The Perfect Coed (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

Jake greeted her with open arms, as he’d promised. His words of welcome were less comforting. “You look like hell,” he said. “What happened?”

She pulled herself from his arms, avoiding looking at him. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s just been a long day.”

“The memorial service?” he asked.

Well, it wasn’t a lie. It was just another instance where she wasn’t telling the whole truth. “Yeah,” she said. “That upset me.”

His arms went around her again. “You meant well, Susan. I never doubted that. It’s just… well, you hadn’t met the parents, and I had. I should have warned you. Come on, I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

She didn’t tell him she’d already had bourbon. That drink seemed long ago and far away, and he might have scolded her for riding the moped after she’d had a drink. By now, Susan had decided she wanted a comforting evening, not one spoiled by the news of the gift at her door.

He poured her a glass of Chardonnay and opened a Shiner Bock for himself. Watching him prepare their dinner, Susan realized he was as efficient in his own kitchen as he was in hers, chopping lettuce for the sandwiches, slicing tomatoes and onions into the thinnest of pieces.

Jake grilled on the Jenn-Air, preferring it, he said, to an outdoor grill. Susan sat at the kitchen table while he cooked the hamburgers, his medium well and hers rare.

“What’s your news?” she asked.

“I got reports from Jordan today about his interviews with Missy Jackson’s parents and with the boyfriend, Eric Lindler. Which do you want to hear first?”

“The boyfriend,” Susan said unhesitatingly, her attention perking up quickly.
Even if he doesn’t own a small, dark car, maybe something came out of that.

“He’s Mister Squeaky-Clean, like I told you before. Was in the library studying the night of the murder…”

“Who saw him?” Susan asked sharply.

Jake laughed. “What’re you? The master detective? Jordan will check that out. But he says the boy is so obviously grieving and so obviously Mr. College America that he’s not a suspect. He had no reason to kill her.”

Susan stood up impatiently. “Great! The person closest to her is not a suspect, and yet I am, just because her body was found in my car! And because I didn’t think she was perfect, like everyone else does!” She thought for a minute. “How do we know that she didn’t break off the relationship, or that she wasn’t two-timing him… or that something hadn’t happened between them?” As an afterthought, she added, “I assume she wasn’t pregnant.”

Jake shook his head. “No, she wasn’t. First thing I asked too. And we don’t know for sure about what was between them, but we’ll keep digging. Lindler showed Jordan the engagement ring he had planned to give her at homecoming.”

“How touching,” Susan said sarcastically. “It doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her.”

He shrugged. “Makes it unlikely.”

“Okay. What about the parents?” She was getting snappish, and she knew it. Maybe food would help. Meantime she poured another glass of wine for herself and saw Jake grin ever so slightly as he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“Nothing much,” he said, turning quickly back to the hamburgers. “She was a wonderful child, the daughter every parent should have, and so on, everything they said to me, except…”

“Except what?” Susan interrupted impatiently.

“They said she paid all her expenses—clothes, meals outside the dorm, that kind of stuff—from her work-study job.”

“What kind of work-study job lets a kid earn that much?” Susan asked.

“She didn’t have one,” Jake said. “I checked.”

Susan didn’t say it aloud to Jake, who would have forbidden her, but she needed to talk to the Lindler boy.

She couldn’t bring up the kitten now.

The hamburgers were delicious and the wine plentiful enough that Susan fell asleep as soon as she hit the bed.

“Great,” Jake muttered, “I’ve wanted you to stay over here for a long time, and look what you do when it finally happens. You fall asleep!”

She woke around two, when the wine wore off, and reached for Jake, stroking his chest. He neither grumbled nor pushed her away, but he did ask, “Are you sure this isn’t just a ploy to talk about some aspect of the murder that just occurred to you?”

“It might be,” she said. “I…” Suddenly she sat straight up. “When I got home today, someone had left a dead kitten in a shoebox at my door.”

“What?” Jake had been nibbling her ear and now came close to biting it off in his surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me hours ago?”

She shrugged. “At first I couldn’t wait to tell you, and then I just wanted to get away from it and forget it. But, Jake, I… I can’t go back there and dispose of it.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll do that, Susan. But why, who? I don’t understand it at all.”

