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  Hearing someone accuse Dawson of murder made me furious.

  “Please. Won’t you sit down?” he begged.

  I took several deep breaths and returned to my seat.

  “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you or Mr. Alexander. I was merely repeating what I’d heard. Now, how can I help you?”

  “Melody Hardwick was one of your students. I was hoping you could tell me something about her.”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could, but I’ve only been here a semester and I’m afraid I don’t really know many of the students yet. I saw her picture in the newspaper, but honestly, it didn’t ring a bell with me. Are you sure she was in my class?”

  I nodded. “Yes. She was in History of Cults.”

  He thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I’m sure you’re right, but I don’t remember her. I guess she didn’t make much of an impression on me.”

  He smiled in a way that implied I was making an impression. I felt nervous and uncomfortable. It had been a long time since anyone flirted with me. I was out of practice and began to fidget so much I dropped my purse.

  “I know one of the other girls in the class, and she tells me Melody never attended class but she had a perfect grade.”

  “Well, that’s odd. Let’s take a look.” He turned to his computer and tapped away for a few minutes. “Now I remember. It’s the name that threw me. I have an Elizabeth Mae Simpson.”

  “Yes, that’s her. She was using an alias.”

  “How odd.” He scanned the computer screen. “Miss Simpson is showing a perfect score. You say she never attended class? I’ll certainly have to look into it. Must be a mistake.” He turned to face me. “This computer system is different than the one I’m used to back in England. I must have made a mistake.” He smiled. “I’m sure I would have found it before the end of the term.”

  It sounded reasonable.

  “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Actually, there is something else, but it’s rather personal.” My face heated.

  “Now this sounds promising.” He settled back and fixed an inquiring look on my face.

  “I’m writing a book.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Thank you. It’s a mystery set in the British countryside. I was wondering if maybe you could help me with some research,” I stammered.

  “I’d love to. I’ll be happy to answer any questions I can. Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner say, tomorrow night?”

  “Mrs. Washington?”

  I turned, thankful to see Jillian standing in the doorway. “Yes. Tomorrow night will be fine.”

  “Why don’t you leave me your number and I’ll call you with the details.”

  “Okay.” I hurriedly wrote my cell number on a sheet of paper and rushed from the room, remembering at the last minute to turn and say, “Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you.”

  Outside, Jillian rushed to keep up with me. “Hey, I’m sorry, Mrs. Washington. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I had to drop off a book with one of my professors. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t interrupt anything. He’s just going to help me with some research for a . . . a book I’m working on.”

  “Granny told me you’ve written a book. That’s great.”

  Dorothy Clark certainly had a big mouth. I’d have to be careful what I told her, but none of this was Jillian’s fault. “Come on. We better get over to meet Emma.”

  Chapter 10

  Emma was waiting for us at the student union. Both girls in tow, I headed to downtown North Harbor. They asked to see my bookstore and I was rather curious about Dawson’s interview, so I headed home.

  The interview had just wrapped up and the reporters were loading equipment into a large van in the back parking lot.

  Dawson looked tired, but no other signs of distress were present. Nana Jo wasn’t waving her peacemaker and there were no dead bodies, so I assumed all went well. I was a bit anxious to watch it.

  There were a few patrons in the shop, but my nephews had things under control. The twins rushed to offer assistance to my two young friends. Boys would be boys.

  I walked over to Dawson. “How’d it go?”

  He shrugged. “Okay, I think.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I hate talking about myself, but Mrs. Rutherford said it was good.”

  I patted his shoulder. “Then I’m sure it was fine.” I stared at him. “You look tired. Have you eaten?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why don’t you come with us?” I looked around. “Melody’s roommate, Emma, and Dorothy’s granddaughter, Jillian, helped me earlier, and I promised them lunch.” I looked at my watch. “Although it’s almost dinnertime.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I thought I’d try that new restaurant that opened up a few doors down. I started to eat there the other day, but I never actually got to eat.” That was Monday, when I’d seen the police had picked up Dawson for Melody’s murder and rushed to the police station. Definitely a day I’d like to forget.

