Page 23

CHAPTER 23

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their works had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

—Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night”

WHITNEY

Detective Macedo contacted the moving company only to learn that they’d put Joule’s furniture and belongings in storage in Nashville. They didn’t have a current address for him. Neither did the storage company. He’d paid both businesses via a credit card. Macedo tried the cell phone number the retirement home had given him for Joule, the same number Joule had provided to the movers and storage outfit, but it had since been disconnected.

Dr. Adam Joule had disappeared into the ether, like a shooting star.

In late October, the leaves on the wooded boarding school property were at their autumn peak, bright orange and gold and red, brassy and beautiful. Uncle Roger expanded his crew, and Buck and I were able to turn our attention to the Victorian.

Over the next few weeks, we repaired the foundation, replaced the windows, and built a new wraparound porch, complete with decorative support posts. We updated the kitchen and bathroom cabinets with new paint and hardware. We mixed up mortar and patched the brickwork on the exterior. Rather than replacing the roof ourselves, we hired professional roofers to install new shingles atop the tall house. They were much more experienced, and could better handle the peaks and valleys. Plus, they had the proper safety equipment to keep from falling off the steep roof. Neither Buck nor I owned a climbing harness.

By mid-November, the last remaining task in remodeling Rosie’s Inn was to repair, sand, and stain the flooring in the room that had served as Dr. Finster’s study. Maybe it had been creepy of me to leave the bloodstained floorboards in place all this time, but they’d served as a reminder of what had taken place here, a motivator for me to solve the story behind the Finsters’ suspicious deaths. I hadn’t wanted to replace the boards until I’d figured out what had happened.

Both Collin and I were convinced that Adam Joule had taken their lives. Detective Macedo believed Joule could be guilty, too. The evidence against Joule might all be circumstantial, but there was enough that it couldn’t be ignored. The disappointment and jealousy he’d felt when the board of trustees gave Dr. Finster the headmaster job. The fact that he’d encouraged the board to remove Dr. Finster as headmaster and appoint him to the position instead. The rumors he’d spread to discredit and embarrass Dr. Finster and his wife. The suicide note, purportedly typed by a man whose typing skills required him to hunt and peck on a keyboard. And the most damning evidence of all, the March 1982 teacher-of-the-month apple I’d seen at Joule’s apartment when the award would not yet have been presented and Joule hadn’t even been in the running to receive it. He’d probably taken the apple as some sort of sick souvenir, thinking he was entitled to the accolade. At one time, he might have been. But not by then. The fact that he’d made himself scarce was the icing on the cake.

Where Adam Joule was now was anyone’s guess. The administration at the retirement home would have contacted Detective Macedo if Joule had come back to visit his friends there. He hadn’t been pulled over for any driving violations, or the law enforcement officer would have noted that his name was flagged in the databases as wanted for questioning and they would have taken him into custody. He hadn’t used his credit cards, either, or the banks would have notified the sheriff’s department when and where they’d been used. It was as if Adam Joule been beamed up to a starship and absconded to a galaxy far, far away.

Because I could handle the minor floor repair on my own, Buck was working with Uncle Roger and Owen at the former dormitory that would now be the retirement home’s primary residence hall. They were putting the finishing touches in the kitchens, installing pull-out shelves and inserts in the cabinets and drawers to keep things organized and within easy reach so the residents wouldn’t have to stretch, strain, or stand on a stepstool to reach their cookware, dinnerware, or food items. But I wasn’t alone in the Victorian. I’d brought Sawdust along to keep me company.

I’d measured and cut the boards the day before, so they were ready to go. I donned my goggles and mask to keep the dust out of my eyes and airways and put on my knee pads, as well. Kneeling for long periods of time on a hard surface could be rough on the kneecaps. I didn’t bother putting on my tool belt. It would only get in my way, and I wouldn’t need most of the tools I normally kept on it. I set the tool belt by the French doors and placed my mallet and tapping block atop a clean rag on the floor. Sawdust gave them a sniff, found them boring, and looked up at me expectantly.