“There was a note—I wore rubber gloves when I looked at it and put it back in the box with the cat. It said pretty much what the other one did, only something about not ruining other lives.”

He shook his head. “Rubber gloves just make it worse—you blur whatever prints are on there. They’re not the same as evidence gloves. But never mind. It makes no sense, no sense at all. Somebody out there is warped. So warped that I’m scared for you. It’s someone who wants you dead.”

“Maybe,” she said, “they just want me scared to death. I locked the house before I left.” She was glad now she hadn’t told him about the small, dark car that scared her on her ride out to his house. She had to be able to separate real threats from imaginary ones.

“Swell,” he said. “You’re not to be alone in that house again. I’m glad your aunt is coming.”

“Some protection she’d be,” Susan said. “Wait till you meet her.”

“At least you won’t be alone. And until then, I’m staying with you.”

She shrugged, relieved but too proud to tell him. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him. He lay down, pulling her next to him. “Sleep now, Susan, you’re safe. I promise you that.”

* * *

In the morning, they had to get up early so Susan could ride the moped home and change clothes.

“I’ll have to follow you in the truck,” Jake said. “You’re not going in that house alone.”

Morning always made her feel brave. “Nothing will happen,” she said. “I’m going alone. You come along when you can and dispose of that box for me, okay?” It was what she had to do to keep from being a prisoner of fear.

“I can’t dispose of it. I’ll take it to Jordan.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Swell, he’ll think I put it there myself.”

“Susan, Susan, he’s a law enforcement officer. Surely he’ll see the pattern here, the danger.”

“Don’t count on it,” she said bitterly.

“Wait till I take a quick shower, and I’ll follow you home,” he said.

Susan sneaked out while Jake was in the shower. To her surprise, she enjoyed the ride home. There was little traffic, nothing to scare her, and the breeze blew through her hair and made her thankful for the sunglasses she wore even though the sun was barely up.

At her house, nothing had changed. The box still sat pushed to one side, the door was still locked. Feeling almost normal, she took a shower, dressed, and roared off on the moped—a quiet roar.

Chapter Five

Friday morning, Susan dropped her books on her desk and headed not for the lounge but for the registrar’s office in the administration building.

“Hi, Dr. Hogan!” The young black girl behind the counter greeted her enthusiastically, and Susan remembered that she’d been in her women’s lit class last year—the same class Missy Jackson had been in. Jamie had been interested in Toni Morrison’s work.

“Tina, how are you?”

“Doin’ just fine, thank you. I’ll graduate in June.”

“June? A year ahead of time?” Susan was truly impressed, and Tina beamed with pride.

“Yes, ma’am. I went to summer school two summers.”

“You should be proud,” Susan said, reaching to touch the girl’s arm. “Most kids take five years to get out of school, and you’ll have done it in three.”

“I am proud,” Tina said, “and so’s my family. What can I do for you this morning, Dr. Hogan?”

Susan slid a piece of paper toward the girl with the name “Eric Lindler” written on it. “Can you give me his schedule?”

Jamie lowered her eyes. “You know I can’t do that. It’s against the privacy laws. Dr. Hogan, I’d do anything I could for you, but I can’t risk my job.”

“No, no, Jamie. I wouldn’t want you to do that. Sorry I asked.” Susan had known it was against the law but hoped she’d run into some student who didn’t know that. “I’ll find him some other way,” she said.

“He’s Missy Jackson’s boyfriend,” Tina said. “You really think you should be talking to him?”

Startled, Susan said, “Why shouldn’t I?”

The girl shrugged. “Police might not like it. I mean, it’s none of my business, Dr. Hogan, but, aren’t you more mixed up in this already than you should be?”

“Yeah, Jamie, I am,” she said as she left the office.

She couldn’t call Jake. He could probably find out the boy’s schedule, but he would forbid her to talk to him. Besides, he was probably furious at her now for sneaking out of the house. Discouraged already at eight-thirty, Susan went back to her office.

Jake called almost the minute she got in the door. “That wasn’t funny, Susan. Dammit, how can a person protect you when you’re so goddamned stubborn?”

“I’m sorry,” she said and really meant it. “But, Jake, I can’t have a bodyguard every minute—even if he is the most handsome man in Oak Grove and the best lover and—”

“Cut it out, Susan. I’m serious.”

