predicament mildly amusing.
“No, not exactly. But as I am her sponsor, so to speak, having encouraged her cross-appointment with the museum, I am dismayed by her failure to appear before the committee.”
“Did you call the police?” asked Morgan.
“I was about to when you arrived, unsummoned.”
“You’d have to call the OPP. It’s provincial jurisdiction.”
“Morgan, it’s only been a day. She could have been out for a walk when Professor Birbalsingh called, or in the bath, or simply not answering the phone. Try again, Professor. Let’s give it another day. You call us tomorrow, if she hasn’t turned up. We’ll look into it. I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure Dr. Hubbard is in her own capable hands. She’ll look after herself.”
“Was there something else that brought you all this way to my office, or was it a social call?”
If there had been a purpose, Morgan seemed to have forgotten. He turned to Miranda. She shrugged amiably.
Professor Birbalsingh nodded gravely and rose to his feet, indicating their interview was over. “Then I am sorry for your wasted time. I am afraid I must say goodbye,” he said, shaking both their hands.
In the corridor, after they heard the lock click, Morgan and Miranda exchanged knowing glances. There was something endearing about a man so much the caricature of an academic. They walked out into the sunlight of University Circle and, immediately, each was taken up with a medley of personal memories from when this had been the centre of their separate worlds.
When Professor Birbalsingh’s call was relayed to Miranda early Friday morning, she told him they would look after it and she called Morgan.
“You know, I think we should take a run up there,” Morgan said.
“It’s OPP jurisdiction.”
“Exactly my point. I’d like to get there first, have you look over the place before they get involved.”
“We’re not breaking in, Morgan. If we get there and no one’s around, we call the Provincials.”
“Oh, for sure,” he said. “Want to meet for breakfast?”
“I’ve got to go into the office. I’ll pick up a car and be over in an hour.”
Morgan showered and got dressed, then decided he might as well cook up breakfast for both of them. He put a frying pan on to heat and broke eggs into a bowl, ready to scramble as soon as she pulled up in front; put the coffee on; took six pieces of back bacon out of the freezer which he carefully pried apart with a bread knife and put on to fry — this was double his weekly allotment; he was feeling magnanimous. By the time Miranda came in, toast and juice were on the table, coffee aroma filled the air, the eggs were cooking, and there were four pieces of cooked bacon left, to be split between them.
“You have something on your lip,” she said when she sat down. “Bit of bacon? Are these four mine, then?”
“I was just testing.”
“The point of hoarding a commodity is not to enhance consumption but to control distribution.”
“Sounds like Economics 101.”
“Not the bacon, dear, I was thinking about murder. Did she deep-freeze her victim while she figured out what to do with him? Or did she know from the beginning and was just using the freezer for storage until the right woman came along to complete the coupling she had always intended?”
“All that because I snuck a bite of my own bacon? You can’t say ‘she,’ for sure. We’re a long way from having a case.”
“Ring ring,” she said.
“Did you say ‘ring ring’?”
“I did. It’s my vibrator,” she said, reaching for the cellphone on her belt.
“That’s an odd place to keep a vibrator.”
She gave him a mock smile and he mumbled to himself, “ring ring.”
“Hello, Quin here.”
“Detective Quin,” said the voice in the phone. “Singh, here — Owen Sound Police. I have had insistent calls from a Professor Birbalsingh — several calls. He gave me your name. They’ve patched me through from your office.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know Professor Birbalsingh?”
“Yes, Officer Singh, I do. I assume this is about Shelagh Hubbard.”
“He apparently called the OPP to report her missing.”
“I gave him their detachment number.”
“I gather they explained that since she’s a part-time resident, it would not be unusual for her to be away. It struck them as most likely Miss Hubbard had simply left for Toronto or elsewhere. He was most upset. He called us, as the nearest municipal police. I called the OPP myself and they sent a car out at my request.”
“And what did they find?”
“Nothing. Everything appeared normal. No evidence of forced entry. They felt they had neither just cause nor authority to pursue the matter.”
“I appreciate you letting me know, Officer, but where are we going with this?”
“Professor Birbalsingh was insistent. He said you would confirm that a most serious problem was happening.”
“My partner and I are involved in a murder investigation. We would like to question Dr. Hubbard — ”
“She is a doctor? I did not know that. We need more doctors up here. Shall I drive out and look around? Unofficially, of course.”
“That is very kind, Officer Singh. But no, my partner and I will drop in and check things out. If there’s anything irregular, we’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Detective. Is Dr. Hubbard a murder suspect? Is she a specialist?”
“She’s a Ph. D. in forensic anthropology, and no, she is not a suspect, as far as Professor Birbalsingh is concerned.”
“I take your meaning, Detective Quin. If he calls back, I will be most discreet.”
“Thank you, Officer. I’ll keep you informed.” She snapped the cellphone shut.
“So, it’s on vibrator mode, is it?”
“Resist the double entendres, Morgan. The word ‘vibrator’ is not inherently comical.”
“I take it my friend is still missing. Do you want that piece of bacon?”
“I do,” she said, snatching it out from under his swooping hand and popping it whole into her mouth. “Arghixtphtuftisdngtoo.”
“Is that anything like ‘ring ring’? Mustn’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Fktfu.”
“You too.”
When they turned in at the mailbox that starkly proclaimed Hubbard the resident, Miranda was surprised by the austere beauty of the scene. The landscape was rougher than the rolling hills of Waterloo County. The fields surrounding the house sloped in irregular planes this way and that, drifting downward from the high hills of the meandering escarpment to the southwest, while in front of the house they seemed poised, gathering momentum for an eventual rush to the Georgian Bay shore. Towering black spruce hovered along either side of the drive, making a dramatic statement of proprietorial authority against the drab earth and dry grasses newly released from their cover of snow but not yet aroused into life. As they approached through the tunnel of spruce, the house was revealed to be charming, one-and-a-half storeys, with a front gable, shutters smoky-green against the rubble-stone walls. Miranda was so distracted by the paradoxically harsh and yet pastoral setting that she momentarily forgot why they were there.
At the side of the house they were surprised to find a police cruiser parked facing out with the driver’s door open, as if the driver were anticipating a fast getaway, but the driver was nowhere in sight. Miranda chuckled to herself when she saw on the side of the car the insignia of the Owen Sound Police. She gave a congenial beep of the horn as they pulled in beside the cruiser, and as they were stretching from the long drive the figure of a young man appeared in the stable door under the overhung side of the old wooden barn. He was in uniform, wearing a
