Day of the Dead Read online

  “Ok, thanks anyway, Stan. I don’t want to get you in trouble. If you find out something you can tell me, just let me know. You have my number,” Marlee said. So far, this morning’s fact finding mission was not panning out very well.

  “Alrighty,” said Stan. “Hey, do you want me to come over and clean out the gutters and downspouts on your house and garage pretty soon?”

  “Yes, thanks for reminding me about that. You can come over whenever you have time. The garbage bags and ladder are in the garage. Just let me know when it’s done so I can pay you,” said Marlee.

  “Okey dokey,” said Stan. “Have a nice day off!”

  Marlee let that comment slide as well as she made her way to Scobey Hall to talk with Asshat. He typically arrived at work early in the morning. He was old school and believed professors had to put in a certain number of hours on campus each day. Of course, there was no measurement for the amount accomplished during those hours. As long as he was there, he was satisfying his obligation to the university and the profession. Marlee and the younger professors believed in more of a productivity model. When the work was done, they went home. Or, if the work was not completed, then they took it home with them. The old guard, which consisted mainly of white males ten years or less from retirement, grumbled loudly about the newbies who didn’t take their jobs seriously enough to put in a full eight hours on campus. The newer profs ignored the old guard, focusing more on the quality of teaching, research and service rather than just punching an imaginary time clock.

  She wanted to speak to Asshat before anyone else had a chance. It was before 8:00 a.m. on a Thursday, and she knew that no one in her department had classes until nine thirty that day. Marlee raced to her office, removing her coat and taking her book bag off her arm in one quick motion. She didn’t even need her book bag today, but it was her habit to bring it with her every time she came to campus. The coat and bag landed on the floor near her office chair. Marlee took several deep breaths in order to calm down a bit. She didn’t want to march into Asshat’s office and explode. She would need to keep her emotions intact if she were to gather any additional information about his conversation with the chief of police. Giving Asshat the attention he so obviously craved grated on Marlee’s nerves a bit, but she knew talking with him was a necessary evil. She closed her office door and walked down the hall and around the corner to Asshat’s office.

  “So, did you see me on TV last night?” asked Asshat, as he adjusted his white, sea captain’s hat. He didn’t bother with a greeting or brief chatter before attempting to put the focus on himself and what he thought of as a coup in the information department.

  “I sure did,” said Marlee, not wanting to give him too much credit for his questionable antics. “Did Chief Langdon tell you to go pass on the information from your discussion with him?”

  “No, but he didn’t tell me not to either. I just thought that everyone wants to know what’s going on and since the chief isn’t talking, I’ll ask around and see what I can uncover. Somebody had to do it,” he said, as he let out a loud chuckle.

  “Do you think the police have any leads?” Marlee inquired.

  “The chief didn’t come right out and say it, but they seem to be leaning toward the death being self-inflicted,” Asshat said, clearly pleased with his inside knowledge from the police department.

  Marlee wanted to knock the smirk right off of Asshat’s face. Unfortunately, she was going to have to play nice in order to get any other information from him. She believed in the old saying: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

  “When did you give the TV interview?” asked Marlee.

  “Yesterday afternoon,” replied Asshat.

  “What do you think will be the dean’s reaction? If he didn’t watch the interview, I’m sure he’s heard about it by now,” said Marlee. She wasn’t proud of herself for secretly hoping Asshat would get into big trouble for talking to the chief of police and then giving a television interview about it.

  Asshat rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he’ll have something to say about it. I see he sent me an email already this morning, but I haven’t opened it yet. I’ve been too busy fielding questions from everyone else,” he said with an air of importance.

  “Well, I better let you get back to your work,” Marlee said, with an obvious note of sarcasm. Asshat would be doing little in the way of work today; he would be too busy basking in the limelight from his television appearance. He was the only one who didn’t know what a joke he truly was.

  Before Marlee could exit Asshat’s office, a red-faced Dean Green burst through the door. His tan polyester slacks were hiked up unusually high, as if to signify his outrage. “Ashman!” the Dean roared, “I want to talk to you!”