  Nana Jo joined us. “He did a real fine job. Real fine.”

  I could tell by the raspy sound in her voice, Nana Jo had fought back tears.

  “I was just inviting Dawson to lunch.”

  “Good. I’m hungry enough to eat an entire heifer. Let me get my purse.”

  Nana Jo ran upstairs and by the time she returned, I’d arranged for Jillian, Dawson, Zaq, and Emma to go down and secure seating. Christopher agreed to stay and keep things going in the bookstore in exchange for a burger and fries.

  “I called the girls while I was upstairs. They’re on their way. We were supposed to meet for the book club.”

  “I totally forgot about the book club meeting today.”

  The Sleuthing Seniors Book Club formed over the summer, and Nana Jo and her friends met at the bookstore on the first Thursday of every month to discuss mysteries.

  “Maybe I should go tell everyone there will be four more coming for lunch.” I started toward the door.

  “No worries. I already sent a text message to Jenna.”

  Nana Jo looked like she wanted to talk, so I waited.

  “That boy has really had a tough time.” She shook her head and swallowed hard in an effort to keep her emotions in check. “I knew things were hard, but I never knew everything.”

  “He doesn’t like talking about his dad or his life as a kid. Remember when we found him hiding out in the bathroom of the bookstore?”

  Nana Jo nodded. “His father got drunk as a skunk and beat the crap out of him. He ran away with nothing but the clothes on his back.”

  I patted Nana Jo and tried to keep from getting teary eyed as I thought back. “I’m so glad he came here.”

  “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t been working at that country club.”

  I laughed. “And if I hadn’t drank four glasses of champagne on an empty stomach and made a spectacle of myself at the funeral reception for Clayton Parker when I puked and needed help getting home.”

  Nana Jo laughed. “Clayton Parker was an evil man, but if it weren’t for him, we might not have Dawson with us now. Maybe he wasn’t so worthless after all.”

  Clayton Parker’s death wasn’t a reason for rejoicing, but I understood what she was getting at.

  When the girls arrived, we walked to the restaurant. Two tables had been pushed together at the back of the restaurant. Dawson sat at the end with Jillian and Emma on either side of him. Zaq was next to Emma and Jenna sat next to Jillian. I sat next to Jenna and across from Dorothy. Nana Jo seated herself at the head of the table and Irma and Ruby Mae were on her sides.

  When the waitress arrived to take our drink orders, Nana Jo took a look at her watch and ordered a Wild Turkey, neat. She pulled out her iPad and put on her glasses. She waited until all the drink orders were placed. “Now, we’re under a time crunch, so I suggest we move forward with our meeting.” S
he looked around.

  No one disagreed.

  “Who would like to start?” She looked around the table.

  Irma coughed and raised her hand. “I talked to my great-grandson, Ernie. He’s a realtor.” She coughed. “He said Virgil Russell was a shady character and a slumlord. Apparently, he applied for a grant from the government to build that high-rise on the lake. Said he was building low-income housing for minorities and senior citizens so he got a super low interest rate. But then he made those units the smallest units he could. Ernie says he rarely rents to low-income folks unless they pay him under the table.”

  “What do you mean, pay him under the table?” I asked.

  “If they have a section eight voucher, they pay a reduced rate to their landlord and HUD pays the difference. The landlord is supposed to make repairs, but Ernie said Virgil Russell stalls on the repairs.”

  “What’s HUD?” Jillian asked.

  “The Department of Housing and Urban Development,” Ruby Mae added.

  “Why would anyone put up with that?” Dorothy asked.

  Ruby Mae looked up from her knitting. “They put up with it because they don’t want to make trouble.” She looked around. “I found out quite a bit on that scoundrel, but I’ll wait my turn. I don’t want to interrupt.” She nodded to Irma. “Go ahead, honey.”

