The Grim Steeper Page 15

  Dana glanced over at the assistant registrar. “Oh, hey, Brenda. Do you know Sophie Taylor? She’s chef at Auntie Rose’s Victorian Tea House, and she’s going out with Jason Murphy. I’m trying to tell her there is no way to know who changed Mac MacAlister’s grade at Cruickshank, but she won’t listen to me. You’re the assistant registrar; maybe you can convince her.”

  Sophie switched her attention to the other woman, who looked surprised and a little disgruntled to be accosted in such a way. Sophie thought she’d better tread carefully. It was smart of Dana not to directly address the dean’s death, but rather the less-explosive topic of the grade-fixing scandal. If she handled it right, it would allow her to talk about both. “People keep saying that the dean was going to tell everyone this morning that he had caught the grade fixer, and it was Jason. I say there is no way for anyone to know what he was going to say. Do you agree?”

  Brenda Fletcher huddled into her ancient coat, a dark green bomber-style jacket that was frayed at the cuffs and worn in spots along the sleeve. It must have been an old favorite, spotted with pins and badges: an apple, a Sagittarius zodiac sign and a smattering of little pins with acronyms. She wound her dark woolen scarf more closely around her neck, blinked and examined Sophie for a long moment. She was a plain young woman, with glasses, a habit of squinting, and her curly brown hair scraped back in a bun; the best thing about her looks was creamy, perfect skin, with a mole by her mouth. But her dark eyes betrayed intelligence, and her pause indicated a certain amount of thoughtfulness. Sophie wondered if Brenda had her own suspicions but didn’t want to share them.

  “I suppose there are notes of what he was going to say,” she finally said. “He must have investigated. And he probably told someone. Wouldn’t you, if you had made a decision and were going to announce it?” She blinked and tilted her head to one side. “He must have at least told the president, right?”

  “The president?”

  “Cruickshank’s top dog, President Schroeder.”

  “I haven’t even heard his name come up yet,” Sophie said.

  Brenda shrugged. “He’s a hands-off kind of administrator, hoping to coast through his last three years without much trouble. He leaves a lot to do with the professors, teachers and grad student TAs up to Dean Asquith. I guess he figures the dean of faculty should look after the faculty, right?”

  “I guess. So maybe the dean didn’t tell him?”

  Brenda shrugged.

  “Who else might Dean Asquith have told?”

  “No one, really. There’s the provost, I guess, Dr. Ruta Vilansky, but she’s away right now, so not her.”

  “It all seems so complicated. I went to a technical school for cooking, and the administration was so much simpler.”

  “You’re out of your league,” she said with a sly smile. “Never going to a real college has crippled your understanding.”

  Sophie sighed inwardly, but nodded. “I suppose you have a point.”

  “I did wonder this morning if someone killed the dean to stop his announcement,” Brenda said, frowning and tugging at her scarf, twisting the fringe around her fingers. “But it seems awful extreme. At its worst, what he had to say would have been just an accusation of grade fixing. Despite what folks were saying, whoever did it would likely just be reprimanded.”

  “I thought he or she would be fired. Or charged. Something!”

  “It’s unethical, but not a criminal offense,” Brenda replied evenly. “I did a little research for my boss looking for precedents, but it’s a tricky topic. If the grade fix was limited in scope, then there wouldn’t be any action beyond a reprimand. I don’t think it was even in the dean’s purview to fire Jason or anyone, if they simply faked a grade.”

  “I can’t believe anyone would do that to help an athlete stay on the team.”

  “I guess you not going to a regular college . . . you wouldn’t know how important the athletes are to a school. I was on a team in college, and it was a great moment to stand with my friends on the podium. It’s important stuff.” She shifted impatiently. “Look, I have to go. Don’t worry; Jason will be okay, I’m sure.”

  “Do you mind talking to me for just a few more moments? I’m kind of freaked out about this all.”

  “I’m in a hurry,” Brenda said. “I came in to pick up some books I ordered.”

