Page 8 of What We Hide

Pelican Harbor provided police services to the university under a century-old agreement. Savannah wished she could call her best friend, Nora Craft, for moral support, but Nora was a forensics tech in the Pelican Harbor Police Department, and Savannah didn’t want to place her friend in the middle of this mess. Besides, Nora was out of town for the next couple of weeks.

The detective stepped closer. “I’m sure you did, but I need to go over it again with you in case there’s something you remember this morning.” Her gaze softened. “You’re exhausted. Did you get any sleep last night?”

Savannah dropped into her chair and fiddled with her bracelet. “Not much. I kept seeing his face.” Her voice wobbled, and she shuddered.

Richards moved to the other chair and settled in it with her notebook and pen out. “That had to have been upsetting. Were you and President Abernathy close friends?”

“No, not at all. Business acquaintances only. I don’t have much use for people who take advantage of their positions. He loved making sure everyone knew he was the university president.”

She told the detective about the provenance letters she’d found. “I told the provost about it, and he checked who had access to the warehouses where the artifacts were stored. Abernathy had logged in there at midnight two weeks ago. He easily could have been the one selling off the Willard Treasure pieces. He also ordered history department letterhead, which is what was used to create the provenance letters.”

“Did you call the police and report it? Or campus security?”

“No, the provost, Beckett Harrison, suggested we should confront Abernathy ourselves first and see if there was a good explanation.”

“It sounds like you don’t really like him.”

Savannah gave a tiny shrug. “It’s not a requirement to be buddies with the university president. And honestly, he has asked me out several times, which offended me since he’s married. So no, he’s not someone I liked being around.” Technically, she was married too, but she left out that detail.

Richards wrote in her notebook. “Did he have any good friends among the professors?”

Savannah remembered the last Christmas party Abernathy had thrown. Most of the professors had shown up, but no one milled around Abernathy talking. “Not that I know of. Most of the professors have mentioned they detested him. That probably widens your suspect pool quite a lot.”

“Your family has deep ties to the university, is that correct? Did your family start it?”

“Well, not exactly. It was originally named Universitates Nova Cambridge Willardius when it was founded after the Civil War.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

Savannah nodded in agreement. “Joseph Willard bought a defunct plantation for a song and wanted to start a school that would rival Harvard. There were some, um, incidents with several burlesque dancers from New Orleans, some unpaid tax bills, and then a large fire. The board of trustees renamed it after all the tupelo trees on its premises. One of my ancestors was on the board back then, and he appointed his son as president, much to the dismay of Willard’s son. My father eventually took over.”

“And this Joseph Willard is the one who amassed the pre-Columbian artifacts that seem to be disappearing?”

“Exactly.”

Detective Richards pointed her pencil toward the bookshelves. “Interesting that you have a book titled Something Wicked This Way Comes. That’s what was written on the note pinned to Mr. Abernathy’s jacket.”

“It’s by Ray Bradbury and is very famous. But his title is taken from a famous line in Shakespeare’s Macbeth that goes: ‘By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.’ It’s difficult to say what the killer was referencing.”

“I see. Thank you for that clarification. Would you mind coming to the station for a little longer chat?”

“I’d be happy to come down.” Though happy wasn’t really what she felt, she didn’t have any choice but to agree.

Richards left, and Savannah sank into her chair. Was it her imagination that the detective had looked at her with suspicion?

All the stories Hez had told her throughout their marriage came flooding back. The person who discovered the body was often a suspect. She held her hand to her mouth as the realization coalesced that she might be a suspect. Would the police arrest her?

Chapter 5

Hez leaned against a tree and smiled. He loved taking his rescue, Cody, to the dog park during his lunch break. Cody got his exercise and Hez got a free live comedy show.

Just looking at Cody was entertaining. He seemed to be made out of leftover parts from random breeds: Chihuahua legs, Great Dane ears, greyhound body, and an elegant—but crooked—Chesapeake Bay tail. He had wispy brown-gray fur with several severe cowlicks, so he always looked like a hurricane-force wind was blowing from his right. The final flourish to Cody’s unique look was what Hez called the “crazy tooth”—an incisor on Cody’s lower jaw that stuck out when his mouth was closed and gave him a vaguely rabid look, even when he was sleeping.

Fortunately, none of the other dogs cared what Cody looked like. He liked to play and didn’t get mad at puppies or yappy little dogs, so he was popular at the dog park. Right now, he was trying to get a reserved, aristocratic-looking dog to play. The other dog was much taller than Cody, so he was jumping to make eye contact—leaping so high on his tiny legs that he almost appeared to be levitating.

After watching Cody bounce for half a minute, the aristocratic dog finally smiled, did an elegant little jump, and trotted toward Cody, who put his ears back and tore off like a furry missile with the other dog loping in pursuit.

“It looks like my dog made a new friend. Yours?”

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