“You want something to play with, don’t you?” I walked back over to my tool belt and reached into a pocket, fingers searching for the cat’s eye marble that matched my sweet kitty’s eyes. The first thing my fingers found was the new laser level Buck had bought me. I pulled it out, tucked it in the breast pocket of my coveralls, and felt around again. There it is. I pulled out the blue marble, held it up for Sawdust to see, then bent down and sent it rolling across the now-level floor. He skittered after it as it spun out of the study, careened off the leg of the hall tree in the foyer, and rolled into the parlor.

My cat engaged, I opened a window in the study. The refreshing fall air would keep me cool while I labored. I turned to the task at hand. As I worked, a variety of sounds met my ears. From inside the house came the sound of the marble rolling across the hard floor then ricocheting off walls and furniture as Sawdust batted it around. From outside came the faint slap of asphalt shingles hitting the ground as the roofers removed the damaged materials from the residence halls on the other side of the woods, the metallic clang of modern roofing panels being lifted into place and the zzzzip of electric screwdrivers being used to attach them, the tap-tap-tap of nails being driven into posts as the workers built a pretty picket fence around the gardens. It wouldn’t be long before Ridgetop Village was ready to accept its first residents.

I hunched over a board, using sandpaper to smooth the edge to ensure it would fit cleanly against the existing flooring, when another soft tap-tap-tap sound met my ears. With so much construction noise coming from across the property, it didn’t grab my attention at first. But when it stopped, I realized this sound had come from inside the house rather than outside . Sawdust had long since chased the marble into the kitchen, and this tap was too rhythmic to be the sound of the marble hitting a wall. I heard another sound, too, a slow and steady in take and release of breath behind me. But while the person behind me seemed to have no trouble breathing, my head went light and my lungs seemed to have collapsed, as if a vacuum had been created in the room, a spaceship cabin compromised, releasing all air pressure.

I froze, too afraid to turn around, as if that would somehow make things more real. I could sense eyes on the back of my head, feel waves of rage and resentment washing over me.

Though terror gripped me, I managed to move my gaze upward. In the reflection of the window glass, the faint image of a face appeared. Joule’s face, just as I’d expected.

His voice came from over my left shoulder. “You’re smarter than I thought, figuring out Irving Finster didn’t kill himself or his wife.” He chortled in condescension. “But you were very stupid to work here alone today.”

Stupid? The air seemed to rush back into the room. Not this girl.

Anger replaced a tiny part of my terror, giving me enough courage to slowly turn around and face the killer. In his left hand, he held his cane, the silver tip on the floor. In his right, he held a handgun aimed directly at me. I could see down the black hole of the barrel.

If only I’d put on my tool belt! I could’ve thrown my large wrench at him. It was an old model, hard and heavy, weighing over four pounds. Maybe it could have disabled him long enough for me to run for help. Then again, the mallet was within reach. It weighed only a pound, was rubber coated, and would likely sail end over end with no guarantee Joule would be hit in the face with the mallet’s head rather than the lightweight handle. But it was all I had.

To distract him, I put my left hand to my mouth, much like a magician uses sleight of hand to distract his audience. I faked a gasp as I slowly reached for the mallet with my right hand.

He snorted derisively. “I see what you’re doing.” He gestured with the gun. “Both hands up. Now! No sudden moves or I’ll shoot you.”

I was fairly certain he planned to shoot me, sudden moves or not. Otherwise, why would he have brought a gun here? But why hadn’t he simply stayed in hiding? To my own chagrin, I answered the latter question, thinking aloud in my panic. “You can’t stand to be bested, can you? You can’t stand for anyone else to be smarter than you. You came here to punish me for it.”

Something dark and evil flashed in his eyes, and there was a click as he released the safety. “You aren’t smarter than me. You got lucky. If that post hadn’t collapsed, you never would have found the third bullet.”

