“Hi Harry. I’d offer you a place to sit but…” I trail off, shrugging as I take in the room.
Harry is frozen in the doorway, still shellshocked by the scene before her. “I know we expected you to jump straight into things, but I didn’t think you’d go A Beautiful Mind on us until at least the second week.”
I step back, surveying my work. “Trust me, Harry, there is plenty of method in my madness.”
Using a foot to clear a pathway, Harry picks her way into the office, shutting the door behind her. “At least I can see you found something to distract yourself since I saw you this morning.”
Rising to stand, my back cracks in four different places. How long was I sitting in that corner of the floor? “Was it only this morning? Feels like I’ve been locked away in here for days. Speaking of, I really need to pop to the loo. Clear yourself off a chair while I’m out.” I make a mad dash down the hallway as every ounce of soda I drank has me dying for a wee.
I return to find Harry ensconced in a chair, head tilted as she tries to read one of the charts lying on my meeting table. “Do you always illustrate your roles and responsibilities lists?”
Some people would be embarrassed to be called out on their doodling. Not me. “It’s all part of my system. I’m a very visual learner, the drawings help me remember the information better and buy me time to think through any roadblocks or brain freezes. I discovered this approach when I was a child and I’ve been doing it ever since. Now it’s the latest trend with a fancy name: Bullet Journaling. Anyway, enough about me. What brings you here?”
Harry arches an eyebrow my way. “I came to find out how you’re doing before I leave. You’ve had quite a first couple of days.”
Mumbles drift over from the corner where the cat bed sits. “Ya don’t know tha ‘alf of it, missie. Gah! Watch it!”
I didn’t nudge him that hard; I promise. Thankfully, Harry heard miaows instead of words.
“I won’t lie to you, Harry. I was feeling somewhat overwhelmed this morning. I’ve been shut in here for the last,” I look down at my watch and gasp in shock, “… six hours! Wow. Ok, where was I? Oh yes, I knew if I organised my thoughts a bit I’d surely find a way to get it all done. You know, plan a gala, find a new chef, the basics. I’ve got it all under control.”
Harry appears unconvinced, but she’s too polite to put that into words. “If you say so, Nat.” She surveys the space, jumping in her seat when one of my flip chart pages peels off the wall and falls to the floor. “This is a new approach to event planning for us; we seem to have gone from no notes to all the notes in the world. But if it works for you, who am I to judge?”
I switch my smile up a notch or two, reassuring her I am okay. As I grab a handful of papers off the table, a greasy napkin clings to the back of them. Harry peels it off the back, dropping it into the bin beside my desk. “I thought I’d ask if you need anything, Nat, but I see that what you need is for someone to make you go home for the night. Shall I help you tidy this place back up before you go?”
A sigh of relief slips from between my lips. “I can’t remember whether I’ve said this today or not, but Harry… you’re a gem.”
As Harry gathers up the various pieces of rubbish from around the room, I sort through the papers on the table. The sight of the roles and responsibilities chart reminds me I need to check an assignment with Harry. I was planning to ask her in the morning, but since she’s standing right here, I might as well see if she’s up for it.
“Harry, I’ve been thinking about the murder. I don’t suppose you received any updates from the police force?”
“None so far. They had the dining hall closed all day yesterday, gathering evidence, what little there was. No signs of a struggle and the knife was one from our own kitchen. The back door was unlocked, but Chef Smythe parked outside and usually came in that way. Nothing unusual about that. The police are stumped.”
“From what you’ve told me and what I saw yesterday, it seems like plenty of people had a motive.”
Harry drops a stack of pizza boxes into the bin before turning in my direction. “Edward always says to look at the immediate family, but Chef Smythe was a widow. Her husband died young in an accident.”
“Edward?” I ask. “Who’s Edward?”
“Edward Thomas, your upstairs neighbour. He’s a world-renowned criminologist researcher, and he’s acting as the college liaison with the police force. Whatever he doesn’t know about motives isn’t worth knowing,” Harry explains. “I’ll introduce you the next time I see you two together.”
“That’d be nice given how close we live to one another. In the meantime, I thought that maybe I should talk to some kitchen staff? Maybe I can convince some of them to stay on and help with the gala.”
Harry ties up the rubbish bag and flashes me a hopeful smile. “I think that’s a great idea, Nat. Maybe you can convince the sous-chef to reconsider. The sooner we can put all this behind us, the better.”
“Perfect, it’s a plan!” I announce before heading over to a window. I grasp a fat black marker and make a very satisfying check next to the first item on my To