  “It’ll take me a minute to get everything together anyway, Brenda,” Dana said, glancing their way. “My computer has been acting up this morning,” she continued, with a wink to Sophie, “And I have to get it to boot up again before I can process your order, or you’ll be charged twice. We don’t want that to happen! Have a cup of coffee on the house.” She fluttered her hand toward the coffee machine. “I have that caramel mocha blend you like.”

  Brenda sighed. “There is nothing like a bookstore that serves coffee, am I right?” she said to Sophie, heading toward the back. The coffee machine was right by the alcove Sophie had shared with Kimmy Gabrielson just minutes before.

  “Oh, sure,” Sophie replied, following the young woman toward the alcove, even though her own idea of heaven was a kitchen and tea.

  Brenda fixed up her coffee, chose the biggest brownie from the tray of goodies for sale and curled up on the sofa. The brew did smell good, like a mocha caramel dessert. The woman seemed pretty relaxed for someone whose colleague had been murdered the night before, but Sophie didn’t know enough about her relationship with the dean and how his death would affect her. It would affect Vince Nomuro more, since he was probably the one who was more directly involved with the dean.

  “I’m going to sound like an idiot, but even though Jason works as an instructor at Cruickshank, I don’t understand much about the actual workings of a college. The only time I went to the registrar’s office in my school was to pay my tuition and register for classes. But what all does the registrar do?”

  Brenda smiled and sipped her coffee, the expression holding more than a whiff of condescension. Fine, let her underestimate Sophie; that was often a good thing. She didn’t feel the need to impress anyone with her intelligence.

  “We plan and implement registration, a big job even for a college the size of Cruickshank. So many conflicts!” She took a big bite of her brownie, then carefully wrapped it back up and stowed it in her patchwork hobo bag. She swallowed, and took another long drink. “We keep track of the curriculum, not just scheduling conflicts but prerequisites, that sort of thing. We compile enrollment statistics for the dean’s office, collect tuition and resolve issues with credit attribution.”

  “And you maintain academic records.”

  She sipped. “Well, sure. That’s an important part of what we do.”

  And why they had access to grades, which meant either her or Vince Nomuro could have changed Mac MacAlister’s grade. “What kind of training do you need for that?”

  “You need a degree, at least a bachelor’s, but a master’s is better. It can be in accounting, or social work, like mine. Vince was in pharmacy but flunked out, so he switched to accounting. I kid him because he sure did pick two fields that require precision! There are so many facets to the job, it can be approached from many angles, but you have to be good with technology.” She wrinkled her brow and stared at Sophie. “What does this have to do with anything? I thought you were worried about Jason.”

  “I don’t understand much about college life at Cruickshank, so I’m trying to get a general feel of Jason’s environment. You’re helping so much! My cooking school was a lot different,” she replied, downplaying her double major and graduation from one of the toughest culinary courses in the country, as well as her private school background, from which she graduated with excellent grades. With her background and grade point average, she could easily have gotten into any school she wanted; she chose culinary school out of love for the subject. “What kind of man was Dean Asquith?”

  “What
kind of man was Dean Asquith,” Brenda repeated, in a musing tone. “Let’s see, an egomaniacal, philandering, mean-spirited, obtuse, obstreperous megalomaniac? Does that cover all the bases?”

  So Brenda Fletcher was not a fan of the dean. “I take it you’re not sorry he’s dead.”

  “I didn’t say that! I’m very sorry he’s dead. I may not have liked him much, but I care about Cruickshank. I’m a PhD candidate in social work as well as being assistant registrar. I’ll get my doctorate and move on from the job, but that won’t be for a while. This throws the whole place into turmoil, and who knows what kind of a jerk we’ll get next? Sorry to be blunt, but just because I didn’t like the man, doesn’t mean I wanted to see him dead.”

  The vehemence surprised Sophie, but she could see where it was coming from. It gave her some idea of the extent to which the dean’s death would rattle the Cruickshank community. A student might not notice a disturbance, but the teaching and administrative staff most certainly would, especially since he was the dean of faculty. And as Brenda pointed out, who knew what they’d get next in that position? “So Mr. Nomuro is your boss, right?”