I doubted that I’d come out of this situation alive, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to try to buy myself some time. Maybe I’d think of something, some way to escape or disarm him. Or maybe he’d get himself so worked up he’d suffer a heart attack or stroke on the spot and keel over on his own. It was wishful thinking, I knew, but hope was all I had at the moment, and I desperately wanted to hang on to it.

“You’re right,” I agreed. “It was mostly luck.” I asked another question I was pretty sure I knew the answer to, as well, though I didn’t know the specifics. “But why did you do it, Dr. Joule? Why did you kill them?”

His nostrils flared and a purplish rage raced up his neck to his face. “Because Irving Finster took what was rightfully mine!” He shook his head and pulled in a deep, ragged breath as if to calm himself. When he spoke again, his tone was more even. “ I should have got ten the headmaster position, not him. I was infinitely more qualified. I’d proven my loyalty and dedication to this institution. The board of trustees were fools, blinded by his celebrity status. I might not have hit the New York Times bestseller list, but I’ve published over forty-eight papers in scientific journals. Forty-eight!”

“That’s impressive.”

“Indeed!” He looked down his nose at me. “The board never valued my contributions like they should have. They didn’t see physics as a creative pursuit. Those idiots didn’t understand that physics explains creation itself! It tells us how our world works!” He was huffing and puffing at this point, as if smoking an invisible pipe.

In an attempt to calm him down again, I concurred. “I couldn’t do my job without physics.” Realizing he might think I was being snarky, I added, “Not that I fully understand physics, of course. It’s beyond me. But the measuring and weight distribution that I have to consider in my projects? I owe it to physicists like you for figuring it out for me.”

His face lightened a little, from plum to violet. “You’re damn right you owe us!”

Behind Joule, Sawdust peeked his furry little head around the doorframe. He looked at me, then up at Joule. I bit my lip, willing Sawdust to go upstairs and hide under a bed where he’d be safe. Dr. Joule better not hurt my sweet little guy!

“I don’t blame you for being upset,” I said, hoping I’d earn some more brownie points—and at least a few more minutes of life—by empathizing with the guy. “From what I’ve heard, Dr. Finster was a lousy headmaster.”

Joule lowered the gun slightly, though I suspected it was more because it was getting heavy than because he’d lost his will to kill me. “He was the worst! If I had been appointed, this school would be thriving today.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “I was a fool to waste my talents here. I should’ve gone for a job at the college level after earning my doctorate at Duke. By the time I joined the faculty at the University of Tennessee after Ridgetop Prep closed, I was years behind my professional colleagues. They looked down on me for having taught younger students.” His lips pursed. “Snobs!” He took another deep inhale. “It took me eighteen years to get tenure, and by then I was nearly retirement age.”

“That’s unfair,” I said, “but, regardless, you’ve accomplished a lot. You have much to be proud of.”

A smile played about his lips for a brief moment before he raised the gun back up again and frowned. “Now you’re just pandering.”

“I’m not! Really!” I cried, fresh fear making me damp with sweat, my coveralls sticking to my back. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever crossed paths with. After all, you outwitted the sheriff’s department for all these years, and those investigators are sharp folks.”

He cocked his head thoughtfully. “True.”

“How did you do it?” I asked. “What happened that night, exactly?”

He snorted derisively. “Why should I tell you? You’re just a nosy nobody who works with her hands, not her mind.”

My hackles rose at his insult, but I tried to ignore it. He was totally wrong. I used my brain all the time in my work. Remodeling work involved difficult math computations, basic mechanical engineering, even chemistry. But the more important thing than defending my work was staying alive. “The least you could do is tell me how you got away with it. I’m curious. Not many murderers go free like you have.”

“I’m not a murderer,” he insisted, though he looked slightly to my right, his gaze no longer meeting mine. “At least, I didn’t set out to be one.”

“What do you mean?”

