Murder in the Arboretum (Cold Creek Book 2) Read online

  Murder in the Arboretum

  By Christa Nardi

  Copyright 2014

  ISBN-10: 0-9910547-3-3

  ISBN: 978-0-9910547-3-2

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading and/or distributing of this ebook via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. If you are reading this and you did not purchase, borrow, or receive a loan of this book through Amazon, you are reading an illegally downloaded copy.

  Acknowledgement: Cover design by Victorine Lieske. Thank you to my sister for her assistance with editing and formatting.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Author Note

  SNEAK PEEK – MURDER AT THE GRILL

  Chapter 1

  The weekend with Brett had been wonderful, but Monday morning came all too soon. By 7 AM, Brett was on his way back to the State Police field office in Appomattox. Brett is the six-foot tall man who stole my heart with his hazel eyes, dark curly hair, and dimpled smile. He’s also a detective with the Virginia State Police. These days, most weekends, he commutes the hour or so from Appomattox to Cold Creek.

  After he left, I took my Sheltie, Charlie, for a quick walk and went to work. By 7:30 I was pulling into the faculty parking lot at Cold Creek College. I deposited my jacket in my office and, still clutching my bag, I ran back down the stairs and into Georg’s Café. I needed to grab a coffee before going to teach my 8 o’clock section of Introduction to Psychology. This was my morning routine.

  Thirty-eight students, mostly freshmen, was a large class for a small private college, but this class was required. Most of them would never take another psychology course. Well, except for the required human sexuality course. Thankfully, I didn’t teach that one. Also, thankfully, I taught two sections of the intro course each semester. After four years, I pretty much had it nailed.

  I taught in the largest classroom on the first floor of the Humanities Building. The large classroom used to be a living room or recreation room. Entering from the back of the room, I could see there were still empty seats. On schedule, I began the topic for the day. Memory was at least a topic with activities and self-tests students could try at their seats. The activities, at least, managed to get them to laugh.

  Their response to the lecture made me feel good. They might have gotten a better appreciation of how we learn and remember, and forget, things. Usually, I prod for a while to try to stimulate discussion. That morning though, Kim Pennzel, my colleague, entered the back door looking very tense. One look at her panic-laden face and I didn’t push the class for questions. Instead, I quickly dismissed the class. Something was definitely up.

  Kim moved against the tide of students trying to escape and arrived at the front of the room before I even got my stuff together. She exuded energy. Like me, Kim is in her forties. Kim is very expressive and excitable, as well as intelligent. She keeps in shape, looks much younger than her years, and has long auburn tresses I envy. Needless to say she was often the object of many student crushes. Today students hurried to get out, not paying her any attention. I’m not sure she gave them a thought as she plowed through. She was riled up for sure.

  “Sheridan, we need to get over to the Arboretum. Both Campus security and Chief Pfeiffe have been trying to find you. There’s some kind of problem,” she whispered in staccato speech, spitting out the words. She practically sizzled and not a part of her body was still. “You know rumors are already flying!”

  Chief Barney Pfeiffe was the chief of police for the town of Cold Creek, home of Cold Creek College. An older man, I imagined in his sixties, Chief Pfeiffe fit the model of a typical small town police chief. He was happiest when there wasn’t a lot of excitement. Luckily for him, not a lot of excitement described this middle to upper class small town much as it might the old television town of Mayberry.

  Cold Creek had grown some as the school morphed from a boarding school into a full four-year college. Even so, it had kept its small town, cozy feel. Most of the town residents knew each other and each other’s business. Many longtime residents expressed concern about more ‘problems’ as both the town and college grew. Shootings at larger universities over the years, even here in Virginia, fueled their concern.

  “What? Why were they looking for me?” I asked, taken aback and confused at the same time. I had no idea what Kim was trying to tell me. The not knowing and her tension put me on the defensive.

  “A couple of students are upset. I don’t know what happened, but I took a glance out the doors and the quad is jam-packed with vehicles, lights flashing. Campus security and Officer Hirsch just told me to find you. Hirsch said something about ‘damage control’ and implementing the crisis plan,” she explained, still whispering.

  She continued to bristle with energy as we walked quickly from the classroom. Kim and I are not only faculty in the psychology department, but both of us are psychologists. We did clinical work before coming to the college. Another colleague, Mitch Pilsner, was the only other faculty member with clinical experience. Kim, Mitch, and I had designed the crisis plan for campus emergencies. That meant that if there was a crisis, we were the first called in to help. We were also good friends.

  I snagged a senior psychology student, Wesley, in the hall outside the classroom. I handed him my book bag and asked him to leave it in my office. He looked a little startled at first. After looking back and forth from Kim to me, he nodded and took the bag without asking any questions. Then Kim and I sprinted out the door. I was thankful I didn’t need my jacket in the early spring weather. Another coffee would have been nice though.