  “Uh, I was just leaving,” Marlee said as she inched toward the door.

  “Not so fast, McCabe!” roared Dean Green. “I want to talk to you too!”

  Marlee’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t fathom what she had done that would bring about this type of reaction from the dean. She thought he was probably just really upset about Asshat’s interview and would be taking it out on everybody today.

  “Were you both at the mandatory College of Arts and Sciences meeting on Tuesday?” Dean Green asked, glaring at Asshat and then Marlee. He knew they were both there. He was an older man, but he had an eye for attendance, especially at mandatory meetings that he initiated.

  “Yeah,” said Asshat nonchalantly. Marlee just nodded, tongue-tied by the dean’s gruff manner toward her.

  “What part of ‘don’t talk to the press and don’t do your own sleuthing’ did you two not understand?” roared Dean Green.

  “But–but–but I haven’t talked to anyone in the press,” stammered Marlee, knowing full well he must have found out about her questioning of students, faculty, law enforcement and others about Logan LeCroix’s death.

  “I know you’ve been talking to people on and off campus about LeCroix’s death and asking a lot of questions,” snarled the dean, looking straight at her. She suspected Kendra had given the dean a quick call regarding Marlee’s conversation with her earlier that morning.

  “Well, I guess I’ve been talking to some people, but everyone I know has been asking questions about Logan’s death. We’re all very upset by it,” said Marlee, attempting to play up the sympathy factor as a way of diminishing the dean’s wrath.

  “Bullshit!” Dean Green yelled, as spit flew out of his mouth and landed entirely too close to Marlee’s face. “Do you like teaching here at Midwestern State University?”

  “Yes, very much,” Marlee said nervously.

  “Do you want to keep teaching here?” asked Dean Green, looking Marlee square in the eye.

  “Yes, of course I do, but…” stammered Marlee, clearly upset with the turn the conversation was taking. She had never had her career threatened before, and it was a sickening feeling.

  “Then no more asking questions about LeCroix’s death. That job belongs to the police, not you. I take it you have enough work to keep you busy?” he asked

  “Well, yes, I have plenty to keep me busy,” Marlee said quickly.

  “Then do your work and leave the investigation to the professionals! If you don’t have enough work to keep you occupied, then I can assign you some special projects. Understood?” growled Dean Green.

  “Understood,” said Marlee, then she quickly exited Asshat’s office and made a hasty retreat toward her own office.

  Dean Green slammed the door behind her. “What the hell were you thinking talking to the chief and giving a TV interview, Ashman?” yelled the Dean at the top of his lungs. “And, take off that ridiculous fucking hat when you’re talking to me!” As much as Marlee wanted to stand outside the door and listen to Asshat’s dressing-down, her need to get away from this situation was greater.

  Plus, she still had more people to talk to about Logan’s death.

  Joe was the one person in my life whom I trusted whole-heartedly. I thou
ght we would spend the rest of our lives together.

  I only wish I’d told him everything.

  Chapter 13

  Since Dean Green was on a rampage this morning and was on to her investigative activities, Marlee decided it would be best to get off campus soon. She didn’t have classes or office hours that day, and the dean knew she usually stayed off campus on Thursdays, so he would be suspicious if he still saw her roaming around the university. This was especially true given that he had just threatened her career as an assistant professor at MSU if she continued asking questions about Logan LeCroix’s death. As nervous as she was about losing her job, Marlee just couldn’t let the matter drop. Logan had been a living, breathing human being who was part of the MSU campus and the Elmwood community. The university and the police seemed more interested in keeping secrets than in actually finding Logan’s killer. It had been three days since his body was found, and the police still didn’t have any major details to release to the public. There was no way Marlee was going to let Logan’s death go unsolved. Just because campus administration and the Elmwood Chief of Police were satisfied with keeping the death low-key didn’t mean that Marlee was.

  Before leaving campus, Marlee swung by Alice Olson’s office on the second floor to see if she had any new information. She looked both ways before entering Alice’s office. She surely didn’t need the dean finding her talking to Alice.