The gun still trained on me, he used the hook of his cane to grab the arm of a chair and pulled it over to sit down. He leaned his cane against the chair, and put both hands on the gun to hold it up now. “When I came here that night, it was with the intention of convincing Irving to quit. He’d barely survived the board’s vote of no confidence. The teachers had little faith in him, and the school was going up in proverbial flames. If the board wasn’t going to have the guts to get rid of Irving, I was going to get him to do the right thing and resign. But when I suggested it, he refused. We argued for a minute or two and things got heated. At one point, I brought my fists down on his desk. I never intended to strike him. I was just blowing off steam.” He gestured to the deep scratch on the edge of the desk. “You can see where my watch scratched the wood.” He had the decency to appear embarrassed by his lack of self-control.

I gazed at the scratch, proud that I’d noticed it earlier and realized it could be a clue.

“Irving was paranoid by that point,” he continued, “what with Terry Thorne having snuck into this house.” He gestured at the windows. “He’d blocked the windows with furniture and put boards over them. He’d sealed up the attic, too.”

“I noticed. The windows were still boarded up when I first came in here a few months back.”

“Irving was losing his mind,” he snapped. “He was in a funk over the myriad problems the school was facing, too, not to mention his career slump. After I banged my fists on his desktop, he unlocked a drawer, pulled out a gun, and aimed it at me. I was shocked, naturally. I had no idea he owned a gun. I backed up toward the window. He aimed the gun at my chest, but his hands were shaking like crazy. I told him to put the damn thing down before it went off by accident, and that’s exactly what happened! The bullet barely missed me. It exited through the window frame and lodged in the porch post outside. It’s a wonder the window didn’t shatter.”

I tried to put myself in Joule’s shoes, or at least the shoes he’d been in forty-three years ago in this room. “With Irving escalating things that way, putting your life at risk, that must’ve been infuriating.”

“Absolutely!” He waved his gun in emphasis, causing me to flinch. “I ran over and we tangled with his gun. I managed to force his arms up against his chest. The barrel was under his chin. I tried to twist the gun out of his grip when it went off again. He’d—” Emotion seized the man. He gulped and tears filled his eyes. “He’d shot himself. Maybe I’d inadvertently helped him do it. I don’t know!” A tear escaped his eye. He swiped it away.

My only hope was to deescalate the situation and bring him back to his senses. “It was an accident, then. Self-defense.” My voice quavered, and I swallowed hard. “It wasn’t your fault, Dr. Joule. Irving overreacted by pulling his gun. He provoked you with the missed shot.” Of course, Dr. Joule had first provoked Dr. Finster by slamming his fists down on the desk, but there was nothing to be gained by pointing that out. “Anyone in that situation would have done the same thing you did.”

Joule sniffled before going on. “I was about to get on the phone and call for help when Rosie came running down the stairs. I didn’t know she was in the house. I’d seen her earlier from the window of my apartment on campus. She’d been heading to the auditorium. She must have come back here while I was making my way out of the building. She screamed, ‘You killed him! You killed my husband!’” He swallowed hard again. “I panicked. If she thought I was capable of murdering her husband, other people might think so, too. I didn’t want to go to prison! The gun was still in Irving’s hands, so I grabbed them, aimed the gun at Rosie, and used his finger to pull the trigger. I acted on impulse. I didn’t mean to do it. I just needed her to shut up!”

He broke into a sob and the gun sagged for a moment, but when I lowered my hands an inch or two to test his resolve, he brought the barrel right back up. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. What’s one more murder?

To my dismay, Sawdust gently and quietly rolled the marble into the room behind Joule as the man wailed. “I felt awful for what I’d done! I put the gun to my own head and was about to pull the trigger, but then I had an epiphany. I realized that, under the circumstances, people might believe Irving ended his own life and took his wife’s, too. Things hadn’t been going well for him. Besides, I wasn’t a bad person. I hadn’t set out to kill anyone. What happened was a fluke, a modern-day Greek tragedy. What good would it do for me to confess? So, I wiped the blood off myself with a kitchen towel, put strips of transparent tape around my fingertips so I wouldn’t leave prints on the typewriter, and typed up a suicide note. I was careful to avoid the blood on the floor so I wouldn’t leave footprints when I placed it on Irving’s desk.”

