Murder Is Collegiate

  Murder Is Collegiate

  A Susan Wiles Schoolhouse Mystery

  by

  Diane Weiner

  This book is dedicated to my stepmother, Laura Grigull, in appreciation for the love, patience, and dedication she showed my father when he needed her the most.

  Chapter 1

  Look at this place. No wonder it’s listed in that book about places to visit before you die,” said Susan Wiles. “I haven’t been this far north in Vermont before. Sugarbury Falls. Even the name is enticing. Maybe you should retire and we can move up here.”“I’ve got a few more years left in me,” said Mike, her husband of nearly forty years. After a recent heart attack, he had cut back his hours at the city permits office in their hometown of Westbrook, New York, but wasn’t ready to fully retire as Susan had. “It is beautiful. Emily and Henry are fortunate to have inherited the family cabin, especially since they both love hiking and skiing.”

  Susan said, “And lucky enough to be able to afford to retire. Henry worked a lot of hours at the hospital. Good for him, he socked away part of his radiologist salary all along so he wouldn’t have to work into his old age.”

  Mike turned onto a two-lane dirt road. A sprinkling of snow powdered the landscape. The pine trees looked like vanilla-frosted Christmas cupcakes, interspersed with the bare maples that fueled the town’s economy. It was late February, and their newly-retired friends had warned them it would be colder than they were used to back in upstate New York. Susan turned up the heat in their blue Prius.

  Susan was grateful for the escape from recent family events. She’d just met her birth father for the first time. Her birth mother had said he didn’t know Susan existed, but in working to solve a case, Susan ultimately found out that her birth father, Jonathan Stirling, had put the pieces together and was thrilled to find he had a child. He planned to visit them next month.

  “Look, Mike. Maplewood. That’s their community.” Mike slowed down when he encountered a fork in the road. “Doesn’t this remind you of that Robert Frost poem?”

  Mike chuckled. “Both sides look less traveled to me, but the directions say to go right.” Farther down the road, he followed a hand-painted wooden sign that pointed in the direction of the Foxes’ cabin. The road circled around a frozen lake that was sparsely dotted with wooden cabins.

  “According to Emily’s directions, it should be coming up on the left,” said Susan. “There it is.”

  Mike turned onto a gravel driveway and parked in front of a quaint, wooden cabin. The welcome mat read, “The Foxes.” Tied in place, red gingham curtains partially covered the windows. Susan knocked.

  “No one’s answering. Emily said they’d be home.”

  “Try again.”

  Susan knocked harder but still no response. She peeked through the window. “The lights are off. I don’t think they’re home. That’s weird.” She tried calling but couldn’t get service. “Back home, they always kept a key hidden.” She lifted the mat and picked up a silver key, which she inserted into the lock. “Voilà.”

  The inside of the cabin was cozily decorated and smelled like apple cinnamon. A plush sofa and two overstuffed chairs faced a stone fireplace, with a colorful quilt neatly folded on the hearth. A black creature leaped off the back of the sofa, startling Susan. She caught her breath and remembered the family pet.

  “Chester! How do you like your new home?” Chester answered with a meow and ran into the kitchen. Susan followed. “No one is in here. The coffee is set up, and dessert plates are stacked on the counter. She didn’t forget we were coming.”

  They peeked into the downstairs guest room, and Mike climbed the ladder leading to the master bedroom loft. “No one’s up here either.”

  As Mike descended, they heard a key turn in the door. A fiftyish man with neat gray hair came in holding a bakery box. “Susan, Mike! So glad you’re here.” He set the cake on the kitchen counter. “Emily, where are you?”

  “She’s not here,” said Susan.

  “Not here? She should have been home hours ago. She teaches a morning writing class over at St. Edwards College. Takes her ten minutes to get home when the roads are clear.” He picked up the landline and dialed Emily’s office. “No answer.”

  “Maybe she stopped at the grocery store,” said Susan.

  “She did the shopping yesterday. Sent me to the bakery to pick up a fresh dessert today.”