  She nodded.

  “He was along for the walk last night.”

  “A lot of us were; it was mandatory to attend Dale’s little scheme to link town and gown. Even the president asked us to go, though I noticed he didn’t deign to attend.”

  “What does that mean, town and gown?” Sophie asked, distracted, wondering if that command explained Paul Wechsler’s presence.

  “Well, town, obviously, all of you here in Gracious Grove. And gown means the academic gown, nowadays the graduate’s gown, but way back when academics wore clerical garb, and I suppose that was the gown indicated, you know, a priest’s or monk’s robe.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  “Oh. Okay.” Sophie paused, unsure of how to use the information Julia had given her without giving away her source, or exactly what was said between Vince and the dean. “What is your boss like?”

  Brenda eyed her as she drained her cup. “Dana, are you done with my book order yet?” she called out, not letting her gaze leave Sophie.

  “Nope. Just got the computer to boot up,” Dana said. The bells over the door chimed, indicating another customer coming in. “It’s going through some updates right now, Bren. You know what computers are like.” After a beat, she said, in her best customer service voice. “Hi, can I help you?”

  There was an answering murmur from the customer.

  “What are you trying to get at?” Brenda asked, setting her mug aside and leaning toward Sophie. “You’re not trying to pin the blame for the grading scandal on Vince, are you? Just because your boyfriend is up to his neck?”

  “Of course not.” So much for the fake grade not being a big deal. Brenda seemed alarmed, and Sophie felt the need to tread carefully. “I’m trying to understand everything. One of the ladies in their group saw the dean and Mr. Nomuro arguing, that’s all.”

  Brenda blinked and squinted. She looked conflicted. “What did she hear?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Did they have anything to argue about?”

  Brenda shrugged and looked off into space, chewing her lip and playing with the fringed end of her scarf. “I don’t know. It’s just . . . I lost track of Vince at one point. We were supposed to stick together, you know, present a united front. But he ditched me, and when I saw him next he was following the dean into a corner at that awful yoga and tea place at the top of the hill.”

  That accorded with what she had heard from Julia about the conversation, though in that scenario it was the dean who had dragged the registrar away to talk at him. However, if Thelma was right and did indeed see the registrar near the scene of the crime at the right time, perhaps she should point the police toward Brenda Fletcher to expose her boss, and Julia would need to recount what she heard, as well. “Didn’t you find out what it was about?”

  “Right, eavesdrop on a conversation between my boss and a colleague?”

  Sophie’s phone chimed and she glanced down. A text message from someone she didn’t know. Wait . . . Tara . . . Tara Mitchells, the Clarion reporter. Her eyes widened. The girl had done her homework; Sophie’s cell number was on the Auntie Rose website as the contact for private party bookings. She put the phone away, though, as Brenda stood, straightening her coat, which had bunched up around her hips as she sat.

  “I don’t have time to wait. Dana, if you’re not ready right now, I’ll come back. The college is having a meeting today to discuss what to do about the dean’s death, and Vince is in a tizzy. I have to be there.”

  Dana, who had of course been simply stalling, did have the books ready.

  Brenda helped pack them into a box. “I took a brownie from the basket,” she said and smiled. “My birthday is next week; I’ll consider it my present, and a bonus for making me wait!”

  Sophie approached the cash desk. “I suppose the police will want to talk to you at some point. I’m sure they’ll be asking everyone about their alibi for last night, you know, after the tea stroll.”

  The assistant registrar gazed steadily at her and said, “If you want to know where I was, just ask me.”

  Busted. Okay. “So, where did you go after the tea stroll?”

  “That’s none of your business, is it?” she said. “But it’s no big deal. I went home. Nothing earth-shattering about that. I told my roommate all about my evening. I talked his ear off, moaned about it for an hour until he was sick and tired of listening, then I went to bed.”

  Dana checked Brenda out without further delay. Sophie thought for a moment; Brenda said that Vince was in a tizzy. Well, if he had killed the dean, he most certainly would be, and there were likely police swarming the campus, talking to everyone. She checked the text message from Tara. Dean A killd at yr place? Need comment for campus ppr.

