Academic Body

By Shirley S. Allen

A retired theatrical director struggles with a new career as drama professor at a small, Maine college while trying to woo his wife away from the New York stage.

When he finds himself a murder suspect, he becomes a reluctant sleuth with only three weeks in which to solve all three problems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kotu Beach Press
• Release date: Jun 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9788834138618

Book preview

Academic  Body

––––––––

by 

Shirley S. Allen

Copyright Shirley S. Allen 2010.

This edition copyright Shirley S. Allen estate 2014.

Published by Kotu Beach Press.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Academic Body

Day One.  The Dean’s Reception

Day Two.  Lenore in Charge

Day Three.  Discovery

Day Four.  Prime Suspect

Day Five.  Sleuthing

Day Seven.  Dinner Party

Day Eight.  Gloomy Sunday

Day Nine.  New Suspect

Day Ten.  More Evidence

Day Eleven.  Fellman

Day Twelve.  Oceanside Restaurant

Day Thirteen.  Wooing Lenore

Day Fourteen.  Deadly Threat

Day Fifteen.  Working Together

Day Sixteen.  Janet Tryon

Day Seventeen.  New Information

Day Eighteen.  First Success

Day Nineteen.  The Land of Oz

Day Twenty.  Solution

For DeForrest Home, Jr.

computer guru

Day One.  The Dean’s Reception

Lenore sat beside him like a stone, driving him mad with her silence.  He wanted to stop the car and shake her. All she had to do was play a part for one afternoon, and she was good at playing parts. Such a small thing for her and so crucially important to him. He slammed on the brakes at a red light, and the car skidded on the wet pavement.

Lenore gasped and turned an enquiring look at him, her lustrous brown eyes wide with surprise.

Sorry, he said as remorse struck him. He should be showing her how glad he was that she had come back to him. But here he was, demanding that she accompany him to the dean’s reception.  Maybe she had a right to sulk.  But dammit!  He didn’t have a choice. The dean had made it clear that her absence would be an affront to the president.

Spotting the dean’s house ahead, he pulled the car to the curb, grabbed his umbrella, and sprinted to her door.  Under shelter from the rain, she tucked her arm into his, and they picked their way along the puddled sidewalk.  This was better.  Even her silence couldn’t tarnish the pleasure of her touch or his pride at having such a wife once again at his side. Her sleek coiffeur framed a face, not pretty, but alive and capable of  expressing the whole range of human emotions. He wasn’t just showing her off to this new community.  In thirty years, he’d grown accustomed to the stunning effect she had upon other men.  He was counting on her to bolster his new career as he had once bolstered hers.

As they walked up the long driveway, the weight of her arm on his increased.  He wished he could blame the wet pavement for her lagging pace, but he knew that she was as light-footed as a gazelle. "What the blazes—? The umbrella was ripped from his hand, and he looked up to see a low branch from a denuded maple just a foot above his head. 

Lenore squealed and pulled her hand from his elbow.  A drenching with ice water was not included in our agreement, she said in a voice as cold as the rain.  She shivered and lifted the collar of her coat away from the back of her neck.

I’m sorry, Lenore.  I wasn’t looking. 

I’ll accept your apology if you will tender mine to Dean Todd.  Tell him that I’m coming down with a cold.  Which would not be a lie if I went to the party in wet clothes.  She turned and started back down the driveway. 

Wait! Paul said, catching her arm.  You can’t back out now.  Someone is sure to see you leaving, and that would be damnably hard to explain.  I don’t want an X against my name in Todd’s little black book.

She searched his face for a silent moment.  But that’s just it, Paul. In the theatre, in all our years, even under the tyrants, we never had one with a little black book.  I despise the man just from what you’ve told me about him.

Come on, old trouper.  I’m still auditioning for the role of professor, and I need a partner for my act.  Todd told me that he was especially looking forward to meeting you.  All last winter he needled me about living here alone.  He said that you would never leave New York.

Paul broke off at the sight of an approaching guest, jammed the umbrella into Lenore’s hand, and dropped down on one knee to massage her ankle.  Is that better, dear?  I hope you haven’t sprained it.  Oh, hello, Don, he said, looking up. Glad to see you. 