  “Maybe she got pulled into a meeting. My daughter’s husband is a professor, and it happens to him all the time.”

  “Or maybe she had car trouble,” offered Mike.

  “I’m going over to the college. This isn’t like her.”

  Mike and Susan followed Henry into the car. On the way out of Maplewood, they passed the Foxes’ next-door neighbor, Kurt Olav. Kurt was a salty older gentleman with ice-blue eyes, who’d relocated to Sugarbury Falls from Minnesota. Henry motioned him to stop and rolled down the car window.

  “Have you seen Emily?”

  In a dragged-out monotone, he answered, “Haven’t seen her all day though I thought I saw the barn door open as I was heading out earlier.”

  “Barn door? Emily never goes into the barn. I’ll have to check the latch. It must have been the wind.”

  Henry continued to St. Edwards College, a small Gothic-style campus surrounded by dark woods. They parked outside a two-story, stone building and entered through a thick wooden door.

  “Her office is right down the hall,” said Henry. Susan and Mike followed, nearly crashing into him when he stopped abruptly in front of Emily’s office. The light was on, and the door was ajar. Henry screamed and ran inside. Susan put up her hand, preventing Mike from stepping into a puddle of blood. She approached the desk, wincing as she moved her sticky feet. All she could see was the back of the woman, her auburn hair matted with blood, slumped over in the desk chair, facing the window.

  “Oh God, Emily!” screamed Susan.

  Susan held her breath. She put her hand on Mike’s shoulder as they waited for the seconds to pass. Henry, breathing hard, swung the chair around.

  Please let her be alive. Susan trembled. Not another murder. Not Emily.

  Henry bent down. “It’s not her. Thank God it isn’t her.” He felt for a pulse. “She’s dead.”

  “Who?” said Susan. “If that’s not Emily, then who is it?”

  “Henry, holding on to the chair for support, said, “It’s Emily’s colleague, Martha Peterson.”

  “She looks just like Emily,” said Susan, brushing her hand on the woman’s cheek.

  “Hey, try not to touch things. We don’t want to mess up the crime scene,” said Mike.

  She rolled her eyes at him as if to say, You really think I don’t know that?

  Henry addressed Susan’s comment. “Yes, students asked Emily all the time if they were sisters. Same reddish hair, same length. About the same age and build too. My God, Martha is dead!”

  Mike dialed 911. Susan noticed a gash on the back of Martha’s head. “It looks like someone snuck up behind her and bashed her on the head.” Her eyes scanned the room for a murder weapon.

  “Poor Martha. Who did this and why?” said Henry.

  “I hate to mention it, but this is Emily’s office and she was facing away from the door. Do you think…?”

  “Susan, you think someone tried to kill Emily?” Henry looked around the office. “You’re right. They may have been after Emily.” He frantically stuck his head out the door and called into the hallway. “Emily, where are you?”

  The campus security guard appeared on the scene. “I heard screaming.” He walked over to the body. “Is she dead?”

  “Yes, and my wife is missing. Did you pass anyone in the parking lot?” asked Henry.


  “No, no one. It’s always pretty deserted here at night.” He called the local police.

  “I’ll check the ladies’ room,” said Mike. “We passed it coming in.”

  Susan noticed a purse on the floor beside the desk. “Henry, is that Martha’s purse?”

  “No, that’s Emily’s.” Henry spoke in a high-pitched voice as he rummaged through the purse. “Wallet, brush, lipstick… Her keys aren’t in here!” He looked out the window. “And her car isn’t in the parking lot. She parks behind the building.”

  Sirens blared, and the EMTs rushed in followed by two young police detectives.

  “I’m Detective Ron Wooster. This is my partner, Megan O’Leary. Let’s clear the room and let the paramedics work.” Megan secured the room with crime tape and snapped photos from every angle. Detective Wooster sent the security guard to check the rest of the building.

  “I think whoever did this was after my wife.” Henry’s face was flushed. “And she’s missing. My wife. Her purse is here, but she’s gone.”

