Part 22 (1/2)
”Perhaps,” Hannah said. She'd gotten very little sleep, but she wasn't all that tired.
”Nancy told me that the results of the selection committee were made public late Wednesday afternoon,” Delores said, answering the question Hannah had been about to ask. ”Professor Sidwell told Nancy that he called Mr. Pearson personally to give him the news and tell him that he didn't agree with the decision of the committee.”
”Did he tell Tim that Professor Ramsey had changed his mind and recommended Tiffany Barkley for the job?”
”Yes. Nancy mentioned that specifically.” Delores took a sip of coffee and looked at Hannah over the rim of the cup. ”Does this help, dear?”
”Very much, Mother.”
”Does this mean that Mr. Pearson is a suspect in Professor Ramsey's murder?”
”Oh, yes.” Hannah took her steno pad out of her purse and retrieved a pen from the outside pocket. She made a note, and then she looked up at her mother. ”Is it all right if I call Nancy to see if she has any other information?”
”Of course, dear. I suggested that myself. Nancy's perfectly willing to speak to you about anything at all.”
”I have only one other question, Mother. It's important.”
”Ask away, dear.”
”Did you see Stephanie Bas...o...b..during the intermission of the talent show?”
Delores looked a bit startled at the question. ”Why yes, I did. She came over to talk to us for a minute or two. She was very interested in the grave art that Bud just installed on the outside of the Henderson tomb. As a matter of fact, she asked him if he could make a metal sculpture of an open book for her.”
”You mean for her family's mausoleum?”
”No, for the community library. She thought it would make a nice decoration.”
”Did you happen to notice if she stayed in the lobby for the entire intermission?”
”Yes, I did. Her outfit was so striking, I couldn't help but glance at her every few minutes. It was a white lace suit and she looked marvelous. I asked her about it, and she said it was entirely handmade. I'm sure it must have cost a fortune!”
”Thank you, Mother,” Hannah said, now convinced that Stephanie had told them the truth. There was no way a clotheshorse like Stephanie Bas...o...b..would stab Bradford while she was wearing an expensive white lace suit!
”Why did you want to know about Stephanie, dear?”
”I just needed to check her alibi.”
”Her...alibi? Then you must think she had some reason to kill Professor Ramsey! And the only reason I can think of that would make her do something like this is...” Delores gave a little chuckle. ”Never mind, dear. I get the picture. Ricky-Ticky's had his share of flirtations and I can't say I blame Stephanie one bit.”
It was almost eleven by the time Hannah unlocked the door to her condo. Even though it was late, Moishe hurtled into her arms and she nuzzled him as she carried him in to the couch and gave him a salmon-shaped treat.
”Oh, good. You're home,” Mich.e.l.le said, coming out of the kitchen. ”Do you want some coffee?”
”Not really. I just had some at Mother's.”
”That can turn you off coffee for life!” Mich.e.l.le laughed, and then she must have realized what Hannah said because she asked, ”What were you doing at Mother's?”
”Finding out about your friend Tim Pearson. He didn't get the job.”
”Oh, no! Does he know?”
”Professor Sidwell from the English department called to tell him on Wednesday afternoon. Bradford didn't keep his promise about the recommendation.”
”That's just awful, Hannah! Tim really wanted that job. He was going to get married this fall and Judy was already looking for a job here. I just don't understand why Bradford didn't recommend Tim when he said he would.”
”Professor Sidwell said he changed his mind and recommended Tiffany Barkley instead.”
Mich.e.l.le looked dazed. ”That's ridiculous! Tiffany doesn't have even half the qualifications that Tim does. I'll bet Tim was steaming when he heard that, especially after he did all that work. He probably wanted to strangle Bradford.”
Hannah watched as Mich.e.l.le's mind replayed her own words, and their effect was reflected on her face. ”No! I refuse to believe it!” she said. ”He might have wanted to and I can't blame him, but there's no way Tim would actually kill Bradford!”
Hannah just sat there, waiting for Mich.e.l.le to calm down. It took a minute or two before her breathing returned to normal and she leaned back in her chair again.
”You need to know where he was on Wednesday night...right?” Mich.e.l.le asked.
”That would be helpful.”
”Okay, I'll find out. But I'm almost certain that Tim didn't have anything to do with it.”
Hannah took the steno pad that she used as a murder book out of her purse and flipped to the suspect page. ”I'll write your initials next to Tim's name,” she said. ”That means you're going to investigate his alibi if he has one.”
”Right.” Mich.e.l.le leaned closer as Hannah wrote the name of another suspect on her list. ”Stephanie Bas...o...b..” she asked.
”Yes.” Hannah added her own initials next to Stephanie's name. And then she crossed Stephanie off her list.
”Why did you cross her off?” Mich.e.l.le asked.
”Her alibi checks out. Mother saw her in the lobby during the talent show intermission.”
”But...why did you write her down in the first place if you were going to just cross her out?”
”So I could feel as if I accomplished something tonight.”
Mich.e.l.le gave a little laugh. ”I must be tired, because that makes perfect sense to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two.
Hannah had just said goodnight to Mich.e.l.le and was heading down the hall toward her bedroom when the phone rang. She glanced at her watch. It was ten past eleven. No one who knew her schedule would call her this late. That meant it was an emergency, a telemarketer working much too late, or a wrong number. She thought about letting the answer machine get it, but her curiosity won out. It could be important. Maybe.
She leaned over the back of the couch to reach the phone and plucked it from its cradle. ”h.e.l.lo?” she said, petting Moishe with her free hand.
”I didn't wake you, did I, Hannah?”
It was Norman and Hannah had half a notion to hang up. He'd left her high and dry at Casino Night. But perhaps his cell phone summons had been a dental emergency. Right now, as she sprawled over the back of the couch holding the phone with the cord that was far too short and petting a cat who was purring louder than an outboard motor, some Lake Edenite with a numbed mouth had been relieved of his pain from a tooth that had broken off in an auto accident. ”It's okay. I'm still up,” she said.
”Good. I wasn't sure if I should call, but I decided that I could leave the information on the answer machine if you didn't pick up.”