was marking her territory. Swallowing, she tried again. ‘It sounds like you’re really helping out.’ Dulcie did her best to give the compliment with a smile.
‘Oh, I don’t know that much.’ Stacia had the grace to look abashed, staring down at the napkin and silverware that had appeared on the counter before her. ‘I’m just grateful that they’re willing to let a summer student sit in.’
‘Oh come on!’ Dulcie was warming to her theme. ‘Luke says you’re the computer mastermind down there.’
Stacia was shaking her head as she took her plate from the counter woman. ‘Oh, I wish! I’d be doing a lot better in my classes if that were the case.’ She took a gratifyingly large bite out of her own burger.
‘Luke really has been raving about your expertise.’ Dulcie dragged a fry through the small pool of hot sauce and popped it into her mouth. ‘In fact, he was suggesting I ask you to look at my laptop.’
‘Your laptop?’ Stacia dabbed at her own lips. How did she get her lipstick to stay on? ‘I think he’s just being kind to me. You know, because I’ve been taking care of Alana and all.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Dulcie reached for her wallet and noticed that her cell was buzzing. With all the bustle in the little luncheonette, she hadn’t heard it. She flipped the phone open: Cambridge Police Department. ‘Do you mind?’
Stacia waved her hand, her mouth too full to talk. Maybe she was human after all.
‘Hello, Dulcie Schwartz.’ She could hear the nerves in her voice.
‘Ms Schwartz, this is Officer Ron Pipkin in Property. You lost a laptop?’
‘My laptop was
stolen
.’ Dulcie didn’t dare hope.
‘Well, we’ve found it. You can come pick it up anytime. But we’d like to talk with you when you do. Do you know where we’re located?’
‘Uh-huh.’ She listened as the officer gave her directions anyway, and hung up, feeling completely restored.
‘They found my laptop!’ She bounced off her seat. ‘I’m off to get it now! And I’ve got to call Suze.’
‘That’s great, I guess.’ Stacia looked happy for her, if confused, and Dulcie realized she hadn’t told her what had happened. ‘Who’s Sooz?’
‘My old room-mate; I sent her everything as backup just last week, thank God! So I’ve got to call her and get her to send it all back right away.’ Her earlier enthusiasm welled back up. ‘You wouldn’t believe what I’m on to!’
‘Oh?’ Stacia took another bite, waiting. But it was such a long story.
‘I can explain it some other time. Anyway, I’ve got to run.’ Dulcie flung her bag over her shoulder. ‘See you around!’
Stacia raised her hand in a half wave. She still looked confused, though it could have been the hot sauce. It did tend to build up. Or maybe, thought Dulcie, the pretty brunette just wasn’t that sharp after all.
Fifteen minutes later, Dulcie was bounding up the stairs of police headquarters. The mix of inspiration, good food, and an insight into the vulnerability of a rival had combined to lift her mood still further. ‘Sure, she’s pretty. But she’s human. And Luke’s a thinker . . . Oh, excuse me! I’m looking for Officer Pipkin?’
The woman at the desk just nodded and pointed off to the right.
‘Hi! I’m Dulcie Schwartz!’ Dulcie swung the Property door open in a grand entrance. The three men who looked up didn’t seem impressed. But one, who had been standing by a file cabinet, motioned for her to approach.
‘Ms Schwartz. I’m Officer Pipkin. Would you have a seat?’
Probably forms to fill out, Dulcie thought, sliding into an empty plastic chair.
‘You called the police yesterday evening? To report a break-in?’
‘Yes, yes, I did.’ He sat down at his desk, the deep grooves around his mouth weighing down his drooping lips.
He probably looks like a hound no matter what his mood, Dulcie thought.
‘Did you catch someone? Is that how you got my laptop back?’
He leaned back. ‘Ms Schwartz, you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I’m aware of the murder of your room-mate, and the circumstances surrounding that investigation.’
‘Circumstances? If you mean finding Tim, well, yes, that was pretty awful.’ They couldn’t still consider her a suspect for Tim’s murder, could they? She’d never been called back in. ‘In fact, my neighbor and I were wondering if the break-in was connected. Like, the murderers had come back for something—’
‘Ms Schwartz.’ Hangdog or not, Pipkin’s voice had a certain authority, particularly when he was interrupting her. ‘We’re prepared to be lenient here. We’re not entirely without human feelings, you know. I myself have a daughter of approximately your age.’