  A comment she would proceed to twist into something entirely different, Sophie thought. However, it did suit her agenda to talk to the reporter, who had resources she didn’t. Meet me at Auntie Rose’s, she texted back.

  “I have to go,” she said, slipping her phone back in her purse and approaching the cash desk. “That Clarion reporter who tricked me at the reception is asking for a quote. I have a few unsuitable ones for her.”

  “Way to go, Sophie!” Dana said, high-fiving her. “Shut her down! I wouldn’t go within a hundred yards of her.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely meeting her, but this time she won’t get anything out of me. She was hanging around last night, and since she was skulking, I figure she may have seen something worthwhile. She’ll talk, I’ll listen this time.”

  “A year ago I would have predicted you’d get blindsided again,” Dana said, as she typed something into her computer. “But you’re not the pushover I thought you were. Or, at least, you’re only half the pushover I thought you were.”

  Sophie leaned on the cash desk and eyed Dana, petting Beauty, the cat, as she wondered if she should bring up a topic she was worried about.

  “You look tres serious,” Dana said, glancing over at her then back to the computer. “What’s up?”

  “Wally and Cissy are having an argument. I think I know why Wally is upset. Would he talk to me about it if I asked?”

  “What did Cissy say?” Dana asked, this time fixing her gaze on Sophie and not looking away. “Why is Wally upset?”

  Sophie considered; but shook her head. “I can’t divulge.”

  “Ah, so it has to do with . . .” Dana watched her for a moment, then a slow smile tilted her mouth in the corner. “Let me guess; Eli is going to propose to me. He thinks it’s a big secret, but I snooped in his coat pocket and saw the ring receipt from Brummel Jewels in Buffalo.” She did a little cha-cha behind the cash desk and Beauty glared at her, then leaped down to the windowsill.

  “Okay,” Sophie said slowly.

  �
��I think he went to Cissy about it, to ask her opinion, or whatever. She thinks she’s mysterious, but the girl hasn’t got a subtle bone in her body. Maybe I’ve known her too long, but I know everything from her stupid hints. Anyway, I’d bet she’s been going on and on about Eli’s proposal plan, thinking that’s a great way to get Wally to propose to her.”

  Sophie sighed. “The amazing Dana; how do you do it?”

  “I’m very intuitive. Also, I’m fairly self-involved, so I think a lot about this stuff. And I eavesdrop like crazy.”

  Sophie smiled at Dana’s self-deprecating humor. She seemed like the kind of woman who would be self-involved; she was gorgeous, spent a lot of time and money on clothes, hair and makeup, and worked hard to get exactly what she wanted in life. She had decided Eli was the one from almost the moment she saw him, and had reeled him in effectively. But she was also generous, helpful and committed to the happiness of those she loved. “I think maybe Wally is put off that she’s been going on and on about Eli’s proposal plans.”

  Dana nodded, her expression sobering. “We both know Cissy is a bit of a boob. She has no clue how to handle a man.”

  “Neither do I!”

  “Honey, you don’t need to ‘handle’ Jason, you need to finally be straight with him, for God’s sake. Grow a pair and tell him how you feel!”

  “So, about Wally,” Sophie said, refusing to get sidetracked to her and Jason’s personal business. “I agree that’s what’s going on. Should I talk to Wally?”

  Dana paused for a moment, then shook her head. “Let me take care of it. Cissy has been my friend for many years, since we were toddlers, practically. I think I know what to do. Those two kids will be perfect together, but Wally is the kind of guy who will drop down on one knee after the Rooty Tooty Fresh ‘N Fruity pancakes at the IHOP. You and I both know that he needs to get creative so he can make it a proposal for Cissy to remember, or she may say no. I know Eli is planning something biggish, but to be honest, I don’t care about that as long as I get a proposal. Cissy’s another story; she’s been ODing on all those reality bride shows on TV, and for her proposal she expects fireworks spelling out Will You Marry Me? accompanied by baby cupids with sparklers squeezed into their butt cheeks.”