  “His wife is Emily. She looks just like the victim,” said Susan.

  “Do you know the victim?” asked Detective Wooster.

  “Not personally. Her name is Martha Peterson.”

  “She’s my wife’s colleague,” said Henry. “Her office is down the hall.”

  The detective pulled out a legal pad and started writing. “Start from the beginning.”

  Susan said, “We came from New York to visit our friends here, Henry and Emily Fox. When we got to their cabin, no one was home until Henry came in.”

  Henry continued. “Emily didn’t answer the phone, so I… I came here. She was supposed to be done teaching hours ago. My God, Emily. I still don’t know if she’s safe. I have to find her.” He pulled out his phone to call. “It goes straight to voice mail.”

  The medical examiner arrived at the scene. Detective Wooster asked Henry to show him Martha’s office. Inside, Susan spotted a purse on Martha’s desk, which the detective opened. He checked the wallet. “It belongs to Martha Peterson.”

  Detective Wooster’s partner found them. “She’s only been dead an hour or so. The medical examiner says it looks like blunt force trauma. They’re taking the body in now.”

  Mike said, “Do you think it was a robbery?”

  “No,” said Detective Wooster. “We checked the purse. Wallet’s in there with a couple of twenties. Credit cards are there. The victim is still wearing a gold necklace and wedding ring.”

  “Wedding ring?” said Susan. Her heart fell, thinking about Martha’s husband hearing the news.

  “She’s a widow,” said Henry. “I think she has a sister out in California. Detective, I have to find my wife. Can you put out an alert?”

  “Why don’t you check at home?”

  “The cell service wasn’t working when I was at the house,” said Susan.

  “Yeah, it’s spotty at best. What if she isn’t there?” Henry wrung his hands together.

  “Let’s go see,” said Mike. “I’ll drive.”

  “Call me and let me know if she doesn’t turn up,” said Detective Wooster.

  Susan, Mike, and Henry piled into the car and sped toward Maplewood. On their way, they heard sirens. The road was blocked with emergency vehicles.

  “That’s Lake Pleasant. Looks like a car ran off the road. It’s sticking half out of the lake.” Henry parked, and they ran to the side of the lake where a crane was being hooked up to a car. Henry was frantic. “What if…” He looked around. “And who’s that in the wet suit? A diver? Is someone down there? Is my wife down there?”

  Mike said, “Calm down. We don’t know if it’s Emily.”

  “That’s Emily’s car! Oh God. It’s her car.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am. If Emily’s… If she’s…”

  Mike led him to a tree stump. “Sit down. We’ll talk to the paramedics as soon as the car is out.”

  Susan pulled her coat tightly around her and tried to get a closer look before being shooed away by a fireman. She could hear the ice cracking above the grinding of the crane and for a moment felt as though she was going to pass out. The sun had set hours ago, but the lights from the emergency vehicles lit the scene like a late winter photo shoot.

  She asked a nearby officer, “What’s happening? Is anyone in the car?”

  “Ma’am, we’re trying to find out.”

  “But I have to know. My friend is missing.” She started toward the lake.

  The officer put his hand on her arm. “Look, ma’am. We can work better with a clear field. Please stay back.”

  “If you let me see, I can tell you who it is.” She walked toward the lake. How long can a person last in freezing cold water? They need to hurry.

  “Lady, let us do our job. Step back. Last thing we need is to have to pull an old lady out of the frozen pond while trying to extricate a car and locate a body.”

  Did he really just call me an old lady? Susan wished her detective daughter, Lynette, was with her to take charge and keep things moving. She’d keep her informed as to what was happening so she wouldn’t feel like a helpless deer staring at headlights. At least she hoped that’s what she’d do after realizing her mom could be a valuable asset. After all, who helped solve a principal’s murder, cleared a friend from murder charges against a student, and restored the safety of her granddaughter’s preschool? That would be her. Old lady indeed.

  She walked over to Mike and Henry. The grinding sound grew louder and quicker.

  “Look, there’s the car. They’re pulling it all the way out.” Susan started to move toward it, but Mike grabbed her arm.

