Sounds of Murder

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

She couldn't get his words out of her mind. Mitchell's words. He'd said that every one in the department had a motive to murder Charlotte. That was extreme, she knew, but the ramifications of her department head thinking such a thing were staggering. If the police didn't find the killer soon, the investigation would expand, and all of them would be implicated. She couldn't help but be worried. Mitchell had been in the building before the murder and he'd argued with Charlotte. Phineas was also in the building. Laura had fought with Charlotte recently. How many other colleagues could feasibly be listed as possible suspects? Of course, she and Kent were probably considered suspects, she realized, because we were the ones who'd found Charlotte's body.

Pamela thought of the CD she'd made and that was still tucked safely in her purse, even now, on Wednesday evening, as she lounged in her favorite chair in her bedroom, reading student papers and listening to soothing music on cable television. Although she was incredibly anxious to listen to the CD, she knew she didn't dare open it now. Rocky and Angela were in other rooms. She'd have to use the family computer in the study and, even though they probably would ignore her, she couldn't be sure that one or both of them wouldn't ask what she was working on. She just didn't feel she could comfortably lie her way out of that situation.

Candide, her poodle, rubbed against her leg and she reached down and petted his head. He was the only one in the house with whom she could share this secret.

"Hey there, little fellow," she whispered. "Are you as anxious to check out that CD as I am?" Candide sniffed and rolled over on his back, begging for a tummy rub. Pamela obliged, bored with what had turned into several hours of paper grading.

Angela was ensconced at the front door handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. She'd actually volunteered for the job and Rocky was willing to let her have the position seeing as how she'd completed her homework. Every once in a while, Pamela heard the doorbell and Angela's squeals when she recognized the outfits of the tiny costumed children. Rocky had, as usual, prepared a warm, comforting dinner-cornbread and a savory beef and wine concoction he called "Sergeant's Stew." He was now seated at the dining room table grading essays for his freshman English classes. Every once in a while he'd saunter into the bedroom and announce how many papers he'd completed, a sort of contest they had when they were both grading.

She tried to concentrate on the paper she was correcting. She glanced at the various red marks she'd made, hoping to refresh her mind as to the content of the manuscript, with no luck. Oh, she thought, it's no use. I simply won't be able to accomplish anything until I see what-if anything--is on that disk. At that moment, Rocky walked in, with his stack of papers and a gleeful look.

"Done!" he chirped.

"What? No!" she responded, "I was ahead of you just a bit ago."

"You're not keeping up, Babe," he announced. "How many more?" He gestured to the stack of uncorrected papers piled on the hassock in front of her.

"At least forty," she sighed. Rocky always won these grading battles because he didn't agonize over every error the student made. He circled problem areas, made a general assessment, gave a grade, wrote a note of encouragement, and then went on to the next paper. The sooner he finished a stack of papers, the sooner he could be whipping up some new recipe.

"How's Angie doing?," she asked, "Has she run out of treats yet?"

"Nope," he said, "We still have several bags."

She placed the paper she was correcting down, along with her pencil and stretched her arms up in the air. "I can't believe she volunteered to hand out Halloween candy. That's so unlike her. So altruistic."