‘Yes?’ This seemed to be leading somewhere.
‘But if you persist in your story, there will be consequences. We are not prepared to take false reports lightly. The waste of resources, of manpower, of a major metropolitan police squad—’
‘Wait a minute.’ It was Dulcie’s turn to interrupt. This dog-faced fellow was accusing her of . . . what? ‘Do you think I faked the robbery? Stole my own laptop?’
‘The door hadn’t been forced, and the one so-called missing item, your laptop, was found during a follow-up visit, right behind your building.’ Pipkin reached back for a clipboard. ‘Yes, under your own window, behind some foundation planting. In a black plastic bag much like the ones you have in your own kitchen cabinet.’ He checked the board again. ‘In the bottom drawer, next to the refrigerator.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ Dulcie stood up. ‘This is
crazy
! Next, you’ll be saying I stabbed Tim.’
Dogface raised his heavy eyebrows. The rest of his face remained unmoved. ‘Do you have something you want to tell us, Ms Schwartz?’
‘No. Not what you’re asking, anyway. I didn’t kill my room-mate. I didn’t like him, but I’m not a murderer.’ Why was she explaining herself? Perhaps there was something about that sad, long face. ‘And I didn’t fake that break-in. Why would I do that? Smash my own window? No, never mind.’ He’d looked like he was about to speak. ‘Can I just get my laptop back?’
‘Well, there’s a complication.’ Pipkin picked through some other papers. ‘You see, if you persist in your claim, then we’ll have to hang on to it for a while longer. Check it for evidence, and all that.’
‘Fine!’ Dulcie had grabbed her bag. She was ready to put all this craziness behind her.
‘We’re going to have to let the forensic techs go over it as well. It looks like someone tried to wipe it clean, but that won’t bother our guys.’ Pipkin kept his eyes on his papers, but Dulcie felt sure he wanted her to listen. ‘After all, we are coordinating with the university. They’re very interested in any suspicious computers.’
‘
Suspicious
? It’s my computer! It’s got all my work on it. Personal stuff and photos, too.’ Dulcie knew she was shouting; she couldn’t help it.
‘Well, then, maybe it’s just as well that we’re going to have it for a while.’ Pipkin looked up at her, his large brown eyes staring into her own. ‘If it’s here, then you know it will be safe.’
Twenty-Seven
When her cell rang again, Dulcie was tempted to throw it at a tree. She’d stormed out of the brick building, infuriated. How could they? The entire interview – all twenty minutes of it – had been strangely humiliating. It wasn’t just that they wouldn’t give Dulcie her own computer back. It was that sad sack’s attitude: he was acting like she was a child. Deranged. Like she was a
hysterical female
! God, two hundred plus years, and nothing had changed.
Still, the number was vaguely familiar and when she answered, she was relieved to hear a friendly voice.
‘Hey, Dulcie, what’s up?’
Luke appreciated some smarts in a woman, right? ‘Hi, Luke. I’ve just had an . . . odd experience.’ Standing in the sunlight, it all seemed too crazy to explain.
‘You don’t lead a settled life, do you?’ Before she could protest, he continued. ‘But would you want to tell me about it over dinner? I owe you one.’
Before she really knew what she was doing, Dulcie found herself agreeing to be picked up at eight. If she could shake off the encounter with Cambridge’s finest, she thought, she might enjoy herself. And if she could reach Suze before then, she could tell her about the germ of a thesis idea – and also get some feedback on what she should wear.
‘Suze? Bother. Well, life continues to be interesting.’ Back in her own apartment, Dulcie found herself facing the boarded window and fuming. How
dare
the cops think she had done that to her own place? How dare they accuse her of faking it? ‘Call me.’ Suze’s voicemail wasn’t satisfying and Dulcie’s immediate urge – to give more detail in an email – was stymied by the realization, once again, that her trusty laptop was gone.
‘At least, it’s not
gone
gone.’ Dulcie heard her own command of the language disappearing. ‘I mean, I’ll get it back at some point.’
