Death of a Department Chair: A Novel

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16 2 If things appear too complicated, they probably are. That’s why people read murder mysteries, for their delicious layers of detail. It’s like a chocolate cake: the denser the texture, the more satisfying the morsel. Daphne Arbor, overheard at Isabel’s funeral P aranoid” was one description of Miriam’s state of mind two hours later as she closed the door of her office on the seventh floor of Helmsley Hall and locked it. Her heart jittered and jumped like a gerbil on a wheel. Isabel, murdered. A nervy cocktail of shock and dread coursed through her system. None of them would be safe now. No detail—no ill-timed outbursts, no unpleasant encounters, no public disagreements, no questionable liaisons—would be too petty or too sordid for the press to exploit. And the case had the greatest potential for exploitation possible: more than dollars loosely frittered, far greater than diabolic revenge plots, and exceeding the scope of a juicy grievance, absolutely nothing provoked the public and the legislature more than sexual scandal. A small moan escaped Miriam’s lips—for nothing produced more outrage than a middleaged woman who flaunted her sexuality. And, God forbid, Miriam thought, even the most restrained description of Isabel Vittorio’s habits could only be termed randy. For the only time in her life, Miriam wished that she practiced the Catholic faith if only for the comfort of crossing herself as she 17 thought of her own history with Isabel. Twelve years ago, before Vivian—before sanity, a voice sneered in her ear—she and Isabel had had an affair. If a three-month intimate encounter with Isabel could be labeled something as possibly intriguing or satisfying as the word “affair” suggested. Miriam’s brain quickly catalogued more apt descriptions : a collision, a pile-up on a crowded expressway, a hit-andrun accident . . . Miriam’s eyes fluttered shut as she groped for the safety of her desk. As her body slid onto the lenient padding of her chair, her cheek sought the cool surface of the desktop. She didn’t have to close her eyes to recall her first sight of Isabel Vittorio. It all seemed so long ago, so innocent, so inconsequential. Her mind veered to the randomness of life, how a single chance meeting sparked such interest in one path that it was impossible to even notice the existence of other possible trails, let alone follow one. Afterwards, once happenstance hardened into history, it all appeared so inevitable. Her initial encounter with Isabel resulted from a delayed flight in the Austin airport. Miriam had raised her head to check the flight posting when she observed a woman across the aisle reading a magazine . Or rather, the woman devoured it, her fingers skipping through the periodical’s pages with the barest touch. Miriam was to learn that Isabel consumed rather than experienced life. The fate of the magazine , ending up in a crumpled and exhausted heap on the table next to her, illustrated her appetites. But her style of reading was not what arrested Miriam’s attention. Isabel was almost forty then, yet she still appeared girlish: a mass of brunette hair flamed around her angular face, a piquant sprinkle of freckles dusted her nose, a pair of thick fashionable frames softened her piercing hazel eyes. Slender, wearing a tight black sweater that emphasized her high, firm breasts, she possessed an irresistible combination of impatience, intelligence, and girlishness. To Miriam’s startled eyes she projected an appeal like that of an American Vita Sackville West—smart, handsome, and aristocratic . She didn’t know then if Isabel had either brains or breeding. No matter. She was smitten at once. At the time, single and restless, Miriam had been teaching in 18 Austin for five years and found the city both provincial and uninspired . She’d arrived too late for the city’s glory days in the sixties and seventies, a time, apparently, of rowdy blues and easy sex. Left behind was a small city struggling in the shadow of Houston and Dallas , economically swamped by the crash of big oil, beginning to be discovered by technology companies in need of plentiful water and even more plentiful Ph.D.s. The university cranked out a steady surplus of the latter who lacked the will or energy to leave Austin. Austin U. was her third teaching position and a more...