  Alice sat at her desk, absently staring at her computer screen. This time the computer was turned on, and the screen featured what appeared to be a report. The document did not seem to hold Alice’s interest, and she appeared to be deep in thought. Not wanting to startle her, Marlee made some noise as she came through the doorway. “Hi, Alice,” said Marlee as she walked toward her desk.

  “Hi, Marlee. I was just reviewing this purchase order for supplies that the dean wants me to submit by tomorrow,” said Alice, trying to cover the fact that she was lost in thought.

  “Hey, did you hear any more about Logan’s partner coming to town?” asked Marlee. She would have liked to visit a bit more with Alice, but knew she needed to get right to the point so she could get off campus.

  “Actually, he called me. His name is Joe Tisdale, and he sounded really nice on the phone. He said Logan mentioned me quite a bit when they talked, so he wanted to speak to me. We’re meeting for lunch today,” said Alice, perking up a bit.

  “Wow, that’s great,” said Marlee, trying to figure out a way to get invited to lunch with them. “I hope I get to meet Joe while he’s here. I didn’t know Logan really well, but I’d like to convey my sympathy.” Marlee looked Alice right in the eyes, hoping she pick would pick up the hint.

  “We’re going to the Chit Chat around noon,” said Alice, picking up the hint and running with it. “Would you like to join us?”

  “I’d love to,” Marlee said quickly. “Do you think Joe will mind?”

  “I don’t think so. He seemed to want to meet as many people as possible who knew Logan. I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you,” said Alice.

  “Thanks, Alice!” Marlee exclaimed. “I’ll meet you guys there at noon.” She tore out of Alice’s office and nearly skipped out to her vehicle. Getting a chance to talk with Logan’s partner, who might also have had a motive to kill him, was a major coup. This almost made up for the butt-chewing she’d received from the dean earlier.

  Marlee had about three hours before lunch time and needed to get off campus. She had thirty five exams to finish grading from her Criminology class. Since she hadn’t held class this Monday, due to Logan’s death, she knew she would need to get the papers graded and returned next Monday for sure. Students expected profs to grade and return papers almost immediately and got angry when there was a delay. They didn’t think professors had lives outside of work and couldn’t understand what could possibly be the hold-up in grading their work. She knew she needed to spend some time grading, so she headed home and set up her grading station at her kitchen table. It consisted of coffee, snacks, red pens and Pippa sitting in her snow-boot box on the corner of the table.

  Within the space of a little over two hours, Marlee had graded two-thirds of the essay exams. She read some of the work from the better students first, which tended to go faster, since she didn’t have to make so many corrections and comments. The last third of the essays would probably take about the same amount of time to read and grade. A portion of students in all of her classes were not strong writers. Marlee knew she could just glance at their papers, make a few comments and then assign the low grade, without putting much effort into the task. She knew several professors from a variety of disciplines that did just that. Marlee felt obligated to help make students better writers, which took much more time than simply making a couple of notations.

  At eleven thirty, Marlee put the essays into a folder and prepared to meet Joe and Alice at the Chit Chat. She’d made the mistake of leaving student papers out in the past and found that Pippa had barfed up a giant hairball on them. It’s hard to maintain a level of professionalism when telling students that the big brown spot on their term papers is actually a vomit stain from a cat.

  After brushing her teeth and checking the scant amount of make-up she wore, Marlee left her home and drove to the Chit Chat, a local diner which featured a variety of casseroles, the common ingredient being cream of mushroom soup. Most of the locals referred to this as “hot dish” regardless of the meat, vegetables and starch involved. This type of fare went over very well in the Midwest, and the Chit Chat was usually packed at noon. The only type of food to get as good a reception as creamy casseroles were breakfast items, such as pancakes, bacon and eggs. A large sign on the diner read, “The Chit Chat Is Where It’s At!”

  Pulling into the parking lot on the west side of Elmwood, Marlee did not see Alice’s bright yellow SUV, which she’d won in a grocery store give-away a couple years ago. It was bright and hard to miss, even in a South Dakota blizzard, but it was free, and that trumped all else.