  Irma continued, “Ernie said Virgil Russell is a sleazy, lowlife slumlord who can’t be trusted any farther than he can spit.” Irma then turned and spit on the floor.

  “Irma!” everyone said.

  Irma coughed and then took a swig of the whiskey the server placed in front of her. “Sorry.”

  Nana Jo turned to Ruby Mae. “Perhaps you would like to go now.”

  Ruby Mae stopped knitting long enough to take a sip of her coffee. “What I found out confirms what Irma said. Virgil Russell is a slumlord. My niece’s boy, Robert Earl, works downtown at the County-City building. They’ve been trying to clean up a lot of the run-down housing in North Harbor. He said a lot of the worst properties are owned by absentee landlords, but Virgil Russell owns over one hundred rentals, basically shacks. Most of them need to be torn down.”

  “Roach motels is what Ernie called them.” Irma burst into a coughing fit.

  Dorothy smacked Irma on the back. “You need to build up your immune system. You’re just a wreck.” She reached in her bag and pulled out a bottle of tablets. “Here, you need to take these air immune tablets. They’re wonderful.” Dorothy handed two tablets to Irma.

  Irma looked at the tablets and then popped them both in her mouth and started to chew.

  Dorothy looked stricken and then shouted, “What are you doing? You don’t just put them in your mouth. You have to dissolve them in water.”

  Irma coughed and then began foaming at the mouth. She reached for a glass of water. With each gulp of water, more foam came from her mouth.

  Restaurant patrons began to stare.

  The manager came over. “Is everything okay? I’m trained on the Heimlich.”

  Irma shook her head but then realized he was making his way toward her. Finally, she reached in her mouth and pulled out her teeth. She took her napkin and wiped her tongue and mouth.

  “Blech. Dorothy, what the h—”

  “Irma!”

  Irma grabbed her drink and tossed it back, then grabbed Nana Jo’s drink and took a long swig. Then she swished the liquid around in her mouth and swallowed.

  We all stared for several seconds and then burst out laughing.

  The manager looked around like he didn’t know what to think of us. He eventually joined in the laughter too.

  When we finally pulled ourselves together, Jenna wiped her eyes. “Oh my goodness.”

  Zaq and the younger crew continued laughing.

  Irma smiled and picked up her teeth and wrapped them in her napkin, which got everyone started laughing again.

  Nana Jo said, “Irma, what made you take your teeth out?”

  Irma said, “Once that stuff got in my teeth, I tried using my tongue to work it out. I guess it agitated the darned things with my saliva and I started foaming. Then when I drank the water, it got worse. Since I couldn’t get it out of my teeth, I decided to get rid of the teeth.” She grinned and everyone laughed again.

  Nana Jo said, “Ruby Mae, I think it’s safe for you to continue now.”

  “Well, as I was saying, Virgil Russell is a slumlord.”

  Emma tentatively raised a hand. “Excuse me. I just think that’s awful. Why do people put up with that?”

  Ruby Mae continued, “The wait list for low-income housing is long, especially for more than two bedrooms. When I was in Chicago, after my husband left, I was on the wait list for five years for one of those Section Eight housing vouchers that helps low-income people afford decent housing. By the time I finally got to the top of the wait list, my cleaning business had taken off and I didn’t qualify anymore, and I’m thankful for that. Lord knows I’m thankful. Some of those places were awful. I would have just as soon slept outside.” She shook her head. “There was a lady at my church who was living in one of Virgil Russell’s run-down shacks. I’ve never seen such filth. She complained, and he made her life miserable. He wouldn’t make repairs. Her toilet was out for almost six months, and he wouldn’t repair it. He wouldn’t collect the trash. It was bad.”

  Emma looked appalled. “But that’s horrible. Why did she stay?”

