Authors: Clea Simon
Lloyd nodded and took a piece of cookie. ‘Good idea. Gosham’s kind of a legend in the field, I gather. Really picky about what he works on – and who for.’
‘Yeah, I gather he owes his success to Bullock.’ Dulcie’s mind flashed to Polly. Maybe if the professor wasn’t paying so much for rare books, he could afford to give that poor woman a raise. She mentioned that idea to Lloyd, only to have him snort in derision.
‘Bullock? He hoards like some mythical dwarf. If I didn’t have my grants . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished. ‘But why the worries, Dulcie?’
Dulcie chewed and hesitated. Most of her friends knew her background. But Lucy’s special brand of psychic nuttiness had been shared with only a few. ‘Have I ever told you about my mom?’
Lloyd smiled and reached for the cookie bag. ‘The good witch of the Northwest? Yeah. Is this one of her prophecies?’
Dulcie nodded, relieved. ‘I wasn’t sure if I’d told you about her. But, yeah, Lucy had a dream.’
‘And you’ve started writing in earnest, so this hits on all your anxieties.’ He looked up so suddenly that Dulcie wondered if he’d bitten his tongue. ‘Maybe that’s it, Dulce. Maybe your mom is psychic, but not in the way she thinks. Maybe she’s picking up on your fears.’
‘Wow.’ Dulcie savored the idea. ‘That would be great, wouldn’t it? But what about you? Why did you tense up when I asked?’ She could see Lloyd drawing back and considered sharing her student’s suspicions. ‘Come on, Lloyd. You can tell me. Is something up with Bullock?’
Lloyd nodded. ‘I swear, he’s getting worse.’ Her officemate lowered his voice. ‘Sometimes, Dulcie, I think he’s losing it. He called me at home last night at some godawful hour. I’d been in bed for hours.’
‘What an invasion of privacy!’ Dulcie looked suitably shocked. She’d noted Lloyd’s choice of words, and although she couldn’t imagine Lloyd being in bed
with
anyone, the trespass was unforgivable. Sleep itself was precious. ‘He couldn’t have waited till morning? He couldn’t have emailed?’
‘Please.’ Lloyd didn’t have to say anymore. Professor William Alfred Bullock did not use email. Dulcie doubted he even typed. ‘And get this. He told me – I kid you not – that he wants me to start researching some rare text. An Elizabethan romance or something!’
‘Huh?’ This wasn’t what she’d expected.
‘I know! Not even his period!’ Lloyd was still whispering, but the color had returned to his cheeks. ‘He’s being all mysterious about where he got it, acting like it just turned up in his collection, and now he wants me to drop everything and get to work on it. And this after he’s had me working nonstop on the notes for the new Smollett edition. I mean, he’s supposed to have turned in the foreword months ago.’
He sat back and the two friends mulled over the craziness of bosses.
‘Senior faculty,’ Dulcie broke the silence at last. ‘I guess they really are free to follow their fancies. And it’s our job to try to keep up.’ She looked around the tiny office. It looked comforting. Homey. Raleigh’s guesses might be off target, but that didn’t mean Dulcie shouldn’t start reading her student’s thesis project, or get back to work on her own. But that question – and Lucy’s call – still rankled.
‘Speaking of, I think I’ll head over there. Beard the lion in his den.’ She pulled the heavy book bag back on to her shoulder. ‘Want me to tell him anything? That you’ve discovered Sir Walter Raleigh’s diary or something?’
Lloyd smiled and shook his head. ‘I’ll figure it out, Dulcie. Actually, I’m hoping that if I don’t mention it, he forgets about it. I don’t think he even remembers where he got it, if it exists at all. Maybe it was all a dream. He’s been getting a little, well, less reality-based as time goes on, if you get my drift.’
‘As if he ever was, Lloyd.’ Dulcie smiled and headed for the door. She hadn’t even taken off her coat.
EIGHTEEN
S
he heard the professor before she saw him. Halfway up that short walkway, eyes focused on the front door, Dulcie heard what could only be described as a roar. For a moment, she hesitated. What if the killer had returned and was now wrestling with the aged academic? What if her mentor had gone into a wild, murderous rage? Would she be finding Polly’s body next, lying arms akimbo among the fallen books?
Shaking that all-too-believable image from her head and taking a deep breath for courage, Dulcie climbed the stone stoop and rang the doorbell. Inside the heavy oak door, chimes – and more roars – rang out.
‘Hi, Dulcie.’ Polly answered, looking no more flustered than usual. ‘I’m, um, I’m not sure the professor is receiving visitors.’