  “Give them a few minutes.” He met Susan’s eyes and darted his own to Henry. Susan realized he was trying to soften the potential blow to their friend.

  Henry stood up. “I have to see if she’s in there. What if she’s… dead? The lake water is freezing. What if she got knocked out in the accident and couldn’t swim out of the car?”

  Susan snuck closer and took cover behind a tree so she could hear the conversation between the officers and paramedics.

  A uniformed officer said, “The window was shattered, maybe with a hammer. The body is gone. The divers are searching.”

  Susan stepped out from behind the tree. “Or maybe she escaped from the car and is sitting, freezing, waiting for medical attention. Did you check the area?”

  “Lady, please. I told you to stay back. We have it under control,” said the officer.

  Susan went back to Mike and Henry. “She isn’t in the car, and the window is smashed.”

  “Smashed? She had one of those tools to break the window in just this type of situation. Emily is smart. I’ll bet she smashed the window herself and swam to the surface. She’s an excellent swimmer.”

  Susan’s heart twisted in her chest. She couldn’t imagine losing her friend, and even worse, couldn’t imagine Henry losing his wife, just when they had so much to look forward to here in their new town. She turned around and gasped. Henry screamed. Mike said, “Is it possible?”

  Standing under a tree, wrapped in a blanket, was Emily. She was accompanied by an older woman in a parka.

  “Oh my God. Emily! You’re alive!” Henry ran to her and hugged her tight. “Are you okay? I was so scared that… You’re trembling. Let the paramedics look at you.”

  “I can’t stop shaking. Martha. She’s dead. I went to the ladies’ room and came back. There was blood. Blood on the floor. Blood on her head.”

  “Are you hurt? You’re soaking wet. How’d you get out of the car?”

  “I’m okay. I broke the window and swam out. He was after me. He must have killed Martha.”

  Henry addressed the woman in the parka. “Coralee, how did you find her?”

  “I went out to call the dog back in, and I saw Emily walking toward me. I brought her inside, and we were about to call the police. I heard sirens, so we figured they’d found the car.”

  “Or the mon
ster who killed Martha and tried to kill me,” said Emily.

  Detective Wooster ran over to them. “Mrs. Fox, are you okay? Had you remained in the car, you’d never have survived. You saved your own life. Let the paramedics look at you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not hurt, just cold and shaken up.”

  “Can I ask you some questions?”

  Coralee owned a bed-and-breakfast in the community. She said, “My inn is right there. Can you question her inside where it’s warm? I’ll make us some tea.”

  Detective Wooster hesitated for a moment, then agreed. “I’ll let the team know you’re safe, and I’ll be right over.”

  Chapter 2

  Coralee’s place, The Sugarbury Outside Inn, was a fixture in Sugarbury Falls. It was painted yellow with white shutters, and a porch surrounded the first floor. Guests drove up to enjoy long romantic weekends, to tour St. Edwards College with their high school students, to enjoy the outdoor activities, and to celebrate milestones like anniversaries and birthdays. The inn was famous for its weekend brunch and home-cooked dinners. Coralee led Susan, Mike, Emily, and Henry up the trail to the inn.

  “This looks like a gingerbread house straight out of a fairy tale,” said Susan, trying to break the tension. She stepped onto the front porch.

  “Unless you think I’m going to fatten you all up and throw you into an oven, I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Coralee.

  Once inside, Coralee took them through a sitting area where a fire crackled in the fieldstone fireplace. Several sweater-clad guests gathered near the hearth, sipping from mugs and munching on brownies.

  “Let’s go back there where it’s more private,” said Coralee. She handed Emily an afghan. “I’m going to make us some hot chocolate. I’ll be right back.”

  “Are you feeling any warmer?” asked Susan.

  Emily answered, “I’m still shivering, but I think it’s more from the sight of Martha in that chair than from being drenched.”

  Detective Wooster rang the bell on the lobby counter.

  “We’re back here,” said Henry. “In the alcove.”