  “Where else is she gonna go, baby? She had three small children and no other family. She didn’t have the money to get the repairs done herself.” Ruby Mae leaned in. “But here’s the worst part. You know that filthy little heathen had the nerve to tell her she could pay in other ways.” Ruby Mae raised her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

  Everyone got what Ruby Mae was talking about except Emma, who had a puzzled expression on her face.

  Irma leaned over and patted her hand. “She’s talking about sex, honey.”

  Emma’s face turned bright red, and her expression went from puzzled to shock to revulsion in less than ten seconds. “Eww.” She shook herself. “That’s just . . . eww.”

  “That’s illegal, isn’t it? How was he able to get away with doing that?” Jillian turned to Jenna.

  “Yes, it is illegal. Unfortunately, a lot of people won’t report it for fear of repercussions, also illegal.”

  “But doesn’t someone inspect these homes to make sure they’re fit to live in?” Jillian asked.

  “They do. Sometimes that just plays into the landlord’s hands. The government only pays so much for the apartment rent, whatever the average market rates are. The benefit to the landlord is they can get a low interest loan as long as they designate a certain amount of units for low-income residents. If the landlord accepts the Section Eight housing certificate, he’s guaranteed to get his money from the government. Then he doesn’t do repairs. The renter reports the landlord. He’s given an ultimatum. Either do the repairs or he’ll be removed from their list of approved rentals.” Jenna paused and looked around. “He doesn’t do the repairs and is removed as a valid Section Eight landlord. They remove their tenants. The landlord can now do the repairs and raise the rents.”

  “And he’s gotten the low interest loan.” Nana Jo pursed her lips and scowled.

  Jenna nodded.

  “That sounds sordid, but . . .” I tried to put my thoughts into words.

  “But does it make him a killer?” Nana Jo asked.

  I nodded.

  “Unless, maybe Melody knew something about it and she threatened to turn him in?” Jillian asked hopefully.

  I shook my head. “No. More likely she knew about it and was helping him.” I looked tentatively at Dawson, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by talk of Melody.

  “What happened to your friend?” Emma asked Ruby Mae.

  “Once our church found out what was going on, we packed up her stuff and moved her in with one of the members. Things worked out well, and now she’s got one of those Habitat homes.
” She smiled. “That’s all I was able to find out.”

  We turned to look at Dorothy.

  “My date did know a little bit about this Melody person, but he was a bit grabby, so I didn’t get as much information out of him as I would have liked.” She winked. “I may have to go out with him again to see what else I can get out of him.”

  “Way to take one for the team,” Nana Jo said sarcastically.

  “I aim to please.” Dorothy smiled, then got serious. “Turns out Melody was in a special program in New Jersey for troubled teens or at-risk kids.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Higher Ed Restart or some such thing. The way I understand it, some of these kids are really smart but keep getting in trouble. This program gives them an opportunity to go to college. The hope is they’ll get a good education and redirect their energy so they use their brains for good rather than evil.”

  “I think I’ve read about this program,” I said. “When I was a teacher, there was a lot of information floating around about how it’s cheaper to send kids to Harvard for four years than it is to prison. Plus, they can learn a skill that’s useful and hopefully not end up back in their negative environment. But, I didn’t know they were doing it here in North Harbor.”

  “That’s dangerous, isn’t it?” Emma asked tentatively.

  “Harvey said they had very strict criteria,” Dorothy reassured her. “No one with a history of violence. No rapists. No murderers. No arsonists. No child molesters.” She continued to scan her paper. “He said MISU only took two. Both were older than the traditional students. Melody was one and the other was a guy who was also one of those grifters.”

  “Seems like they should tell people, you know, warn them,” Jillian said.

  “They want to give the students the best possible chance for success. The hope is they’ll blend in and adapt. Harvey says the program’s very successful. There are students placed in universities all over the world.”

  Nana Jo tapped info into her iPad.

  We waited until our server finished taking our orders. When all the orders were placed, I told them what I’d learned on campus. Emma and Jillian helped fill in the gaps. I told them about my conversation with the athletic director and plan to talk to the team later.