Dark Mural Page 2

  “Hi,” I said, extending my hand. “Nicole Noonan. I’m new here. I live right around the corner.”

  His stare took only two seconds. He took my hand, and said, “Lionel Bell. Welcome to the campus.” His smile was warm and wide. “What department are you in?”

  “Art. I’m the art historian. You?”

  “French. Has your semester started off well?”

  “It was going pretty well until I walked outside this morning and saw that someone had spray-painted the hood of my car.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t suppose you saw or heard anyone around here last night who shouldn’t have been here.”

  He shook his head. “Do you think it happened here on campus?”

  “It must have because it wasn’t that way when I drove back from my errands on Saturday and parked next to my Rabbit Hutch.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear this.” He stepped back from the doorway, and said, “Would you like to come inside and tell me about it?”

  He didn’t have to ask twice.

  While he went to get me a glass of water, I took in the solid walls with wood moldings and felt the hardwood floor under my feet. His living room was furnished with a pleasant mix of personal effects and practical items. He had a fine oak armchair of the kind that was standard office furniture in the mid-twentieth century and a loveseat that might have been a family heirloom reupholstered. Other than that, the side tables, storage cubes, and area rug all looked like Ikea furniture, though of higher quality than the Ikea porch furniture I had purchased for my Rabbit Hutch.

  Once I was on the loveseat with a glass of water, and he was seated in the chair across from me, he said, “I’ve never heard of this kind of vandalism on campus, and I’ve been here three years. I don’t suppose that’s any consolation.”

  “It may not be a simple matter of vandalism. Whoever did it used the spray paint to write ‘JAP OUT’ on my hood.”

  That seemed to take his breath away for a moment. He shook his head and said, “I am so sorry to hear this has happened to you, especially when you’ve just arrived on campus. For what it’s worth, I have not experienced any racial harassment here. It can get a little tense when I go into Blanton, but mostly it’s live and let live.”

  “What really ticks me off is that my mother’s family is Chinese, not Japanese.”

  He did his best to stifle a smile, but it grew and became a chuckle. “Excuse me. It’s really not funny, but I was thinking how disappointing it is when racist vandals don’t do their research.”

  That was funny, and we shared a good laugh. I got up to leave.

  He had such a quiet way of listening, I felt free to bring up the next problem I had to face. “Do you know anything about getting spray paint off a car?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he said as we walked to the door. “If you end up having to take it to Chillicothe and leave it for the day, I’ll be happy to drive over with you and give you a ride back to campus. And if there’s anything else I can do to help you get settled . . .”

  Smooth move. I appreciated that. “Actually, there is something. I’ve been buying my groceries at the market in Blanton, and they don’t seem to have some things I’m looking for. I wonder if you might know the closest place to shop for some good cheeses. I’d love to get some genuine Roquefort. I’d also like to pick up some interesting sausages and pates, and I haven’t found any place with a good wine selection.”

  Usually I don’t make up things like this off the top of my head in the middle of a conversation, but he had given me a good opening, and I hated to waste it.

  He smiled. “You won’t find any of that this side of Columbus.”

  “Well, Columbus it is then. I’ve been meaning to go there anyway and visit the Museum of Art.”

  “It’s worth a visit. There are some significant pieces.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. If you recall the names of any good shops, would you email them to me? I’m in the campus directory.”

  I held my breath as I waited to see if he would take the bait.

  Lionel pursed his lips before saying, “If you’re free this Saturday, we could go up together and visit the museum. I’d be happy to take you around to some of my favorite shops afterward.”

  It is critical at moments like this to appear neither too surprised nor too delighted. “It’s very generous of you to give up your Saturday for me.”

  “Not at all. I make the trip most weekends.”

  He offered to pick me up at ten o’clock so we could get there in time for lunch at the museum.

  I walked to the next duplex, enjoying visions of an indoor picnic on Saturday evening: a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, a cheese board with interesting selections, and one lovely French professor beside me. Talking Lionel into a date was impulsive, but it felt right. Although I wasn’t looking to start a relationship, there was no reason to swear off male companionship for the next year or two, and Lionel seemed like the perfect guy to provide it.

  There was no one home on either side of the last duplex, but at the first Rabbit Hutch, around the corner on Montgomery Avenue, a woman about my age answered the door and introduced herself as a new hire in the English department. By the time I had explained my situation, I could tell by the look in her eyes she knew something.

  “About two a. m., I heard tires on the gravel and an engine idling,” she said. “My bedroom window faces the corner so anything going by at night wakes me up. I got freaked out when I heard footsteps, and got up to take a look. I heard a door slam. When I looked out, I saw a white pickup truck backing up Ohio Avenue.”

  My heart sped up and I started breathing as if I had reached my stride on my morning run. It was easy to visualize a man jumping out of a truck, trotting down the road, spray-painting my car, and high-tailing it back. He could have done it in less than a minute.

  “Thanks,” I said. “That’s the first solid piece of information I’ve gotten. I don’t suppose you noticed anything else about the truck. Was it new or old?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about trucks. Its headlights were off.”