  Kim was right. As soon as we walked out the door, we saw police cruisers, a paramedic truck, and an ambulance parked on the grass. All with lights flashing. Basic chaos abounded as students and faculty milled around and tried to figure out what was happening. At the same time, campus security and local police tried to outdo themselves and gain order. Most of the activity was in the corner of the quad at the entrance to Cold Creek Arboretum.

  Under other circumstances, the Arboretum would have had a different pull, an escape from chaos. It was a large Arboretum, maintained by the Horticulture department, with multiple trails and flora. It had been featured in several state magazines and was a high point for the town and the college. Today, however, the entrance crawled with emergency personnel. As we moved through the crowd, an officer came toward us.

  I recognized him as Officer Hirsch. He served as second in command to Chief Pfeiffe, though his title didn’t reflect his skills or his responsibility. He was much younger than Chief Pfeiffe, mid-thirties, though with his fair hair and complexion, he looked younger. Hirsch seemed to be quicker on the uptake and on his feet than the Chief. He ofte
n took the lead if anything needed to be done. He was also in a lot better shape physically and was much more personable.

  “The Chief told me to be on the lookout for you two. What took so long? This way, please,” he said by way of greeting. He looked frustrated with both Kim and me. Or perhaps it was with the Chief.

  We walked briskly toward the Arboretum, past students and faculty gathered in groups. A few singletons watched the situation unfold. Mid-morning, as usual, there was a fair amount of traffic. There was always an ebb and flow with changes in classes as students hustled from one building to another. This felt different. The air was charged and not just with flashing lights.

  As we approached, the Chief grimaced and explained, “We have a situation here. One of the grounds keepers and a Horticulture student were working in the Arboretum and found the deceased. They’re both pretty upset. Maybe you could help them, Dr. Hendley. We need any information they can offer.”

  Without waiting for me to respond, he directed his attention to Kim. To her, he said, “Students and faculty are starting to get upset and freaked out. We tried to send them to the counseling center but Dr. Montrose told Hirsch they need help over there. Dr. Pennzel, could you help them?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He shook his head and waved Kim in one direction and me back in the general direction of Officer Hirsch. Obviously, not doing as he asked was not an option. Chief Pfeiffe turned and walked over to the ambulance. Kim shrugged and headed for the Student Counseling Center. Officer Hirsch escorted me into the Arboretum amidst the other emergency folks before I had time to register that they found a body. The deceased.

  The paths in the Arboretum are color coded according to the distance to circle back to the quad or into the center of town. He propelled me down the black path, the one that included the more public entrance near the Cold Creek Town Hall. It was also the longest path. I silently wished I hadn’t worn heels. Then again, I hadn’t dressed for a long walk. Hirsch maintained a quick pace at first and then slowed to a stop so fast I almost bumped into him.

  A Cold Creek Security cart approached, and Hirsch and I got in. The security guard driving didn’t look any older than most of the students. But I wasn’t complaining. I was glad to no longer be running in heels.

  It occurred to me that our destination was likely closer to town than to the quad. After a few minutes, Hirsch looked at me and said, “Around the corner here, we’ll see Johnson and the student. A paramedic is with them right now. The kid passed out and is still pretty shaky. Johnson isn’t saying much.”

  I knew where Hirsch was talking about. A few yards ahead, and around a curve in the path, there was a bench in a cut-out area. It normally was a pretty area with lots of native flora bordering the cut-out. When the trees were full, it was shaded. The cut-out into the flora provided a place for a bench. We’d passed many of these. Given the distance from the quad, this was probably the first of the bench areas coming in from the town side.

  We rounded the curve, and I first spotted an older man in work clothes. He was black, balding and sported a beer gut not quite camouflaged by the support wrap to protect his back. Some gardening and lawn tools were on the ground by his feet. His gaze was down and his arms just hung by his side. He didn’t look up as we came into view. I assumed that he was Johnson.

  A few feet away, a young man sat on the bench. His body doubled over with his head between his knees. Even from a distance, I could see his body shaking. A man in uniform crouched by his side and talked to him. I left Hirsch’s side and walked over to the two of them. I introduced myself and in my calmest voice, I asked, “How are we doing over here?”

  “Ma’am, this here is Nick Davidson. He’s still pretty upset, but doing better minute by minute,” the paramedic commented, also in a quiet voice. “Isn’t that right, Nick?”

  Nick’s head bobbed as if in agreement, but he didn’t say a word. “Do you still feel dizzy, Nick?” asked the paramedic. Nick shook his head and raised his eyes to look at me. His face communicated a lot. Emotions, from fear to shock to dismay to embarrassment, flitted across his face.

  “Nick, can you tell me what happened here this morning?” I asked when I had eye contact. He hesitated, then mixed with deep breaths and tears, Nick told me he had been working with Johnson. He moved in between a cluster of azaleas to get a piece of trash he saw. As he talked about the body and how he tripped over it, he broke down again. I placed my hand on his shoulder and waited for him to gain control. He started to hyperventilate.

