As Mike walked toward her, there was a sharp noise like a crack of thunder directly overhead. The three of us looked skyward as a large carved figure broke loose from its base on the chapel tower and toppled over, hurtling toward Faith Grant.
Mike yelled her name and tackled her by the knees, taking her down on a muddy patch of lawn.
The statue crashed against the concrete sidewalk next to the spot where Faith had been standing, its saintly head split from its long, thin body.
TWENTY-NINE
“MATTHEW, no doubt,” Faith said as Mike pulled her to her feet.
“What do you mean?”
“See those spires on top of the tower? Each represents the writers of one of the Gospels. Mark, John, Luke. This one must be Matthew,” she said, nervously trying to defuse the tension of the frightening near miss. “He’d be the first to tumble at the idea of a woman running this place.”
I’m sure Mike made that connection to the stained-glass window of Matthew and the winged figure in the old Fordham church even faster than I did. “Good to know.”
Staff and students spilled out of every doorway and came running to see if Faith was all right. Someone had summoned the janitor, who tried to push all the bystanders out of the way and see what the property damage was.
Mike was scanning the rooftop from where we stood to check whether anyone was there. “If you’re okay, I’m going to take a run up to see what happened.”
“No, no. Please don’t. It’s just one of the problems we’re having with the infrastructure. We’re old, Mike, and we’re literally crumbling. That’s part of the trouble with this place.”
Faith kept glancing over our shoulders, as though looking for someone in particular. “Why don’t the two of you go inside? Just use that entrance behind me before the crowd breaks up. I’ll join you as soon as I explain things to the dean of faculty.”
I took Faith’s direction and didn’t look back until I pulled open the heavy door. A man with a severe mien and pinched expression had approached her, causing the remaining students to take their leave. Mike followed me through the doorway, then charged up the flight of stairs that appeared to lead to the tower that dominated the rest of the interior campus.
The small chapel was off to my right. I let myself into the dark, cool chamber, silent as a tomb. The faint smell of incense hung over the room, and I walked around, studying the painted icons that hung on the walls.
Faith arrived before Mike. “Lovely, aren’t they? The priest’s wife made them. We use this for our Greek Orthodox services.”
“Greek Orthodox, at Union?”
“Yes, we’ve got a lot of diversity among our students and in our programs.”
She was shivering, and saw that I was watching her try to still the movement of her hands. “Why don’t we sit?”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Faith?”
“I will be. It’s not the falling statuary that scares me, Alex. There are faculty members — and trustees — who don’t want me to take the next step here. I’m not usually high-strung, but the politics, the backstabbing that seems to be going on, has unnerved me. Where’s Mike?”
“I don’t know. He probably—”
“I hope he’s not wasting his time on the roof,” she said, now wringing her hands. “That will only make them more unhappy.”
“Who are ‘they,’ Faith? Tell me about all this.” I sat on a long wooden bench against the wall, and she sat opposite me, at the end of one of the pews. I wanted to get a sense of the dynamic we’d just witnessed and then move on to discuss the more urgent questions I had about Ursula Hewitt.
“Some of the people in administration — not all of them — but there are some who don’t want to see me promoted. Did Justin tell you that I’m in line to be president?”
“Yes, he did. Is it fair to assume that the man who just came to assist you in the courtyard isn’t one of your supporters?”
“Mrs. Danvers?” Faith laughed. “That’s what I call him. Do you know who that is?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling back at her. “The brilliantly drawn housekeeper in Daphne du Maurier’s
I relished the thought of Patrick McKinney cross-dressing like the severe Dangers, a gray wig pulled back into a tight bun.
“I get a lot of ‘You just stay in your office and think great thoughts, Faith. I’ll take care of everything else.’ Meanwhile, the physical plant is falling apart and my allies have to wonder if I’ll be up to reestablishing control of the substantive issues here, not to mention raising the money we need for upkeep and programming. He’s the bane of my existence.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t want to take you in that direction, Alex. He wasn’t up in the tower, pushing poor Matthew over the edge. He’s not going to hurt me, physically.”
I wouldn’t pressure her on the man’s name till she got comfortable with me.
“Justin said that you wanted to talk with me, Faith. To talk about Ursula Hewitt.”
“I was horrified, of course, to hear about her murder last night. It’s so unspeakably sad — so tragic.”
“How did you learn about it?”
“Ursula had been staying with me from time to time.”
“Here, on campus?”
“No. I’m in faculty housing, around the corner. Her uncle phoned late in the evening, to see if she was still with us.”
“Are you married?”
“I’m divorced.”
“Who’s the ‘us’?”
“Oh, I’ve got two sisters. They both live in Kansas, where I grew up, but Chat has been here visiting, trying to decide about whether or not to move east,” Faith said as she shuffled her feet and re-crossed her legs. “I had to ask Ursula to find another place so Chat could be with me.”
“She’s living with you right now? Is she also part of a religious community?” I asked, even though Chat had suggested otherwise to Mike.
“No. My father had a plan for each of us, I guess you’d say. It worked for two of us. My older sister is named Serenity, and the baby is Chastity. That’s why we call her Chat.” Faith loosened up as she talked. “It was pretty tough growing up as the minister’s daughters in a small town with that label.”
“I’ll bet.”
“We’re not much alike in temperament. There’s a strong physical resemblance — people mistake her for me all the time around school. But she’s sort of the black sheep, not that my parents would label anyone like that. It’s how the world sees her, I think. Still finding her way after experimenting with some unconventional choices. That’s why I’m trying to look out for her.”
“How unconventional?” I asked.
“Nothing that would stand out here, but Manhattan, Kansas, is a different place than this island. Chat was a chronic runaway as a teen, did the tattoo thing, tested my mother’s great good nature all the time. No one in the family even knows that she was abused by a neighbor, back when she was fifteen. We got her through the runaway phase. Now she’s just a free spirit, and I’m trying to keep her under my wing.”
“Nice of you. If I can ever help talk her through that period, my door is always open,” I said. Now I