Detective Macedo had read the purported suicide note to me, but I didn’t disclose this fact. I didn’t see any reason to, especially when the note was one of the reasons that had led me, Macedo, and the original investigator to suspect a third party might have killed the couple.

Joule glowered. “I figured a suicide note would make it an open and shut case, and that the matter would be promptly put to rest. That’s not what happened, of course. That damn sheriff spent weeks interviewing the faculty and students, stirring the pot. The lengthy investigation was the death knell for the school. If not for that sheriff, the school might still be open today!”

I had my doubts about that, but knew it would be unwise to share them.

Joule continued to fill in the blanks. “I picked up one of the bullet casings and hoped nobody would realize Irving had fired his gun three times. Otherwise, they might realize he’d fought with someone and not buy the murder-suicide story. There was some blood on my school blazer, so I took it off, put the shell in the pocket, and put on a clean jacket of Irving’s from his hall tree. We wore the same size.”

A men’s medium.

Joule swiped another tear from his cheek. “I tucked my bloody jacket and the dish towel under my arm, left the house, and rushed through the woods to the observatory to gather my wits. I heard a jingle as I ran and realized Irving’s house key was in the pocket of his blazer. I’d taken my astronomy class to the observatory earlier that day to let them view the sun through a solar filter. Eli Clemson had forgotten his backpack there. I had to get rid of the evidence, so I put the house key in the pocket of my blazer with the shell casing, shoved my blazer and the kitchen towel into his backpack, and flung it into the pond. Then I went back to my apartment and put on fresh clothes. I came out a few minutes later to find all hell had broken loose. Deputies were all over the headmaster’s house. Paramedics, too. I went to the auditorium and slipped into the crowd. The students were gathered there for the show. Some of the faculty, too. Mr. Noy gave everyone the news about Irving and Rosie. All of the girls cried. Most of the boys, too. The teachers were shellshocked. I tried to look as surprised as they were. Hell, I was surprised by what had happened! At any rate, weeks later, the sheriff finally gave up on the case. Everything was fine all this time”—his eyes narrowed to a glare as dark as a moonless sky—“until you came along!”

His words and tone made it clear he was done talking. He might not have come here with murderous intentions four decades ago, but there was no doubt he intended to put an end to me now. He straightened and leveled the gun at me, squinting further as he took aim.

My chest heaved in fright, and I felt the weight of my breast pocket against my ribs. That’s when I got a bright idea—literally. I reached into the pocket, whipped out my laser level, and aimed it at Joule’s face. The bright green beam proceeded across the short space at light speed to wreak havoc with Joule’s retinas, and I dove to the floor. Just in time, too.

BANG!

A bullet sailed through the air where my head had been only an instant before. The bang of the gun being fired nearly burst my eardrums, and the muzzle flash lit up the room as if competing with my level.

Joule was no more adept with a gun than Finster had been. He’d neglected to spread his legs to steady himself. The kickback from the gun slammed him against the back of the chair. At the same time, Sawdust leapt into the air. The poor cat was terrified by the sound of the gun and knew only that the man in the chair had caused it. He landed on Joule’s back, claws at the ready, and shredded the man’s shoulders.

Joule yelped and waved the gun around, attempting to swat the cat off his back while also trying to get a bead on me for another shot. He stood and turned around as I bolted past him into the hall. Sawdust fell from his back and landed on the floor. I feared Joule might take aim at my furry little fellow, and he might have done just that if he hadn’t stepped on the marble. With his body already in motion, he couldn’t recover. The marble rolled and his foot slipped out from under him. He wasn’t able to regain his balance before his bony butt crashed down onto the floor.

