Read Online Murder as a Second Language by Joan Hess - Free Book Online Page B

a glum look that I’d seen numerous times in the past. “Would you please do something about the girl in the office, Ms. Malloy?”
    I dutifully went to the office. Keiko was no longer hysterical, but her face was streaked with mascara. She was clutching a tissue to her nose and hiccupping with such force that her whole body shuddered. “Ms. Marroy,” she said, “this is so very dreadful! What should I do? I try to call Gregory, but he no answer. How do I call college? How do I find Grabowski-san? Tetsudatte kuremasuka? ”
    Her English was slipping away like an elusive tide. I went around her desk, pulled her to her feet, and hugged her. She began to sob. I tried not to wince as my shoulder became increasingly clammy. After several minutes, she calmed down, and I released her cautiously. “Do you have a file for Ludmila? That’s likely to have her grandson’s contact information.”
    She opened a drawer and extracted a manila folder. I scanned the pages until I found her grandson’s name and telephone number. Since Keiko was in no shape to talk on the phone, I dialed the number. I was immediately informed that Bartek Grabowski was unable to take my call. I left a message with my name, the number of the Literacy Council, and a vague reference to an accident involving his grandmother.
    Keiko produced a feeble smile. I suggested that she clean her face, and she was staring in horror into a compact mirror as I went to find Deputy Chief Peter Rosen of the Farberville PD. He and several officers were outside a small corner room. The CSI team was taking photographs, measuring the floor, and crawling about like large beetles. Peter nodded at me, quite officiously in my opinion. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Is there someone on the board that we should call first?”
    â€œFrances North is the president. Keiko will have her number.”
    â€œIs she still upset?”
    â€œShe’s recovering.” I did not offer to run to ask her to find the number. “May I see the crime scene?”
    He started to protest, then shut his mouth and gestured at the doorway. I interpreted it as an affirmative and peered into the room. It was small and crowded with the copy machine, boxes, stacks of folders, a collection of umbrellas and oddments of clothing in a bin marked LOST AND FOUND , and a decrepit office chair tilted at a perilous angle. The worn rug was stained with a large blotch of blood. The dirty window allowed in enough light to illuminate the overall dustiness. I sneezed as I stepped back.
    â€œDo you know when she died?” I asked Peter.
    â€œWhat I need you to do is help us communicate with the students. We’re trying to get a list of everyone who was in the building last night. I’ve sent for a translator for the Latinos. Jorgeson speaks a little German. As for Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Arabic, Thai, Russian…”
    â€œYou called your wife, the multilingual? I’m afraid my Farsi is a bit rusty. Besides, all of the students speak some English, or so I was told. Where’s Leslie? She can help.”
    Peter glanced at a minion, who consulted her notebook and said, “Leslie Barnes teaches from three to five classes every day, and a couple of night classes. She was supposed to teach an intermediate conversation class at nine this morning, but she hasn’t shown up.”
    â€œGo find her and bring her here,” Peter said, annoyed. “Did anyone else not show up this morning?”
    The minion, clearly a rookie, blushed to her roots. “No, sir, not that we know about. The director usually doesn’t come in until eleven.”
    â€œWhy don’t we invite him to break tradition and come in early?”
    â€œYes, sir. Right away, sir.” The poor creature fled toward the entrance.
    Peter asked for a description of the daily operation. I obliged as best I could, having been involved for less than a week. After