He rose to greet the smug-faced chairman of the biology department.  My wife has turned her ankle.  Lenore, this is Don Whitelock.  He held his breath.  Would she

accept the role he had forced on her?              I’m delighted to know you, Professor Whitelock, she said with a sweet smile, broken by a well-simulated wince of pain.  Paul has told me about your exciting research on seaweed.  So stupid about this ankle!  May I take your arm as I limp along?  I can almost forgive Dean Todd for dragging us out in this foul weather since I can finally meet Paul’s colleagues.

Paul would have liked to applaud this fine performance, but Whitelock only managed a nod of acquiescence as Lenore slipped her arm through his.  Paul instantly decided that Whitelock was a dunce despite the great esteem in which he was held at Weaver College.

But I am disappointed not to see Mrs. Whitelock with you, Lenore went on, underlining the sentence with a jab of her elbow to Paul’s ribs.  She hadn’t believed him that spouses were required to attend the dean’s affair.  I do hope that she isn’t ill.

Oh, she’s already inside.  I went back to park the car.

Paul smiled at this confirmation of his assertion.

What a thoughtful man! Lenore said, with another jab.  You drove her to the door so that she wouldn’t have to walk over these slithery leaves.

Paul forgave her these small revenges because she was playing her part so well, but he steered the conversation to safer channels.  Our dean certainly has a beautiful old house, complete with the narrow clapboards of colonial times and the fan light over the door.

Cramped and dark inside, Whitelock said as he abruptly dropped Lenore’s arm to push the doorbell. 

Inside, Blakesly Todd, rigid as a sentry from his bushy eyebrows to his shiny black shoes., stood next to his unsmiling wife.  He greeted Whitelock with only a stiff nod, but extended his hand to Paul.  Trudy, he said, turning to his wife, you know Paul Godwin, our temporary professor of drama, and here, at last, is his famous wife, Lenore Lowes.

So kind of you to give me the chance to meet Paul’s colleagues, Lenore said, taking his hand, then Mrs. Todd’s.  What a marvelous house.  Is it eighteenth century?

Mrs. Todd’s considerable bulk was pinned against the newel post to allow the guests passage through the tiny front hall.  Paul recognized the cramped entrance as a sign of the authentic colonial style.  Perhaps he would find a coffin door in the front parlor, since even the simplest pine box could not have been maneuvered through this entrance without loss of funereal dignity. 

Early nineteenth, Mrs. Todd said in the laconic manner of the native Mainer.  Now both of you just trot upstairs and take off those wet coats.  You’ll find places to hang them in the bedrooms.  Men to the right and ladies to the left.

Lenore looked up the steep staircase.  I’d love to see the quaint little bedrooms, but I’ll have to wait until our next visit because I turned my ankle walking up from the road.  Paul, dear, would you take my coat up?  I’ll just hobble over to that cozy chair by the fire and beg to be waited on.

Paul saw the look of alarm on Mrs. Todd’s face and hastened to reassure her.  It’s not serious, and it’s really my fault for not driving her up to the door.  Inwardly he  

smiled at Lenore’s exploitation of the malady he had invented.  In his years as a theatrical director he had learned that when you’ve persuaded an actress to a play a role, you could expect her to squeeze every drop of juice out of it.

He took Lenore’s coat and mounted the stairs, fitting his toes carefully onto the narrow treads and bending his head for the low ceiling as he approached the second floor.  But the last riser caught his foot and sent him sprawling on the upstairs landing.  He muttered a curse and struggled quickly to his feet.  He should have remembered that early settlers, not being professional carpenters, often had to extend the last riser to meet the second floor.  This left a trap for the unwary, or perhaps a lesson from Puritan dogma on the fall of man in his moment of pride.

He glanced downstairs to be sure that no one had seen his fall.  Lenore’s heavy coat had muffled the thud.  Whitelock had disappeared into the right bedroom.  Paul turned left, but at his second step a torturing pain in his left ankle stopped him.  Two realizations came to him simultaneously: he had sprained his ankle, and he could not let anyone see the slightest sign of it until he had put time and distance between Lenore’s supposed injury and his own.  Otherwise, the Todds might well think that their guests were trying to collect insurance money.