  “That’s interesting. Could you see the license plate?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  I thanked her and said I would give this information to the campus police. She agreed to speak to them if they wanted to check.

  I found no one else at home until I got to Abbie’s Rabbit Hutch at the far end of Montgomery Avenue next to a grove of birches. I told her what had happened and what the new English professor on the corner had told me.

  “One name comes to mind,” she said, “but it doesn’t make sense.”

  Chapter 4

  Thinking back to my lunch with Abbie at the deli in Blanton, I knew who she had in mind. “Huey Littleton?”

  She nodded.

  “Does he drive a white pickup truck?”

  She took a moment to think. “I can’t remember.”

  “I thought you said there are rules around here so people don’t run into people they don’t like.”

  “That’s why this doesn’t make sense. If Huey came onto the campus to do this, he really crossed a line. I don’t see why he would risk attracting attention here when he could have caught up with you somewhere else.”

  “Maybe the campus police will pay him some attention when I tell them about the white pickup truck.”

  Abbie looked skeptical. “I don’t think their reach extends that far.”

  I was starting to feel angry again. “There has to be a way I can find out if Huey Littleton has a white truck and if he came by here last night.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t go into Blanton looking for him. You do not want to cross paths with that man.”

  “Alright then, I’ll keep calling campus security, and, if they won’t call the sheriff I will.”

  She sighed. “I wish this hadn’t happened right at the beginning of your first semester.”

  “It’s not all bad,” I replied. “Knoc
king on doors got me a date for Saturday.”

  “You’re kidding! Who with?”

  “Lionel Bell. Lives right around the corner.”

  “Ah, yes, Lionel. Well done. What’s that saying about snatching victory from the jaws of defeat?”

  “How about you?” I asked. “Do you have a boyfriend on campus?”

  Abbie shook her head. “I’m not interested in guys.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  On Thursday afternoon, I got to the chapel a little before two thirty. The afternoon light was not strong enough for photos, so I got out the sketches and notes I had made on Sunday. While I was reviewing them, Kate Conrad came in, placed a chair for herself on the other side of the room, and started sketching and making notes.

  The three scenes that made up the bottom row—working in the orchard, harvesting wheat, and working in the kitchen—formed a panorama of the community feeding itself. The artist put it at ground level, so the viewers could stand face-to-face with the workers—with themselves, really, thinking of the original viewers. In the central scene, only one face was visible. The farmer wearing green pants in the middle of the harvesting scene looked directly at the viewer. All the other workers turned away or had their faces partly obscured by the brim of a hat or a raised arm.

  I heard footsteps coming from the entrance and looked over my shoulder in time to see a man coming through the door. As I got up and walked toward him, he said, “Don’t let me disturb you. I saw the door open and thought I would come over and see who was here.”

  “Good afternoon,” I said, “I’m Nicole Noonan.”

  “Jacob Schumacher,” he said, extending his hand. No five-second stare from him.

  This was the man Abbie had told me to have on my side, the chairman of the history department, whose ancestors were depicted in the mural I was studying, the man with whom I had made an appointment for next Tuesday. He was of medium height and a bit overweight. He wore his brown hair combed straight back from a hairline, which had receded very little though he must have been in his sixties. His mustache and goatee were trimmed so close that I wondered why he bothered letting them grow. He wore a blue blazer and gray slacks.

  “I’m glad you dropped by,” I said. “Maybe you can help me with some of the history behind this mural.”

  “I will if I can,” he said. “I haven’t been in here in years.”

  I filled him in on my observation that the face of only one of the workers was fully visible. As I spoke, I noticed that in the preaching scene, which was part of the upper row, only the preacher’s face was completely visible. All the people in the congregation either had their backs to the viewer or had their faces partially blocked by someone next to them or by an open prayer book.

  When I finished explaining, I turned to Jacob and saw him smiling and nodding. I knew the feeling. The pleasure that comes from a new idea is the chief reward for intellectual work.

  I glanced back at the mural and saw something else. “The faces of the farmer and the preacher have a similar look. Both have long noses. I wonder why. Sometimes artists put their own faces into a crowd scene.”

  “And there’s another one in the orchard,” said Jacob. He walked to the wall and pointed to it. Again, the man with the long nose faced forward as in the preaching and harvesting scenes. “I think it’s Herr Fuchs, the founder, Felix Fuchs. Have you seen photos of him? He had rather a long nose.”

  Kate, who had been walking back and forth, looking at the crown of the tree near the roofline, walked over to join us.

  “This is my student, Kate Conrad,” I said to Jacob. “Kate, this is Dr. Schumacher, chairman of the history department.”

  After they greeted one another Kate eyed the things I had taken out of my backpack. “Hey, Dr. Noonan,” she said. “Are those your binoculars? Could I borrow them for a second?”

  “Sure,” I said. She went back to studying the details near the roofline.

  Jacob smiled and nodded to show he was impressed with Kate’s eagerness.