She stood in the doorway as another roar made the wan assistant wince. Dulcie wondered once again about her mentor’s temper. He wouldn’t actually hit Polly, would he?
‘Where the hell is it?’ The roar had words now, either because Polly was holding the door to the solid brick house open or because Professor Bullock had gathered his thoughts. ‘The bloody thing was on my desk not two hours ago!’
Dulcie tried to look over Polly’s shoulder. There was no sense in pretending she hadn’t heard the outburst. But the assistant stood her ground. ‘Has the professor lost something?’ Dulcie asked.
Polly paused, perhaps questioning where her allegiance lay. Looking down, she began picking at a loose thread that held a mismatched button on to her sweater. Maybe she has only just realized it doesn’t match, Dulcie thought. She doesn’t have to be embarrassed about her clothes in front of me. For a moment, Dulcie wondered about reaching out to her, about sharing her own stories of coming East with little more than homemade sweaters and the Riverside Shakespeare. But another roar from the back room interrupted her – and pushed Polly into a decision. She nodded, as if answering her own question, her colorless lips tight. ‘A letter opener. His letter opener,’ she corrected herself.
‘Was it valuable?’
Polly shrugged thin shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. It was part of a set. A gift from when he spoke at McGill. The North American Academic conference, ’83, I think?’
Dulcie nodded, not surprised that the conscientious assistant knew the origin of every item in the professor’s office. ‘Do you think I can get in to see him?’
Polly wrung her hands and dared a glance back over her shoulder. ‘Do you, well, do you think maybe you could come back?’
Dulcie hesitated. While not as afraid of the professor’s wrath as Polly evidently was, she wasn’t keen on aggravating the professor further. For a moment, they both stood there, Polly clearly wishing she could close the door.
‘Look, Polly,’ Dulcie finally resolved. ‘Why don’t you let me in? We’ll sit for a few minutes. If he calms down, great.’
Polly wasn’t convinced. ‘You didn’t have an appointment.’
Dulcie gave her a look that made the older woman twist her hands again.
‘Oh, come in,’ she finally decided. ‘You’re letting all the heat out anyway.’
‘Thanks, Polly.’ Dulcie gave the pale woman a big smile as she followed her in. For a moment, they both stood in the entrance to the sitting room. Dulcie hesitated because of the memories. Polly looked in at the antique furniture and arrived at her own decision.
‘Let’s go back to the kitchen.’ She started off down the hallway. ‘So much warmer, don’t you think?’
‘Sure.’ Dulcie started to follow when a thought came to her. ‘Hey, Polly, you know, you might be able to help me.’ Whatever she had become, Polly Heinhold had once been a scholar, too. ‘I’m trying to figure out a question of authenticity.’
‘Oh?’ For a moment, something flickered in the older woman’s eyes and Dulcie regretted not asking her earlier. ‘Are you working on a disputed text?’
Dulcie hedged. She didn’t want the subject of her thesis to be disputed. It wasn’t, really, except in her own mind. ‘It’s complicated. You see, it has to do with my thesis.’
‘Tell me about it!’ Polly surprised her by letting out a laugh. ‘Theses! Oh, man, I could write a book!’
This was a new side to Polly, and Dulcie looked up in wonder. Was this what the older woman had been like at Dulcie’s age? Before starting to work for Professor Bullock? Was the professor some kind of psychic vampire, sucking the life out of his assistants? Would Lloyd be his next victim? Would she?
Before Dulcie could even begin to frame any of these questions, her cell rang. Lindsay, from her junior tutorial. These students ignored office hours but they expected Dulcie to be on call 24-7. She let the call go through to voicemail, but the moment with Polly was lost as the doorbell rang again. From inside the house, the chimes sounded deep and loud and Dulcie wondered how the professor could ignore them. He must just be used to Polly answering the door, she realized as the older woman did indeed trot back down the hall. There, standing on the stoop, was Roger Gosham.
‘Great!’ Dulcie started back down the hall in Polly’s footsteps. Now she wouldn’t need the introduction. But within five steps, it became clear that there was something going on between the two at the door.
‘Rog – Mr Gosham!’ Polly nearly stuttered, and for a split second Dulcie thought again of Lloyd. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You should know . . .’ He saw Dulcie and his tone lightened. ‘I believe in service to my best customers!’
‘But, but, we have no books for you today, Mr Gosham.’ Polly was wringing her hands again. Dulcie looked on. Was she witnessing the tail end of a romantic spat? Or was something darker going on? Perhaps some kind of competition, vying for Professor Bullock’s favor?