After depositing the coats, he eased himself downstairs using the railing for support.  At the entrance to the living room, he stood for a moment calculating the distance to Lenore’s chair when Mrs. Todd accosted him.

The other way, Professor Godwin, she commanded.  All the goodies are in the dining room.  And your wife would like you to bring her a glass of Chablis, because of her sore limb, you know. 

With the hope of finding an analgesic, he limped into the dining room, but there was no sign of gin or whiskey, not even sherry or vermouth.  Weaver College had not forgotten its Baptist founders.  He nodded and smiled at the people standing around the table, which held orange cheese, white crackers, and supermarket cookies besides the coffee urn and a few bottles of generic wine.  Preferring the white wine to the pink, he filled two of the delicate little glasses and, heedless of good manners, drained one in two swallows and filled it again. 

In the living room he found Lenore comfortably extended, her left leg on a hassock shared by Gene Taylor, the dashing professor of French, who was wearing a black turtle neck sweater under a well cut black blazer. Paul handed her the wine and looked hopefully at the hassock, but she waved him away.

Thank you, Paul, darling.  Now you are free to greet all your friends.  I’m fine here.  Gene is telling me wonderful stories about his adventures in Paris.

Every seat seemed to be taken, but he saw an open door at the outside corner of the room.  The old house must indeed have had a coffin door, which now served as the entrance to an added room.  He tightened his grip on the wine glass and edged his way through the crowd until he was stopped by Dean Todd, who leaned close to Paul’s ear and spoke in a confidential tone.

I’m glad that you and your wife were able to be here today, Godwin.  Mrs. Todd and I like to know all our faculty family.  We regret that we didn’t meet your wife last year, but I understand that Miss Lowes had commitments in New York which prevented her from joining you here on campus.           

Commitments!  Was the man implying that Lenore’s triumph in Albee’s new play was a questionable excuse for their separation?  Your understanding is correct, Paul replied in the clipped accent that he had used to subdue recalcitrant actors.

You must have missed your wife a great deal.  Todd’s voice grated on.  Perhaps that’s the excuse for your extracurricular activities with one of our undergraduate women.

Paul’s heart skipped a beat, but in an instant Todd’s leering face set it pumping hot blood.  Extra—what in hell?  No!  What could the man be talking about?

I have information to the contrary.  And photographs as well.  Please call my secretary in the morning, and make an appointment to see me tomorrow.  Tuesday at the latest.  Todd turned away and spoke to a young woman Paul recognized as a lab assistant in one of the sciences, Robin Kelsey. She was an attractive addition to the faculty lunch table in the cafeteria.

Paul collapsed into the seat that she had vacated and tried to calm the tumult in his brain.  An affair with a student!  Even if it weren’t immoral and a serious risk for his damaged heart, why would he care for some child when he was married to Lenore?  Except for five short trips to New York, he had spent a celibate nine months at Weaver

last year.  The one woman he had seen often was poor, frumpy Emily Taylor, who had taught him what he had to learn in order to function in the academic world. 

Is something wrong, Paul? 

The soft voice that pulled him back to the crowded room had a familiar ring.  He turned to find his mentor sitting beside him, wearing a drab brown dress that melted into the sofa.  Emily!  Forgive me.  I lost it for a minute.  A sudden attack of claustrophobia.

It’s these low ceilings.  Built for warmth, not for large gatherings.  I haven’t seen you since classes started this fall.  How are you getting on with the lecture courses?

Struggling.  Lenore wants to meet you.  I’ve told her how much you helped me.  Emily gave him a wan smile, and he followed her glance to the chair by the fire, where her husband leaned forward from the footstool, laying siege to Lenore.  Paul’s quick anger arose for Emily’s sake, not his own.  Lenore was playing the role she was cast for, a gracious celebrity.  Gene Taylor was displaying adulterous desires in public. 

Let’s join them. Paul stood up and winced as he braved half a dozen steps.

Thanks, Gene, for tending to my invalid while I made the rounds. Emily, this is Lenore.