  We continued our conversation as we walked outdoors “I’ll let you return to your studies,” said Jacob. “Thank you for sharing your work. I’ll see you again when we meet next week.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, “and thank you for helping me with the history of the commune. If I manage to publish an article about the mural, I’ll acknowledge your contribution.”

  “That’s not really necessary,” he said, but I had the feeling he liked the idea.

  After class on Friday morning, Kate stayed to talk to me, and of course Devon stayed to talk to her. “Great class, Dr. Noonan,” he said. “Kate, I have to run, but can I pick you up about eight o’clock tonight?”

  Kate turned to him with a scowl. “I don’t know. I’ll give you a call.”

  “All the usual crowd is going. We’ll probably end up at Marten’s.”

  She turned back to me and spoke to him over her shoulder without looking at him. “I said I’ll give you a call.”

  “I’m just offering you a ride.”

  “If I’m going into town, I’ll walk.”

  “Aw, come on. That’s ridiculous,” he said.

  She spun around and raised her voice. “Why are you still here? I want to talk to Dr. Noonan. Get lost!”

  Devon turned and marched to the door. As he stepped into the corridor, he said, “Bitch!” just loud enough for us to hear.

  Kate turned back to me. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

  “Seems like it would be a long walk into town,” I said.

  “There’s a shortcut through a field from College Avenue. It takes about forty-five minutes.”

  “At night? That doesn’t seem very safe.”

  She smiled. “We do it all the time. It’s no big deal. I wanted to ask you something. I noticed something kind of cool yesterday in the chapel. It might be a good idea for my paper. I don’t know if I should bring it up in class or if I should talk to you about it.”

  “We can discuss it if you wish, but why not try writing down your thoughts about it first. You might be surprised by how far you can take it on your own. Then we’ll talk about it.”

  Kate grinned. “Okay. I can do that. I know it will take some research. I might have to ask you for help on that part.”

  “That’s okay. Scholars help each other all the time, just like Dr. Schumacher helped me yesterday.”

  Kate was nodding now. I could see that this was more than an assignment for her. It seemed she liked the idea that there were people who did this professionally. “I’m going to hit the library this afternoon and see what I can find. If I run into any snags, I’ll shoot you an email.”

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  Saturday morning I woke up feeling I had a lot to celebrate. I had turned around my art history class and had gotten better acquainted with some of the students. The more I looked at the mural, the more it seemed worthy of scholarly attention. Jacob seemed willing to be a mentor to me when it came to the history of the institution. I had widened my social circle on campus, and that circle now included a man who was willing to spend most of the day with me hunting for good food and good art. I started to believe I could enjoy spending a year or two on this little campus.

  Now, if only I could decide what to wear for our trip to Columbus. It couldn’t be the business casual I wore to teach every day, but it couldn’t be too dressy since it was an afternoon date. My options were limited since I had brought little with me from home, intending to buy clothes appropriate for the cold weather ahead, and I hadn’t yet gotten around to shopping. My green flare dress would be fine. I could add a shawl to shift the color palette, and wear some dressy shoes, for a change.

  Accessorizing was well underway when my phone rang. The call was from a local number not in my contacts list.

  “Good morning,” said a baritone voice. “This
is Sheriff Mason Adams, Edwards County Sheriff’s Department, calling to speak with Dr. Nicole Noonan.”

  A call from the sheriff? Was he finally going to investigate the vandalism of my car? “Yes, I’m Nicole Noonan.”

  “Doctor, it’s important that I speak with you this morning. May I see you at your office or at your home on campus around eleven o’clock?”

  “I have plans to go up to Columbus this morning. What’s this about?”

  He hesitated a few seconds before answering. “Have you read the email that the dean of students sent to everyone on campus?”

  The dean of students was involved? Had someone discovered that a student targeted me because of my race? “No. I haven’t checked my email this morning.”

  “Well, if you wouldn’t mind reading the dean’s email, it will explain everything. I am sorry to insist, but this urgent. I have your office as room 333 in the Arts and Humanities Building. Will you meet me there at eleven?”

  I agreed, hung up, and opened my laptop.

  Urgent? Why would the sheriff and the dean treat this matter as urgent after doing nothing for almost a week?

  The dean’s email was written with professional detachment, as such messages always are. It hit all the right notes, giving an objective view of the situation, but there was no getting away from the terrible news it brought. Kate Conrad was dead.

  Chapter 5

  Back in my bedroom my dress lay on the bed. The shawl . . . the purse . . . the shoes . . . Why had I worried about such trivial things?

  I couldn’t believe what I had just read in the dean’s email, so I read it again. “ . . . inform you of the death of Kate Conrad . . . investigation by the county sheriff . . .”

  My gut felt all watery. I sat on the side of the bed, rubbed my face with both hands, and took deep breaths. That seemed to help the nausea.

  Healthy young women don’t just die. Sure, there are rare diseases, and exotic infections, and lightning can strike, but . . . Kate?