Ada Madison - The Square Root of Murder

“Take as long as you want with the notes and let me know if I can help.”

“You’ve already helped a lot.”

“Keep me in the loop, okay?” she said, her tone expressing her delight at having been of assistance.

I assured her I would and hung up.

I exited through the basement, without mishap. The sedan was gone, thus eliminating the trepidation I’d felt over having to squeeze in next to it before I could drive away.

Once I had a chance to study the new samples from Hal and Gil, and the material in the binder, I’d take the package to Virge. It would be hard to wait, but I wanted to be sure this time.

I hated to admit that as much as I was looking forward to seeing Bruce tonight, I was also eager to see what he’d been able to round up from the various handwritten pieces around the MAstar trailer.

Some romantic girlfriend I was.

A little after seven thirty I let myself in through the front door of A Hill of Beads. I punched in the alarm code on the wall pad, reminding myself first not to use my own code, but Ariana’s, a numerology sequence pertaining to her birth date.

It was still light out, but thanks to the semi-transparent solar window shades Ariana had had installed, the interior of the shop was dark.

I was tired of wandering into unlit, spooky spaces and hoped this was the last of them. At least this one smelled nice. Sage, I thought. I was also tired of being frightened of every little creak, like the sound of the rotating rack of stickers when I bumped into it. I wasn’t used to the new layout with added crafts supplies.

It wasn’t only the new nooks and crannies that got to me, however. How many times had I seen the row of dressmakers’ forms above the counters? The velvety necks and chests sporting beaded necklaces had been there for as long as I could remember. This evening the sight of the headless, bejeweled women sent a ripple of fright through my body. Familiar baskets holding sale items made spindly shadows against the wall, which was crammed with beads, in plastic packages, on strings, and in small glass jars.

I’d decided against turning lights on so as not to attract attention or give would-be customers false hope. Now I questioned that decision, but I was more than halfway to my destination and I was determined not to give in further to irrational fear.

I dug my phone from my purse and hit “favorites” on the screen. I leaned on a counter and clicked on Bruce’s number, ostensibly to let him know what time I thought I’d be home, but mostly to have company in the store, if only in the form of a friendly voice.

I waited while the phone dialed. Or whatever these smartphones did.

Hal would know. Besides being a physicist, Hal was a techie and tutored everyone in Franklin on our latest i-purchases, doing a much better job than the manuals that accompanied them. I cheered myself with the fact that Hal’s ruse would soon be revealed and Timmy would have his father back, if not his mother.

I walked toward the new beaded curtain that led to the back room where I’d last seen Ariana’s binder.

I stepped over the threshold and into a loud noise.

Crash!

Gillian Bartholomew had smashed the window and entered the shop by the back window, the better to avoid being seen, I imagined. Even in my shock, I had to admire her agility as she climbed over the low sill.

My heart seemed to stop; my throat tightened to the maximum as I pretended not to scan her body for signs of a weapon. Both her hands were visible and empty, but she was wearing a khaki fisherman’s vest with many pockets. It couldn’t have been for warmth, so I imagined the worst. A knife in the top right pocket, a gun in the lower right, a venomous needle in the lower left, and a bomb strapped across her chest.

I hoped I was wrong and she was packing only lipstick and tissues, like a normal woman.

I slipped my phone into my own pocket, ruefully empty of weapons. I didn’t have “speaker” selected and couldn’t tell if Bruce had picked up or if it had gone to his voicemail.

“Gil,” I said, loudly, in case Bruce was listening. “What are you doing here?”

As if I didn’t know.

It didn’t surprise me that “breaking and entering gracefully” might be part of an army reserve soldier’s skill set.

“Why, Sophie, why?” Gil asked, a sad look on her face.

Wasn’t that a more appropriate question from me to her? Not the time for technicalities, however.

Gil had a good four inches on me, and more than a few pounds. Moreover, she’d spent her life building up strength in physically demanding jobs, whereas, except for the occasional bike ride and kicking the exercise ball out of my way in the garage, the most athletic thing I’d done this summer was sharpening my puzzle pencils.

It was lighter in this area since the back window had no shades, and now, no glass either. I thought of running to the window and waving and screaming madly for help, but Gil was between me and the window, and the alley seemed deserted anyway. I could turn and run out through the sales floor, but I had a feeling she was quicker than I was. Wrong or not, I envisioned emergency workers like Gil able to run at the speed of light.

I saw that Gil’s eyes were tear streaked, her face a map of despair. She inserted her hand into one of the vest pockets. I clutched at my shirt and swallowed audibly. She pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. I relaxed. Sort of.

“We should talk, Gil,” I said.

Good luck with that , I added to myself.

Gil shifted from one leg to the other, nearly hopping off the floor. “The funny thing is I knew I blew it, going back, moving the cake inside, adding those thesis pages. Overkill.” Poor word choice, I thought. “But when I saw that Rachel was going up to his office”-this came out as a hiss-“I couldn’t resist. I knew I should leave well enough alone but I wanted to be sure the little tart was suspect number one.”

“Tart? You think Rachel and Hal-”

Gil stopped hopping and began rocking on the heels of her heavy athletic shoes. She seemed to be warming up for… I didn’t want to think what.

“It doesn’t matter if they did or they didn’t. Rachel wanted it and Hal’s weak. God, is he weak. He took it on the chin for years from the great Dr. Appleton. The slights, the public insults, and then the letter, the final straw.”

Except for Gil’s deranged look and the smashed window, a passerby might have thought she was witnessing two girlfriends talking things over, albeit one more agitated than the other.

I began to relax. Maybe Gil actually had come to talk. She hadn’t threatened me physically. Yet. I checked the alley for a dark sedan, but the broken window was too narrow to provide much of a view from where I stood. Most likely she’d followed me here from campus, or she might have been on my tail all day for that matter.

Ergo, I reasoned, if she’d wanted to do me harm she’d have taken one of a wealth of other opportunities.

I was safe. Gil needed to talk; that was all.

Gil had mentioned a letter as the final straw. I went into the bluffing mode Ariana had taught me and that had served me well with the dean.

“You needed to remove that letter from the files in Keith’s office.”

Gil threw up her hands; her face took on an angry expression, directed at me.

Not safe anymore, if I ever was.

“See, you had to butt in and take those files away, Sophie. I was there, you know, parked right around the corner. I was on my way to go through his office but you got to it first. I knew immediately what you’d done. There just wasn’t time the day before to stand there and sift through all his poisonous correspondence.”