walls.
‘Paranormal, ghosts, sightings’. As she typed the words into the library database, she chuckled. She’d entered these very words before, only then she’d been looking for iterations in eighteenth-century fiction. Skimming through the listings, she also had to wonder, if she was going to be haunted, why would it be by her cat? Weren’t most ghosts supposed to be of those who had met a violent or untimely end? That question was at the core of The Ravages, provoking scholars to wonder whether that kindly old family retainer had met a bad end – or whether there were other spirits hanging around the mortal coil .
Could the same rules hold true in her current situation? Much as Dulcie had loved Mr Grey, and as hard as it had been to let him go, she knew the grey cat had lived a good, long life. Tim, on the other hand, had barely begun his. If anyone was going to haunt her, it should have been her obnoxious room-mate, shouldn’t it?
The thought was chilling. But as the counter passed 2,000 hits without anything interesting, she gave up and moved the mouse to click ‘Exit’. She might be a research wizard, but the ultra-modern Widener reading room was no place to search for ghosts. Instead, she pulled the ergonometric keyboard toward her and started typing in more earthly terms: ‘Crime, Cambridge, City of’. Now that might get her somewhere. Maybe Tim’s murder was part of a series. Maybe it was drug related, and some crime lord had set out to make Central Square his own.
But if that was the case, the HOLLIS catalog had no word of it. Even when Dulcie clicked over to the library’s extensive periodicals section, the pickings were slim: a sexual assault down by the river; a rash of purse snatchings near the Porter Square mall; a mugging that had left the young victim without the twenty in his wallet or his new leather jacket (‘black, described as “biker style”’) according to the police report. The big, bad city just wasn’t that bad.
Strange that Tim’s murder hadn’t made the news. Dulcie pushed her chair back from the carrel and looked around the reading room. Like the rest of the library, it had been renovated recently, the college’s deep pockets paying for not only these new computers but also the restored paneling that glowed with polish, the glare-free lighting over the communal work tables, and that wonderful air-conditioning that kept both temperature and humidity at constant, book-friendly levels. Come to think of it, maybe the lack of any news stories wasn’t that strange. Tim’s family was old Crimson. From what Luke had said, they’d prefer a low profile in this community, and they could afford it.
But that didn’t mean that they were bad people. They just wanted privacy. After all, not all preppies were evil. Maybe it was the hangover, but Dulcie found her thoughts wandering to Bruce. He might belong to that crowd but he had seemed nice, and not just because he’d seemed interested in her. Dulcie gave herself a reality check; the big guy liked her at least in part because she’d befriended Luisa, an outsider. And that thought led Dulcie back to Tim again. He’d at least recommended the pretty Latina as a tutor, and something about Bruce’s tone of voice suggested that Tim had said more about her, too. Perhaps Tim had been serious about Luisa. Despite Alana’s confidence, there had been no evidence that the ring was for her. And actually, if Tim had been planning to dump Alana and he had compromising photos of her, well, that might be motive for some kind of violence, mightn’t it?
She’d check her computer when she got home. Not that she wanted to see photos of Alana, but it was a point worth pursuing, and, besides, she’d promised Stacia. For now, she might as well try to get some work done. Thinking of work, Dulcie pulled herself back to the terminal. Nobody could watch her keystrokes here, and she typed in ‘Priority Insurance’ and ‘embezzle’. Nothing. She
‘Paranormal, ghosts, sightings’. As she typed the words into the library database, she chuckled. She’d entered these very words before, only then she’d been looking for iterations in eighteenth-century fiction. Skimming through the listings, she also had to wonder, if she was going to be haunted, why would it be by her cat? Weren’t most ghosts supposed to be of those who had met a violent or untimely end? That question was at the core of The Ravages, provoking scholars to wonder whether that kindly old family retainer had met a bad end – or whether there were other spirits hanging around the mortal coil .
Could the same rules hold true in her current situation? Much as Dulcie had loved Mr Grey, and as hard as it had been to let him go, she knew the grey cat had lived a good, long life. Tim, on the other hand, had barely begun his. If anyone was going to haunt her, it should have been her obnoxious room-mate, shouldn’t it?
The thought was chilling. But as the counter passed 2,000 hits without anything interesting, she gave up and moved the mouse to click ‘Exit’. She might be a research wizard, but the ultra-modern Widener reading room was no place to search for ghosts. Instead, she pulled the ergonometric keyboard toward her and started typing in more earthly terms: ‘Crime, Cambridge, City of’. Now that might get her somewhere. Maybe Tim’s murder was part of a series. Maybe it was drug related, and some crime lord had set out to make Central Square his own.
But if that was the case, the HOLLIS catalog had no word of it. Even when Dulcie clicked over to the library’s extensive periodicals section, the pickings were slim: a sexual assault down by the river; a rash of purse snatchings near the Porter Square mall; a mugging that had left the young victim without the twenty in his wallet or his new leather jacket (‘black, described as “biker style”’) according to the police report. The big, bad city just wasn’t that bad.
Strange that Tim’s murder hadn’t made the news. Dulcie pushed her chair back from the carrel and looked around the reading room. Like the rest of the library, it had been renovated recently, the college’s deep pockets paying for not only these new computers but also the restored paneling that glowed with polish, the glare-free lighting over the communal work tables, and that wonderful air-conditioning that kept both temperature and humidity at constant, book-friendly levels. Come to think of it, maybe the lack of any news stories wasn’t that strange. Tim’s family was old Crimson. From what Luke had said, they’d prefer a low profile in this community, and they could afford it.
But that didn’t mean that they were bad people. They just wanted privacy. After all, not all preppies were evil. Maybe it was the hangover, but Dulcie found her thoughts wandering to Bruce. He might belong to that crowd but he had seemed nice, and not just because he’d seemed interested in her. Dulcie gave herself a reality check; the big guy liked her at least in part because she’d befriended Luisa, an outsider. And that thought led Dulcie back to Tim again. He’d at least recommended the pretty Latina as a tutor, and something about Bruce’s tone of voice suggested that Tim had said more about her, too. Perhaps Tim had been serious about Luisa. Despite Alana’s confidence, there had been no evidence that the ring was for her. And actually, if Tim had been planning to dump Alana and he had compromising photos of her, well, that might be motive for some kind of violence, mightn’t it?
She’d check her computer when she got home. Not that she wanted to see photos of Alana, but it was a point worth pursuing, and, besides, she’d promised Stacia. For now, she might as well try to get some work done. Thinking of work, Dulcie pulled herself back to the terminal. Nobody could watch her keystrokes here, and she typed in ‘Priority Insurance’ and ‘embezzle’. Nothing. She
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