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Authors: Ada Madison
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for the new associate professor position we’d budgeted for in the Mathematics Department,
and deadlines to meet for the magazines I submitted puzzles to on a regular basis.
I needed to sketch out a couple of exercises for my last week at Zeeman Academy and
recover my momentum on my differential equations research, which always suffered at
the end of a school year.
None of these projects called out to me.
Maybe a little TV would do it. I plopped on the couch in the den and scrolled through
the programs I’d recorded. I hadn’t realized how many crime dramas were on the list.
Usually they were my favorite genre, but not now, when there was a real crime drama
in my life. I had a feeling the murder of Mayor Graves would take considerably longer
than one hour to be solved.
Feeling the need for more personal contact, I decided first to call Ariana, who was
winding up her business at a bead show in California. The night was young for Ariana,
where it was only a few minutes before ten o’clock. She was my best friend and owner
of A Hill of Beads, my venue for exploring my creative side, as she called it. As
if making a bracelet from wire and pieces of glass was more creative than composing
a wordplay puzzle or solving a fourth-order differential equation.
I was surprised to hear her voice. Could my sociallyintense friend be alone in her hotel room on a Saturday night?
“Another bomb of a date,” Ariana explained. “Besides that, I’ve seen enough new products
to last a year. One more tray of hammer-faceted beads or pewter findings and I’ll
be dizzy. I did pick up lots of great beading books for the bookrack in the store,
though. You might like to look through them first.”
“I can’t wait.”
“I hear your attitude. Anyway, I have great hopes for tomorrow. I signed up for volleyball
on the beach.”
“Of course you did.” I pictured Ariana in an outfit that showed more of her piercing
and ink than usual. For the trip, she’d highlighted her long blond hair with green
stripes in honor of Aestas, the Roman goddess of the summer.
“Get it, Sophie?” she’d asked, showing me her latest look as I drove her to the airport.
“Aestas is often pictured standing by an emerald throne.”
She knew I’d never get it, and also that it didn’t spoil our friendship one bit.
“I got your text messages,” Ariana told me now. “Boring graduation speeches, huh?
What do you expect from a—”
“You need to hear what happened, Ariana.” I stopped her before she’d regret a putdown
of a man, or category of a man, who was now dead.
I hated to spoil my friend’s good mood, but I knew she’d want to hear what was going
on in her hometown. I briefed Ariana on the murder of our mayor, stopping for a long
breath now and then. I left out the parts about his thorax, but included the part
about his calling me by name.
Ariana was silent, most likely invoking Aestas. I gave her time.
“I’m just so, so glad you and Bruce are safe,” she said, her voice soft and full of
relief.
What? Why wouldn’t we be? Had Ariana misunderstoodmy story? It was Mayor Graves who’d been attacked, not Bruce or me.
With a start I saw that Ariana’s mind had gone in a direction that had never occurred
to me—the stabber could have been wandering around the hallowed halls looking for
victims, with a stash of letter openers, scissors, knives, or other weapons at the
ready. Maybe the mayor wasn’t targeted at all, but was simply a handy, random victim,
the first of many. I wondered if Virgil had thought of that. Now I realized that Bruce
had thought of it—when he stood and surveyed the campus, he wasn’t just stretching,
he was scanning for the attacker.
I swallowed hard and got up from my sofa. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look around my
own house. “We’re fine,” I told Ariana, carrying only my cell phone as a weapon against
an intruder.
“I wish I
for the new associate professor position we’d budgeted for in the Mathematics Department,
and deadlines to meet for the magazines I submitted puzzles to on a regular basis.
I needed to sketch out a couple of exercises for my last week at Zeeman Academy and
recover my momentum on my differential equations research, which always suffered at
the end of a school year.
None of these projects called out to me.
Maybe a little TV would do it. I plopped on the couch in the den and scrolled through
the programs I’d recorded. I hadn’t realized how many crime dramas were on the list.
Usually they were my favorite genre, but not now, when there was a real crime drama
in my life. I had a feeling the murder of Mayor Graves would take considerably longer
than one hour to be solved.
Feeling the need for more personal contact, I decided first to call Ariana, who was
winding up her business at a bead show in California. The night was young for Ariana,
where it was only a few minutes before ten o’clock. She was my best friend and owner
of A Hill of Beads, my venue for exploring my creative side, as she called it. As
if making a bracelet from wire and pieces of glass was more creative than composing
a wordplay puzzle or solving a fourth-order differential equation.
I was surprised to hear her voice. Could my sociallyintense friend be alone in her hotel room on a Saturday night?
“Another bomb of a date,” Ariana explained. “Besides that, I’ve seen enough new products
to last a year. One more tray of hammer-faceted beads or pewter findings and I’ll
be dizzy. I did pick up lots of great beading books for the bookrack in the store,
though. You might like to look through them first.”
“I can’t wait.”
“I hear your attitude. Anyway, I have great hopes for tomorrow. I signed up for volleyball
on the beach.”
“Of course you did.” I pictured Ariana in an outfit that showed more of her piercing
and ink than usual. For the trip, she’d highlighted her long blond hair with green
stripes in honor of Aestas, the Roman goddess of the summer.
“Get it, Sophie?” she’d asked, showing me her latest look as I drove her to the airport.
“Aestas is often pictured standing by an emerald throne.”
She knew I’d never get it, and also that it didn’t spoil our friendship one bit.
“I got your text messages,” Ariana told me now. “Boring graduation speeches, huh?
What do you expect from a—”
“You need to hear what happened, Ariana.” I stopped her before she’d regret a putdown
of a man, or category of a man, who was now dead.
I hated to spoil my friend’s good mood, but I knew she’d want to hear what was going
on in her hometown. I briefed Ariana on the murder of our mayor, stopping for a long
breath now and then. I left out the parts about his thorax, but included the part
about his calling me by name.
Ariana was silent, most likely invoking Aestas. I gave her time.
“I’m just so, so glad you and Bruce are safe,” she said, her voice soft and full of
relief.
What? Why wouldn’t we be? Had Ariana misunderstoodmy story? It was Mayor Graves who’d been attacked, not Bruce or me.
With a start I saw that Ariana’s mind had gone in a direction that had never occurred
to me—the stabber could have been wandering around the hallowed halls looking for
victims, with a stash of letter openers, scissors, knives, or other weapons at the
ready. Maybe the mayor wasn’t targeted at all, but was simply a handy, random victim,
the first of many. I wondered if Virgil had thought of that. Now I realized that Bruce
had thought of it—when he stood and surveyed the campus, he wasn’t just stretching,
he was scanning for the attacker.
I swallowed hard and got up from my sofa. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look around my
own house. “We’re fine,” I told Ariana, carrying only my cell phone as a weapon against
an intruder.
“I wish I
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