“Not all of it. But she’s smart enough to know that whatever the girls felt, it wasn’t reciprocated. Mark wasn’t part of it.”
“So has Sandra taken him back?”
“Well…no. Although they seemed to get along all right yesterday. They even went for a walk together. But Mark is still staying with me. Right now he’s at the college trying to get his suspension lifted.”
Tess shook her head. “Remind me never to give any money to Crescent Heights College. But to get back to the murder, which is what we’re really talking about, are you surmising that Donna killed Elise because Elise had a crush on Mark-or because she filed a harassment charge against Mark?”
“I’m not surmising anything yet. But it does appear that Donna and Elise had their differences.”
Chapter 16
On Tuesday the wind blew and it rained. A cold rain. Although it rained hard only sporadically, it rained constantly. It reminded me of a trip I had taken to northern Scotland once when it rained for several days without stopping, making sightseeing difficult and the prospect of sitting in front of the cozy fire at our Bed and Breakfast place attractive.
Mark drove to Crescent Heights College early to meet with the people who were deciding his fate. They had granted him a hearing on his suspension. I wanted to get to Bethany, myself, but it wouldn’t have done any good to ride with Mark because I needed my own car and because I didn’t know how long I would be there.
Tess and Wesley were both busy this morning so I went to my pool aerobics class alone. Sandra and Albert were working. The only option I had was to drive myself to Bethany. I hated to leave King alone for long, which I had been doing too much recently, but duty called. Because of the rain I left her inside. I did get Tess to promise that she would check on King when she got back from wherever she was going and let the dog out to pee.
Because of my problem reading signs I don’t like to drive out of Chapel Hill by myself. I also don’t like to drive on Interstates and freeways. But since I had been to Bethany several times recently I knew the way. I drove with my lights on-a North Carolina state law when it rains-and stayed to the right on the faster roads, particularly I-85, which I took north from Durham. I also slowed down because of the rain, although nobody else seemed to adjust their driving for the weather. I tried to keep out of the way of the trucks and the large SUVs. At one stop sign I pulled up behind a Lexus SUV, which sounded like an oxymoron to me-a luxury sport utility vehicle? Traffic had increased over the years in the research triangle area-Chapel Hill, Durham and Raleigh. This was a sign that the area was booming. But it also made driving more difficult.
Once in Bethany I found the road to Eric Hoffman’s house without any trouble and was proud of myself. I spotted his place because of the gravel driveway with the pickup truck parked in it that looked like Albert’s. Another car stood in the driveway that I didn’t remember seeing before. I parked behind them and walked gingerly on the gravel toward the house, holding an umbrella.
A deep growl reminded me of the presence of Monster, the dog. He came out of the open garage where he had been sheltered from the rain and stationed himself between me and the front door. He may have been a Great Dane; he was certainly big enough. I decided that since I might be coming here again I should try to make friends with him. “Good dog, Monster,” I said. I repeated this several times.
He seemed to recognize his name and stopped growling. I advanced slowly to the limit of his leash so that he could sniff me, although I kept my hands behind me, not wanting to lose one in case his intentions weren’t honorable. I wasn’t able to hold the umbrella up so the raindrops, given force by the wind, became tiny stinging projectiles pelting my face and neck.
In addition, I realized that my throat was exposed to Monster so I stepped back, beyond his reach, until he calmed down. I had King’s scent on me and he investigated this with his nose. Then I carefully reached out one hand and patted him on his head.
“I see you’ve made a friend of Monster,” a female voice with a southern accent said from the front door.
I turned and saw a woman of about Mr. Hoffman’s age. She looked familiar, probably because of the family portrait in their living room. She had the same dark hair and dark eyes as Elise, but her body showed the signs of good living, or at least a life in which food had not been scarce.
I had prepared a speech for Mr. Hoffman, and seeing someone else took me by surprise. Of course I shouldn’t have been surprised to see his wife. I stammered for a bit, then remembered that talking about people’s pets is usually a safe thing to do. “He’s quite a dog,” I said. “He makes about two of my dog and she’s not small.”
“He’s eating us out of house and home,” the woman said. “But my husband insists we need him for protection. Some protection. He barks a lot, but I don’t think he’d ever bite anybody.”
“At least he scares people. My dog doesn’t even bark. A burglar could steal me blind and she would just watch and wag her tail. My name is Lillian Morgan, by the way. Professor Morgan. I knew your daughter slightly and I wanted to come and tell you how sorry I am about what happened.”
“I’m June Hoffman. Where are my manners? Come on inside out of the rain.”
At least the rain had helped me gain entrance to the house. As I walked toward the door I could see the dark circles under her eyes. It looked as if she had been crying recently. She wore dark clothes. As she led me inside she said, “Usually, I would be working, but I just couldn’t face it the day after Elise’s funeral. In fact, I haven’t been to work since last Wednesday.”
“I’ve met your husband,” I said, trying to revise my approach to Mr. Hoffman to suit the current circumstances. “In fact, I talked to him early last week.” Actually, on the day Elise had been murdered, but I didn’t mention that.
“Well, he’ll be glad to see you. He’s really broken up about this.”
She took my wet coat and hung it on a hanger. We left the umbrella open in the entry. I took a handkerchief from my purse and blotted some of the water on my face so I didn’t look so much like a drowned rat. As we entered the living room I spotted Mr. Hoffman sitting down, his cane leaning against his chair. A book lay unopened on the table beside him, with a bookmark in it. He started to get up when he saw me, but remembering what a struggle this was for him I said, “Please don’t get up, Mr. Hoffman. I just wanted to come by to tell you how sorry I am about Elise.”
Mr. Hoffman relaxed his efforts and said, “Please sit down, Mrs.
…I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Professor Morgan,” Mrs. Hoffman said. “You’ve met her before.”
She said this the way one would speak to somebody whose memory was impaired.
“Morgan,” Mr. Hoffman said. Yes, that’s it. But I didn’t know you were a professor.”
Mrs. Hoffman went into the kitchen to make some coffee.
“I’m a retired professor,” I said. “I met Elise after we talked last week. She was a lovely young lady.”
Mr. Hoffman choked back what sounded like a sob and couldn’t talk for a few seconds so I continued, “We had a nice chat.”
“What day was that again?” Mr. Hoffman asked.
What should I say? I couldn’t lie because, after all, I was part of a murder investigation and anything I said could be used against me. “It was Wednesday, I believe,” I said, as if I had just remembered.
“The day she was killed.”
“In the afternoon.” Meaning not in the evening.
“You were going to get her to help you talk to other girls at the college about why they shouldn’t become strippers.”
There was nothing wrong with his memory. Mrs. Hoffman brought in a tray containing coffee paraphernalia and cookies. We went through the ritual of pouring coffee and adding cream and sugar-although I drink my coffee black-while I tried to plot my strategy. After a couple of bites of a sugar cookie I decided I should get to the point.
“I owe you an apology. I didn’t level with you last week. When I came here I was actually trying to track down Elise because of…well, because of the sexual harassment charge she made.” That was as close to the truth as I could get without saying I had suspected Elise of being the Shooting Star.
Their expressions were pained, as if this was one just more thing they had to cope with.
