Tall Man Down - 21. Chapter 21

And suddenly peace reigned in the forest. Well, kinda. What really happened was the usual politics, and it drifted out over the week.

It seemed Larry didn’t really want to give up his authority. Not all of it anyway. Not just yet. But he absolutely didn’t want to bring any attention to himself, claiming he valued his family more than anything. Don said a man in that cramped position could probably give up sex for that – well, extra-marital sex. After all, Larry was only 43. And he could give up being Acting Dean. And give up being both Union head and having any part of Union membership, even as a covert advisor. He just wanted to hang on that little, tiny, itsy piece of non-teaching work he’d already mentioned – being Assistant Dean.

“Frankly, it’s a nice break from the classroom. A good balance – organizing and scheduling things instead of trying to explain ideas to our sometimes borderline receptive students.” He told me this over coffee, and I easily understood. I did far less classroom teaching than one-on-one mentoring to the few students who might really be interested in designing, building, painting, or lighting scenery.

Separate from Larry’s thoughts, Rebecca didn’t really want to give up his assistance. She valued his abilities and advice – which is to say, she depended on being able to hand any administrative tangles over to him, so she could go on with the more pleasant parts of being Dean. So when he gently indicated that he wouldn’t mind staying on in her office, she was pleased and willing. Otherwise, she and Patricia would have to find someone as competent and invisible and probably do a lot of training.

And Greg didn’t give a damn. He’d gotten what he wanted. No Larry as Acting Dean, in a position of power and visibility in the crucial Union fight year. No Larry as even articulate head of the Union, after being denied his extra powers from being Acting Dean. It wasn’t quite as good as no Larry at all, but if Greg was going to throw Larry out, he’d just as soon have gotten rid of Rebecca, too. And Greg was smart enough to count his gains.

So after four days of circumspect negotiation, Larry stepped back, and the Dean of Continuing Ed, Hena Olong, took over as Acting Dean as well as continuing her regular job. And just as Larry had predicted, throughout the four days, the mysterious e-mails stopped, the alien voice phone messages vanished, and whatever limited local media had temporarily been interested in Waldron went back to considering it the private, privileged, and maybe even slightly snobby equivalent of Westfield State – without the award-winning athletics program. And no one even noticed.

Except the guys in Boston.

“They’re kind of interested,” Don told me Friday afternoon at lunch. He was risking the school food.

“Who?” I had to ask.

“My superiors.”

“Owen?” The police captain.

“Nah, he doesn’t care. Except on the level that it could get us all in trouble – especially him. You know how good he is at covering himself.”

“So are you,” I said, grinning.

“Yeah, well...” And Don was grinning, too. Pete glanced over at us as if this was a Boy’s Club he wanted no part of and didn’t even want to understand. Don and I simply shrugged.

“I never knew you were twins,” Pete said, almost sighing. He turned to the baby, sitting in his lap. “Josh don’t grow up that way.”

Josh wasn’t really talking yet, so he didn’t have a coherent voice. But it appeared that the Boston higher-ups, knowing they had a High Profile Death in The Happy Valley, and always just slightly jealous of people who got to live in what they considered summer homes all year long, were putting just the tiniest bit of pressure on Owen to “Get this thing solved.”

“Don’t they believe it is?” I asked Don. “And don’t you believe now that everything that’s been happening for the past three weeks was just dumb college politics? It got publicity and immediate local results. But it had nothing to do with Steve Catlin or how he somehow managed to slip and unfortunately kill himself in the shower.”

I could tell just by the careful expression on Don’s face that he didn’t believe me.

“What do you think, Pete?” he evaded.

“Am I allowed to do that now?” Pete cracked. Which was only one of the many reasons I loved him.

“Well, look at it from my point,” Don went on. “I’ve got the bulls from Boston coming after me with nothing to stop them. How can I say, ‘Look, the guy got drunk – and high – and was sleeping around – and it all caught up with him.’ All they’ll say right back is ‘The guy was a celebrity. Figure some way out.’”

“Is that really true?” Pete asked. “That they want any answer?”

Don was silent for a moment.

“I don’t honestly know,” he confessed. “As I said, I’m not personally in trouble here, and neither is Owen or anyone in our department. We did our best, and we’re clean. But when Boston wants ‘Resolution,’ it usually has its way.”

“What are they looking for?” Pete asked.

Don shook his head again. “I’m not sure there, either. And the funny thing is they’re not sure. It’s one of those, ‘We’ll know it when the dog stops scratching’ things.” He paused. “I think the problem is the situation being so open-ended. I mean, What did happen to Steve Catlin? Was Elise Pelletiers somehow involved? Was Abby Rodelle and the supposedly destroyed files? And who sent the e-mails? And the messages – all blaming Larry Marsden? Was there possibly some truth in that? All the Boston guys want is these answers. So they’ll send a couple of high-ranking, highly trained officers here, and they’ll ask a lot of questions that we’ve either already asked or have considered and knew better than cause trouble by asking. And they’ll possibly upset the kind of comfortable balance we try to keep between the people in town and the kids in the college – not to mention the faculty and staff. And then – having still found nothing and having decided nothing – they’ll go home.”