‘I’ve brought one, Polly.’ The gnarled bookbinder held out a package wrapped in brown paper. As Polly unwrapped it, Dulcie was sure she was holding her breath.
‘Oh!’ She sounded startled and Dulcie, looking over, recognized the title.
‘That was fast!’ With a cheeriness she didn’t feel, Dulcie dived in, eager to defuse the situation. ‘I brought that over on Tuesday, Polly. You were out, and the professor asked me to take it. I’m sorry.’
They both turned to stare at her.
‘I mean, I didn’t mean to get in anybody’s way.’ Now she was the one stammering.
‘Oh, you didn’t!’
‘Not at all, so glad to help.’ Polly and Roger Gosham fell over each other trying to reassure her.
‘But while I’m here,’ Gosham smiled, ‘I was wondering if I could pick something up.’ His large, yellow teeth were positively wolf-like, but maybe some women liked that. The comment had not been directed toward her.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Polly blushed and turned away. Dulcie felt like a third wheel. As unobtrusively as possible, she started to edge away from the couple. She could wait in the kitchen.
‘Now, don’t play coy with me.’ Behind her, Dulcie heard a slight scuffle and, possibly, a slap.
‘Go away.’ Polly was whispering. ‘The professor could come out at any moment.’
‘Okay.’ Gosham didn’t sound pleased. ‘But I’ll be back.’
At the sound of the door opening, Dulcie figured it was safe to look up. But although Gosham was indeed standing in the open doorway, the first thing she noticed was Professor Bullock, standing in the entrance to his office, his white hair disheveled and his eyes wild.
NINETEEN
‘
P
rofessor!’ Whatever had been going on with Roger Gosham, Polly’s attention had turned entirely to her employer.
‘Polly.’ Bullock nodded and absently ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back into some semblance of normalcy. ‘Gosham. Glad you’re here.’
The bookbinder stepped toward the professor, but turned one last time to Polly. Dulcie didn’t know if he was readying a kind or cutting remark, considering what she’d just heard. But she did see her moment of opportunity.
‘Professor, Mr Gosham, if you have a moment?’
The professor looked at her and blinked.
‘No, I don’t have an appointment, Professor.’ Dulcie scrambled for an explanation. ‘But something’s come up.’ Both men were looking at her now, and Dulcie had the distinct impression that Polly was relieved. She, however, had to figure out what to say. ‘It’s about a book.’
‘Yes?’ It was the professor who had spoken, but Gosham was staring at her.
‘I’m having a problem I’m wondering if maybe one of you can help me with.’ Dulcie paused, trying to figure out the best way to phrase her question without revealing all of her doubts. ‘It’s a question of authenticity.’
‘Authenticity!’ The professor’s eyes lit up and he repeated the word as if it were exactly what he’d been meaning to say. ‘How fascinating! Do come in, Dulcie.’
Right behind her, Roger Gosham started to speak, but Professor Bullock waved him away. ‘We’ll talk another time, Roger. Grateful that you came down here. Polly?’ The professor barely turned to acknowledge his faithful assistant. ‘Give Gosham the Reynolds, will you?’
Dulcie looked back at Polly and at Gosham, who shrugged. The Reynolds was the volume that the bookbinder had just returned. With an answering shrug of her own, Dulcie turned and followed the professor into his office.
‘Have a seat, have a seat.’ The professor was being unusually courtly, but as Dulcie looked around she realized she’d have a difficult time obliging. Along with the usual scholarly clutter – the piles of books and journals, dog-eared printouts and scribbled notes – the large dim room was witness to a rampage. The professor’s search for his missing desk set seemed to have had him turning over furniture as well as upsetting some of the older, and taller, piles of books. Dulcie righted a lamp as she made her way over to the usual guest chair. An opened magazine lay face down and she closed it, placing it on the floor beside her as she took a seat.
‘Sir? Did you find it?’
‘Find what?’
Dulcie blinked. Surely, he must have realized his cries of dismay were audible. ‘Your letter opener?’ He stared at her, his face blank. Maybe Polly had it wrong. On Tuesday, he’d been complaining about a missing pen. ‘Or was it a pen? A missing pen?’
‘What? My pen?’ Bullock reached among the papers on his desk. ‘It’s right here.’ He reached for something on the desk, dismissing her concern with a small wave. ‘So, are we talking authenticity in terms of actual authorship or in terms of an intrusive editor? A suspect edition, perhaps?’