  The paramedic stepped in and directed him to monitor his breathing. When he was breathing normally, I asked him whom we could notify to come get him. Many of the students at Cold Creek College had family locally. I was hoping he was one of them. He answered and managed to get out his cell phone and hand it to me. He was shaking too badly to make the call himself.

  I was able to find the number, call, and advise his mother that there had been an incident on campus. I reassured them that Nick was okay but in shock. He would be transported to the Physician’s Center. They agreed to meet him at the small local hospital. A second paramedic showed up and the two managed to get Nick to stand and walked him toward the cart. The cart took him to the quad and a waiting ambulance.

  I turned toward Johnson and hesitated. He looked at me with something akin to hostility. Hirsch must have caught the glare. He took a step closer, looked at me, and waited for my next move. I took another step and Johnson’s glare faded. Again I introduced myself and asked what had happened. He related that he and Nick were cleaning out the beds. He explained that Nick was in the azaleas to pick up what looked like trash. One minute he was standing and the next he was on the ground and screaming and kicking.

  Johnson shook his head. He explained he was afraid Nick was hurt, maybe bit by a snake. When he got in there, looking out for a snake, he saw the leg and then body. The shirt sleeve was what they had seen from the path.

  He shook his head again and just looked away. After a minute or two, he looked back at me. He said he grabbed Nick and shook him, but Nick was just hysterical. Nick fainted. Johnson pulled him out and radioed it in to dispatch.

  I nodded and asked how he was doing. He exhaled deeply and looked away again. In turn, I looked at Hirsch and wondered what the next step was. Hirsch turned away and talked into his radio. Johnson looked at Hirsch and then to me.

  “Mr. Johnson, if it’s acceptable with the Chief, is there someone who can come take you home?” I asked quietly.

  He looked at me with disdain and answered, “I don’t live far. I can drive but my boss …” He shrugged and studied his feet. I looked over to Hirsch as he turned and walked back toward us.

  “Johnson, the Chief says you can go. He says your tools here, they have to stay though. Chief Pfeiffe, he already told your supervisor. I’m going to write down what each one is and Dr. Hendley here will be a witness. You’ll have to tell me what some of these are called. Is that okay with you?” Hirsch’s demeanor was quiet but also authoritative.

  Johnson nodded and Hirsch made a list of the tools. I signed the list and then the three of us started the walk back to the quad. Again, the cart intercepted us and we rode the rest of the way. Johnson visibly shrunk back at the crowd that had gathered as we made our way out of the shelter of the Arboretum and into the quad. Officer Matthews came over and invited Johnson to go with him.

  Johnson’s panic stricken expression as Matthews pointed to his cruiser spoke volumes. The expression passed when Matthews opened the front door and moved his gear to the back seat. Johnson still looked scared but got in the front seat of the cruiser. I wondered if Johnson had a history with the law or if he was just shook up. The cruiser was about the only way he was getting past the growing crowd.

  Chapter 2

  I figured my part was done and started back toward my building. Officer Hirsch grabbed my arm about the same time that someone took my picture and a microphone was shoved in my face. The media had arrived.

&nb
sp; “So what’s the story here? Is this another scandal for Cold Creek? Has the College become like Peyton Place?” a woman dressed to the nines and wearing designer spiked heels spit these questions out. Her jacket bore the KCCX call letters for the local television station, but behind her with more cameras and microphones were other media, including at least one truck from Richmond.

  Off to the side, Joe Janis stood and shook his head when I caught his eyes. Joe worked for the local paper and was married to one of the staff in my department, Terra. He usually was in the thick of things. Local paper and local radio station would be small potatoes compared to the bigger stations and media on something like this. In the meantime, Joe was taking it all in.

  “No comment,” was all I said. In fact, I repeated it several times.

  “Chief Pfeiffe will give a statement shortly. You’ll have to wait for him,” Officer Hirsch finally shouted at the reporter and pulled me back toward the Campus Security cart.

  The driver took me across the quad to my building. The young reporter from KCCX almost got run over when she didn’t respond to his horn. I wasn’t sure he was going to stop if she didn’t get out of his way. Judging by her scream and jump move, she wasn’t either! When she did jump out of the way, it was somewhat satisfying to see her land on her butt.

  Back in the Humanities Building, I grabbed another coffee. Then I went back toward my office. I no sooner got to the third floor and my cell ring tone told me Brett was calling.

  “Hi, Brett.” I answered, a bit puzzled at his calling so soon.

  “Hi, Sher.” He sighed. He continued, “Do you have any idea what Pfeiffe is in a dither over? I no sooner got to the office and I was told that he asked for my assistance in Cold Creek. Sher, he told the Lieutenant that he was pretty sure I was in town anyway, so …”