With several hours to kill, she could be reading. But she needed to vent. It was
her
computer! Didn’t they get that?
‘Hey, Chris.’ He’d cared enough to help out, hadn’t he? And she ought to update him, anyway. ‘I don’t know if I’m going to need that loaner.’ Wasn’t anyone at home? ‘The cops found my laptop. They’re holding it – long story – but I think I’ll get it back soon. Anyway, uh, thanks for being there.’
She was about to hang up when she heard someone pick up. ‘Dulcie?’ So he was home after all. ‘I just got in. So you’ve got your laptop back?’
Dulcie sighed. She’d said it all in the message. But he’d been so generous. ‘Well, I’m going to.’ She settled back on to the sofa. ‘And maybe soon I’ll actually need it again.’ She just couldn’t resist. ‘I think I finally have my thesis topic.’
‘Oh?’ His voice rose in a question. ‘I thought Trista said you’d taken your comprehensives together. Isn’t she already into hers?’
‘She’s ahead of me – in every sense.’ For once, Dulcie could say that and not feel the grip of fear. ‘My concentration is about a century before hers, and until today I wasn’t sure what to write about. But I think I’m going to be focusing on this one book – well,
part
of a book – from the late 1700s,
The Ravages of Umbria
.’
Chris made an interested noise, and Dulcie warmed to her topic. ‘Novel serialization began pretty early in the eighteenth century,’ she began. ‘Newspapers carried them, and printers made cheap copies, printing out a bunch of pages at a time as little chapbooks. It made books affordable and really popular – but not very durable. So we don’t know if most of
The
Ravages
is lost, or just never got written. But I think I found something today.’ She quickly related the plot – what there was of it – and her theory. ‘You could say, these books were more or less about the readers, about seemingly ordinary women who go through amazing trials of their personal character and convictions. So making jealousy a motive might not be too far-fetched.’
‘Fascinating.’ He seemed to mull over what she’d said, and when he responded it wasn’t what she expected. ‘It must be difficult,’ his voice sounded thoughtful, ‘to be championing something based on emotions in our era of logic.’
‘Spoken like a computer sciences guy!’ He meant well, she knew it. But she couldn’t resist the tease.
‘No, really.’ He pushed on. ‘I mean, Harvard is all about logic, about proof. This place can make it very hard to trust your instincts, to trust yourself.’
‘Well . . .’ she began, pausing to think about it. Was this era any different than two hundred-odd years ago, when the books were written? ‘Things haven’t changed that much. Even back in the 1780s, some of the authors tried to pass their novels off as real. They were always framed as “true” stories. Some of the authors even made up elaborate fake documents to back them up.’
‘No wonder the critics hated them.’ Chris was chuckling now. ‘And no wonder you stick up for them.’
That caught her attention. ‘What?’
‘Well, it sounds like being a grad student. I mean, we’re involved in uncovering truth. And we spend half our lives checking documentation. But, really, isn’t being a grad student kind of romantic – pursuing knowledge for its own sake? Isn’t that the ultimate expression of humanity? Dreaming the impossible dream, and all that?’
‘That’s Cervantes. He was Spanish. But some do say that
Don Quixote
was the first novel—’
‘OK, OK!’ He was laughing outright. ‘Excuse a computer nerd’s ignorance. But go on – if you have a theory you must have an idea about the ending, right?’
‘These books always turn out the same way.’ She sighed; it was all so predictable. ‘The villain is uncovered and punished, the heroine triumphs and finds true love. Pretty conventional, really.’
‘So, what’s the problem?’
Did Chris actually care? In a way, it didn’t matter. Dulcie knew she had to talk this out. ‘Well, if my theory holds, I know who the villain is.’ That part still sounded good to her. ‘But, I don’t know
why
really.’ There; she’d hit the crux of it. ‘I love the whole idea that the author hid Demetria’s villainy in a stereotype, sort of like linguistic camouflage. In so many ways it makes sense with the text. But then it just starts to fall apart. If Demetria is the villain, why isn’t she wealthy? Why is she still hanging around her victim? She doesn’t seem to profit from her evil deeds.’