He lost hold of the gun as he bounced off the hardwood. The weapon clattered down a few feet away, though with my ears ringing from the sound of the gunshot, the noise was muted. Before he could recover the gun, I grabbed his steel-tipped cane and swung it at him. He threw up an arm in an attempt to fend off the blow. A loud crack filled the air as the cane made contact. I had never taken an anatomy course, so I’m not sure which of his arm bones I had broken. Regardless, the guy wouldn’t be able to type another fake suicide note any time soon.

I kicked the gun away, and it slid under a bookshelf, out of reach. I wailed on the man with his cane. Sawdust watched from the doorway, swishing his fluffy tail like a pom-pom, cheering me on.

Joule rolled up in a fetal position and begged for me to stop. “No more! Please!”

I stopped whacking Joule, but brandished the cane over his cowering form. I didn’t know whether Joule had another weapon on him, but I also didn’t want to beat him black and blue unnecessarily. “Siri!” I cried. “FaceTime Buck Whitaker!”

Siri’s computerized voice came from my back pocket. “Placing a FaceTime call to Buck Whitaker.”

Two rings sounded before I heard Buck’s voice. “Did you butt dial me, cuz? All I see is your coveralls.”

“Get to the house!” I screamed. “Adam Joule just tried to shoot me!”

Buck let out an expletive. “On my way!”

The best thing I could do now was restrain Joule to ensure he couldn’t hurt me, my cat, or my cousin. I raised the cane a few inches, readying it to deliver another blow if necessary. “On your belly!” I demanded. “Now! Or I’ll break your other arm!”

He burst into sobs but complied, gingerly rolling over to a prone position on the floor.

“Don’t move!” I ordered. I grabbed a couple of zip ties from my tool belt. He winced and yelped in pain as I bound his wrists behind him. I bound his ankles, as well. Now that he was immobilized, I patted him down, finding only his keys, his wallet, a pipe, and a packet of tobacco in his pockets.

As Joule continued to sob, Sawdust strode up, climbed up onto the man’s back, and settled in the small of it, as if he’d conquered a giant. In a way, he had. I ruffled his ears and phoned the Robertson County Sheriff’s Department.

I was on the phone with a dispatcher when Buck burst through the front door, throwing it back so hard the knob put a dent in the drywall. Nothing a little Spackle and paint can’t fix.

Buck rushed into the study and glanced down at Joule, ensuring he was restrained, before grabbing me by the shoulders. “Are you okay, Whitney?”

Suddenly, I couldn’t talk. I handed him the phone as emotion overtook me. Buck wrapped things up with the dispatcher, led me to the chair Joule had been sitting in a few moments before, and sat me down. I stared straight ahead and realized that the bullet that had narrowly missed me had gone through the screen on the open window. It had lodged in the very post that replaced the one that took a bullet four decades earlier. History really does repeat itself.

Owen and Uncle Roger couldn’t run as fast as Buck, and they rushed through the door now to find that things were already under control. Uncle Roger knelt down next to me and offered calming, reassuring words while Buck and Sawdust ensured Adam Joule wasn’t going anywhere. Meanwhile, Owen went out front to flag down law enforcement.

A half hour later, two deputies had Adam Joule in custody. When he’d spilled his guts to me earlier, he must have assumed I wouldn’t live to relay his confession to the authorities. He’d since become tight lipped, insisting he’d say nothing further until he’d spoken with a lawyer. I had Sawdust in my arms, and Joule glared at the two of us as the deputies led him out to a patrol car.

Collin arrived in time to have a quick exchange with the deputies before coming up to the porch and grabbing me in a warm hug, a purring Sawdust sandwiched between us. Collin held me for a long moment before releasing me and stepping back. Sawdust squirmed in my arms and I set him down on the porch, where he skittered after a dry, fallen leaf.

Though Collin’s words might be harsh, his expression and tone were gentle. “When will you learn to mind your own business?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Never?”

He shook his head and pulled me to him again, holding me so tight I could hardly breathe. Good thing, too. His tight grip helped stop me from shaking.