“So am I. Jake, I watched to see that I wasn’t followed”—she didn’t say that she didn’t know what she’d have done if someone followed her—“and I checked out the house carefully before I went in.”

“I’m going to get you a gun,” he said.

“I’m scared of guns.”

“I don’t care. You’ll have to take a class and after that, you won’t be scared.”

“I don’t have time to take a class,” she protested.

“You’ll make time,” he said, his voice grim. “This morning I’ll send someone over to take that cat to Jordan.”

“It deserves to be buried, Jake, not thrown into a Dumpster. Jordan doesn’t need the box and the cat—he just needs the note.”

“He needs to see the whole thing. Then, by God, I’ll bury it. But Susan, you try a man’s patience.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

She longed for coffee but was reluctant to face the lounge. While she contemplated that dilemma, Ellen appeared at her door.

“You need coffee,” she said, and there was no question in her voice. Ellen had apparently decided to go casual this day too, for she wore denim pants and a denim shirt, a concho belt looped below her waist—very southwestern looking. Her hair was in a ponytail—well, not in the teenage style but one of those that sat low at the neck.

“Yeah,” Susan said, “I do.”

“If I go get you some and bring it back here, will you listen to something weird that happened to me?”

“Sure.” Susan’s attention perked up a bit. Something weird happening to someone else would be a relief.

Ellen was back in minutes. “You could have gone yourself. Place is deserted. Ever since the, ah, the murder, no one seems to hang out at the department lounge.”

“It’s because they don’t want to meet me,” Susan said.

“Oh, go feel sorry for yourself, why don’t you?”

It was enough to startle Susan. “Okay, what weird happened to you?”

“Well, yesterday, I just couldn’t face the faculty center—okay, okay, I feel the same way you do, I just usually don’t admit it. Anyway, I went to the cafeteria in the Union, got my salad, and decided to eat it right there. Found a table in the corner and thought it was great. I’d eat in peaceful solitude, even in the midst of all those noisy students.”

“Sounds good,” Susan said. “So what’s weird?”

“Well, I’m sitting there, and this guy comes up and says, ‘You really remind me of someone.’ I wanted to say, ‘Listen, sonny, that’s the oldest line in the world and you’re ten years too young.’”

“He couldn’t tell that by looking at you,” Susan said.

“Is that a slap because I dress like the kids?” Ellen was just the least bit indignant.

Susan laughed a little. “No, it’s an honest compliment. Nobody will mistake me for twenty-one ever again.”

“You laughed,” Ellen whispered. “I’m glad I’m telling you this story.” Then her voice grew stronger again. “Anyway, he sat down without so much as a ‘May I?’ or ‘Do you mind?’”

“Did he have food?”

She shook her head. “No. It was like he was looking around the cafeteria, seeing who he could spot. But wait till you hear what he said.”

Somewhere in the back of Susan’s brain a warning bell was going off. “Okay, what did he say?” She leaned her elbows on the desk and, face propped in her hands, stared at Ellen.

“He said, ‘Want to make some extra money after class? I’ll give you my card.’”

“He offered you a job? Doing what?”

“We never got that far,” Ellen admitted. “I was so astounded I just said, ‘No, thanks.’” Ellen gestured as she spoke, her eyes sometimes growing wide with the puzzle of the story she was telling. “I told him, ‘I’m a teacher,’ and he bolted.”

“You should have taken the card,” Susan said.

Ellen nodded. “I suppose so, but I was so taken back…”

Susan felt herself falling into a detective mode. “What did he look like? Was he a, what do they call them? Not older, but nontraditional student?”

Ellen shook her head. “I don’t know all ten-thousand students on this campus, but I swear I’ve never seen him before. He had red hair—that kind of real bright red that there’s no suspicion it’s anything but natural. And it, well, it held to his head in waves, like it had been marcelled.”

“What the hell is marcelled?” Susan asked.

Ellen rolled her eyes. “You know, those waves they used to create with a special machine. My grandmother had her hair marcelled.”

“Aunt Jenny just has hers permed,” Susan said. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“You would if you saw it,” Ellen said. “And his waves were natural. Nobody marcells hair anymore.”

“Thank heaven,” Susan said, and they both laughed. Susan thought Ellen was right—it was good to laugh again.