“And you’ll have to clean things up?” Pete continued for him.

Don nodded, and Pete laughed.

“I don’t see what’s funny,” Don insisted.

Pete simply smiled. “We do that six times a year – every time we mount a production or dance concert.” He smiled again. “I guess I’m part of the Boy’s Club.”

Josh punctuated that by flinging a string bean at Don. But he easily caught it before it hit his eye.

“In any case, I’ve called Boston for help,” Don slowly told us. “I had no choice. Either I ask, or they arrive. And it looks better this way.”

I tried to cheer him up. “There’re still things you do better around here. You know the area and the people. And you’ve learned about college politics.”

He acknowledged that. “Yeah, and it has to all go into my reports.” He hesitated, then looked just a bit embarrassed. “Which is actually why I came here. I was hoping you’d help me out. The more I have my work in order, the better I’ll be when the guys from Boston arrive.”

“When’s that?”

“Monday.”

I glanced at Pete but couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I need to think,” I told Don.

“Could you at least look them over? You know they’ve never been my strength. And if I have to ask Owen again...”

I glanced again at Pete, who was now busying himself with Josh. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Just a few hours on Saturday and Sunday? Maybe three at most, total. I’d really appreciate it.”

I simply wanted to say, “Yeah, of course, I’ll help you. Certainly.” But I really needed to talk with Pete alone. “I’ll tell you what,” I offered instead. “Why don’t you stop by the house, for dinner tonight, and I’ll tell you then. But no promises.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there. Want me to try and bring Noah?”

“Sure – the always elusive husband and chiropractor. See if you can manage that.”

He laughed and started to leave. Then he turned. “I’m just curious about something. I mean, what do you really think about all this – after almost a month? Has anything changed for you in the slightest way?”

I considered, then grinned. “Well, there’re quieter ways to start the school year.”

He waited. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. Every time I think otherwise, I talk myself out of it.”

I looked to Pete for support, but he said nothing.

“You still think the simplest answer’s right?” Don continued.

“Absolutely – an unfortunate accident, unrelated to politics. We may never know who precisely was behind what. Maybe not Rebecca, but Patricia could have been protecting her from Larry – his possibly taking over permanently. Or as Larry suggested, Greg following the Board’s suggestion could have used the mess to get rid of the Union.”

“He started sending the messages himself?”

“Who knows? Maybe Larry did. Maybe he wanted out of everything so badly, he figured this was the way.”

“That’s a huge risk. He could have wrecked his family.”

“He’s a bright guy – but even bright guys slip out of control. What I find most interesting is Larry knew immediately that the Union was the real target – not him. As everyone else was being made to think.”

“I never would’ve gotten to that,” Don admitted.

“I’m not sure any of us would. Until we were told.”

Don considered that, then laughed again, and then he did leave. Through it all, Pete had just looked at me, so it was clear something was bothering him. Finally, when we had about as much privacy as you can have in a noisy cafeteria, he asked, “Are you really just going to help him with his reports?”

“Sure. What else?” I hesitated. “Why? Do we have other plans?”

He was silent, and I tried to picture what was written on our home calendar. I couldn’t remember anything for the weekend.

“It’s just that... Well...” He stopped again and just looked at me.

“You’re usually more clear at explaining,” I tried to joke.

“This is hard,” he simply said. “I mean I don’t want you not doing something you want to. I don’t have the right to get in the way... But I thought you liked design... and teaching... I thought we were happy...”

I had to laugh. “Pete, I’m not going back to police work... And reports are hardly the part of the job anyone likes. And they’re not dangerous. Don and I can do that at our dining table if it makes you more comfortable. As long as he can hook into his computer.”

He seemed to absorb that, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“What would it take to persuade you?” I went on.

He waited, then acknowledged, “Maybe more time – a lot more time. Like maybe years.”

“Why?”

“Police work just seems more interesting.”

Too many questions. Too many answers. I barely knew where to start.

“It can be more interesting,” I began. “But not in a small Western Massachusetts college town. And not in a city, where it sometimes goes out of control. That’s why the guys from Boston are jealous – Don has a balance here. And, yeah, maybe it’s fun playing with it... and helping Don in the smallest possible ways. But it’s far more fun designing things... And teaching people... And living my life with you.”

I absolutely believed the last, but I said it to help convince him. But he was too smart.

“Why am I such a pushover?” he asked.

“You’re not. And I mean that as a compliment. I’m just very persuasive.”

He lobbed a string bean at me, following Josh’s example. Given Pete’s permission, Josh quickly threw another, with accidentally better aim, and – for a moment – it seemed they might start target practice.

“How long would you need?” Pete asked.

“For the reports? As Don said, we only have the weekend.”

“I’d feel like a louse if I said ‘no.’”

“Don’t. I don’t have to help him. And I mean that.”

“But you want to?”

I hesitated. Grinned. All but stuck a straw between my teeth. “Sure, but you know how much of that is self-indulgence.”

He smiled. “How far are you stretching? To give me an out?”

“A little.” I grinned again. And shortly after, I was back at the theater. Doing my chosen work.