  Marlee entered the Chit Chat, and the hostess seated her at one of the few remaining tables. She sat down, threw her coat across the back of her chair and placed her purse under the table. She smiled ruefully as she thought that, last week at this time, her biggest crime concern would have been someone stealing her purse. Today, she was trying to find out who killed Logan LeCroix.

  If a Denny’s Restaurant and a quirky grandma’s house got married and had a baby, the Chit Chat would have been the offspring. There were plenty of decorations, and they mainly centered on the local blue-collar and farm economies. Antique wooden signs on the walls featured sayings about animals, advertisements for pop and some home-spun logic. Marlee’s favorite sign hung near the windows facing the parking lot. It read, “If you’ve got duct tape, I can fix it.”

  The tables and booths at the Chit Chat each had a small vase with an artificial flower, condiments, such as salt, pepper and ketchup, and paper placemats featuring advertisements from local businesses. Marlee read the small ads and noticed one for a funeral home. She quickly glanced up and saw that over half of the clientele had gray hair. Looks like the funeral home made a good choice in advertising to its target audience, she thought.

  Shortly after noon, Alice entered the Chit Chat with a tall, graying man who appeared to be in his late fifties. He was slim, yet athletic. He wore dark washed jeans, a tan sweater with a green patterned Oxford shirt underneath and a brown jacket. His feet were clad in lace-up hiking boots, as if he had just come in from hiking some of the trails near the surrounding lakes. He was either an outdoorsy type or just dressed in what he thought would blend in.

  Marlee stood as Alice and the man approached her table. “Marlee, this is Joe Tisdale. Joe, this is Marlee McCabe. She’s a professor at MSU and also knew Logan fairly well.” Marlee and Joe smiled at each other and shook hands over the table.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Joe,” said Marlee, looking him directly in the eye to gauge his reactions. “I just wish it were under b
etter circumstances. I’m so, so sorry about Logan’s death.”

  “Thank you,” he said, looking down at the table and shuffling his feet. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”

  They all sat down at the table. Marlee sat across from Joe, and Alice was seated to his right. For the life of her, Marlee couldn’t think of anything to say. Joe looked around the room, taking in the local color of the Chit Chat.

  “This restaurant has been in Elmwood for over 75 years,” said Alice. “Well, not this exact location. It was downtown at first and then moved out to the west side of town a few blocks over. Then it burned down, and they rebuilt here about 30 years ago. My Grandpa Verlin used to bring me and my brothers and sisters here once in a while when we were kids. It was a big treat because Mom and Dad never took us out to eat. Grandpa would let us order anything we wanted.”

  No one was listening to Alice, but Marlee was thankful to have a chatterbox among them. It took the pressure off, since no one had to launch right into a conversation about Logan. A waitress in a gold dress covered with a white apron approached their table. Marlee recognized her from campus but was unsure of her name. Marlee felt fairly sure that the young woman had been in one of her classes, at least for a short time. It was always a worry that a student who flunked out of Marlee’s class would be in charge of her food when she dined out. She hoped spit would be the worst thing that turned up in her meal.

  The waitress inquired about their drink orders. “What kind of pop do you have?” asked Alice.

  “Coke products,” replied the waitress, counting down the minutes until the lunch rush was over and she could leave for the day.

  Alice ordered a Coke, Joe had herbal tea, and Marlee stuck with water. She realized she had already consumed three large mugs of coffee that morning before she left campus and two more while she graded essay exams. Any more caffeine today and she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a week. Marlee also realized that she wasn’t all that hungry, which seemed odd until she recalled all the candy wrappers lying on her kitchen table when she finished grading. After serving their drinks, the waitress took their orders. Marlee and Joe both ordered the soup of the day, vegetable beef. Alice ordered the hot dish special of the day, which was a tater tot casserole made with hamburger, a few mushy canned vegetables and generous amounts of cream soup topped with a heaping portion of tater tots.