Gene had the grace to stand up.  Lenore slid her foot off the hassock and swung around to clasp Emily’s hand in both of hers.

A sore ankle has kept me chained to this chair, or I would have found you sooner.  Thank you for helping Paul learn the tricks of his new trade.

Paul allowed them a short conversation before making his excuses.  It’s time I took Lenore home to an ice pack.  I’ll get our coats.

A few minutes later, they stepped out the door into the dark, which descended early on October afternoons.  Paul limped down the drive, gritting his teeth against the pain while Lenore chattered.

Do you know that Gene Taylor has a mistress in Paris?  And President Weathersby invited me to appear on the podium with him at the alumni meeting in New York.  He may be in the market for a mistress.  Her laugh tinkled in the frigid air, and she leaned cozily against Paul.

He staggered sideways and let go of her arm.  Propped against a fence post, he fished in his pocket for the keys and held them out to her.  Would you mind getting the car?  I am hoist with my own petard.  He rubbed his ankle.

Her laughter burst out in the soggy dark.  The gods are just!

Please, Orrie.  Don’t let anyone know.

You’re really hurt, aren’t you?  I’m sorry.  You changed the script too fast from drawing-room comedy to high tragedy.  I’ll run.

Two hours later Paul felt almost comfortable.  Although his ankle was swollen, the pain had subsided with the application of an ice pack and aspirin, which Lenore had preferred to his own suggestion of neat bourbon as an emergency treatment.  Now, after they had shared an omelet of sufficient piquancy to erase the memory of cheap wine, he was enjoying a hot toddy before a fire.

So what did you think of my colleagues?  Obviously you were captivated by our romantic, the dashing Gene Taylor.  I’ve always thought him a bit frivolous.

He takes himself very seriously.  His naiveté is quite touching except that it doesn’t fit with his gray hair and thickening waist.  I’ll bet his wife babies him.

She can’t have had much time for that.  They have eight children.

No! Her little laugh expressed shock  He didn’t mention them, only that he’s wangled a grant to pay for a trip to Paris next semester, and he’s furious at Dean Todd for not approving his sabbatical leave.

Todd’s just being his usual ornery self, I suppose, but for once he may be doing some good.  My sympathies are with Emily.  She would have a Ph.D. if there hadn’t been so many children.

Ornery!  Todd is worse than that, Paul.  Apparently he runs the whole college like a Victorian schoolmaster.  Gene says that everyone hates him.

I believe that.  He’s a prying bastard with his nose in everyone’s business, Paul said with more heat than he intended to display.  He sits in his office with the door open from seven-thirty in the morning and clocks in every faculty member to be sure that they all are on time.

Oh, Paul, let’s get out!  I dislike him even more since I’ve met him.  He hinted to me that he knew something about you that you’ve kept secret—something disreputable.

Paul gulped the rest of his drink and avoided her eyes.  Typical, he said, trying to hide choking anger with what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.  I don’t suppose he told you what it was. 

Her eyebrows went up. I didn’t give him a chance. 

Paul lifted his drink.  "Good girl!  Could you give me a refill?  Todd was scum.  But what game was he playing?  If he wanted to get rid of Paul, he could easily refuse to grant him a permanent appointment.  No need for false accusations or for involving Lenore. 

You may be right, he said when she handed him his drink, But I’m not ready to give up, Orrie. This job is one of the few things I can do since the doctors made me give up the theatre.  I can’t go back to sitting around a New York apartment while you work.  I’ll see Todd tomorrow.  Of course, if he blocks my tenure, I’ll be out at the end of the academic year, June, ‘63

But we can’t wait, Paul.  If you think you may be out of a job in June, we have to find something else as soon as we can.  

Paul gritted his teeth.  That motherly tone in Lenore’s voice, which had developed while he was an invalid, was more lethal than Todd’s threats.  He would fight with every weapon he had to keep his job and his marriage.  Okay, but let’s wait until I see Todd tomorrow.

Day Two.  Lenore in Charge

Paul squinted through a pounding headache to find Lenore standing over him with a glass of water.  Suddenly aware that he was lying on the daybed in his study, he remembered that Lenore had