Death With Dostoevsky Read online

  THREE

  Fueled by Svetlana’s desperation, Emily left her companion at the library entrance and turned north toward Vollum College Center, one of the modern buildings on campus, where Curzon had her office on the third floor. As she approached, she noticed that the door was ajar, so she assumed Taylor was in, but she got no response to her knock.

  Calling, ‘Taylor?’ she cautiously pushed open the door. She’d watched enough detective shows to expect a door left ajar to lead to a body, or at least to the aftermath of a burglary. But the office was empty of humans, dead or alive, and appeared to be in perfect order – books on shelves, papers on desk, pillows on couch.

  And on the wall above the desk, a large icon painted on wood. Emily paused, thunderstruck by this apparent indication that Taylor might be a woman of faith. But then she rounded the desk and looked more closely. The icon was clearly ancient: the surface was cracked and discolored, and the Virgin and Child depicted were painted in an old Russian style that dated back to the great medieval iconographer Andrei Rublev. One of the Virgin’s fluid, elongated hands supported the Child while the other gestured as if to invite the viewer to focus on him, not on her. The Child’s tiny face, deliberately painted to look ageless rather than infantile, was turned upward, while the Virgin’s turned down to meet it cheek to cheek in a fond embrace. Both their expressions held infinite affection and love.

  Emily was spellbound. To her the icon was an object of ineffable beauty and holiness, but in the right circles it could be worth thousands of dollars. And the chances of its having left Russia legally were slim. How could Taylor have come by it, and why? Because the idea that she venerated it for its true spiritual significance was clearly out of the question.

  But someone ought to. Wary of kissing the icon directly because of its age, Emily crossed herself, kissed her fingertips, and barely touched them to the crackling surface. She could almost feel the icon respond, as if it were a living thing.

  ‘I’d prefer you didn’t touch that,’ came Taylor’s voice from the doorway. ‘It’s quite valuable. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t come into my office without my permission.’

  Emily whipped around, red-faced. ‘I’m sorry. The door was ajar, and when you didn’t answer I was afraid something might be wrong, so I came in to make sure you were all right. Then I saw the icon.’ She turned to face it again, drawn by the centuries of candle smoke, incense, and prayers embedded in the darkened varnish. ‘It’s so beautiful. I had to venerate it.’ She paused, but could not help adding, ‘Since I don’t imagine that happens every day.’

  Taylor rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a work of art. An investment, nothing more. You do realize that’s not the actual Virgin Mary – so-called – and Christ Child, right?’ Her voice dripped sarcasm. ‘It’s just a picture.’

  Emily’s temper flared, but she knew Taylor was deliberately goading her, hoping for an emotional response. She would not give her the satisfaction.

  ‘Of course I know that, but an icon is not in fact “just” a picture. It’s an image that carries some of the grace of the persons depicted. An interface, if you will, between heaven and earth. Countless miracles have resulted from people praying before icons like this one. It really should be in a church where it could benefit the faithful, not hidden away in the office of someone who doesn’t appreciate it for what it truly is.’

  She paused. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, it should be in a church in Russia.’ She wouldn’t go so far as to level accusations, but she wanted Taylor to know she had her suspicions.

  Taylor shrugged, unfazed. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion. I don’t happen to share that opinion. Now, do you have some actual business with me, or did you merely come to slaver over my prize possession?’

  Emily pulled herself together. The icon had driven everything else from her mind, but she did need to say what she had come to say. ‘I came to plead with you on Daniel’s behalf. He didn’t send me – he doesn’t know I’m here – but I’m concerned about him. He’s a sensitive young man with a lot of potential, and your pursuit of him is interfering with his work.’

  Taylor smirked. ‘Pursuit? My interest in him is the same as yours – he has a lot of potential, as you say, and I want to help him realize it. Anything more is merely a product of your fevered imagination.’ She ran a pointed eye over Emily’s figure, from her schoolmarmish bun with its threads of gray to her long full skirt and sensible low-heeled boots. ‘My guess is you’re having menopausal hallucinations. Hot flashes, am I right? Hormones going wild? Poor Emily. Better go back to your mansion and put your feet up until you get over it. We certainly don’t need you here.’

  Emily could feel her face reddening and her breath coming short and fast. But it wasn’t a hot flash – it was pure fury. Responding to Taylor’s taunts would only dig her in deeper, and driving her own point home was clearly hopeless without something or someone to back her up. The best thing she could do right now was to get out before she lost control.

  ‘You haven’t heard the last of this, Taylor,’ she said through gritted teeth as she pushed past her into the hall.

  Wonderful. She’d been reduced to B-movie clichés. But somehow or other she must find a way to bring Taylor down.

  Emily worked for a couple of hours, then took a mid-afternoon break. She needed a stretch, some fresh air, and a snack, so she headed to the Paradox, the student-run coffee shop in the Student Union. Its opposite number, Paradox Lost, was closer to the library, in the science building, but Emily always felt like an interloper when she ventured into that realm.

  She was standing in line to order when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

  ‘Emily?’

  She turned to see a smallish man in his late thirties with light brown hair and a reddish goatee, wearing a threadbare wool overcoat and a hand-knitted hat. Her half-brother, Oscar Lansing. ‘Oscar! I was wondering when I’d run into you.’ She gave him a quick hug. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not bad. Missing the great food at Windy Corner, though. This is a tough month, money-wise. No classes to teach equals no income.’ She knew his income, when he had any, was barely enough to keep body and soul together.

  ‘Let me buy your coffee, then.’ They placed their orders and waited for the barista to prepare them.

  ‘I have a plan to do something about your financial situation,’ Emily said.

  Oscar frowned. ‘I told you, Em – I won’t take money from you.’

  ‘I know. I mean a plan to get you a better job. At least the beginnings of a plan. Marguerite’s going to help.’

  He looked askance at her. ‘Pulling strings for me isn’t any better than handing me cash. I don’t want any favors I don’t deserve.’

  ‘And you won’t get them. All we’re trying to do is make sure you get the full consideration you do deserve.’

  They collected their coffee and moved to one of the ratty couches that filled the space. ‘I guess I can’t object too much to that.’ He grinned. ‘And I suppose I couldn’t stop you if I did.’ Oscar had already experienced Emily’s determination to share her inherited wealth with him in spite of his objections – she had bought him a car as a surprise Christmas gift.

  ‘No. You couldn’t.’

  He sipped his coffee and stared out the window. Then his hand jerked, sloshing coffee out the spout of the plastic lid. ‘There’s Lauren!’ he said. ‘You know, the woman I told you about.’ He pointed out a petite Asian woman crossing the quad toward them from the Campus Center building.

  ‘The one you’ve been dating?’

  ‘That’s a bit of an exaggeration. We’ve gone out, like, twice, and it’s been a while. But yes, she’s the one.’

  Emily watched Lauren, who had not seen them, as she approached. She was tiny and fragile-looking, her smooth skin pinched by the cold, but she was lovely. Perhaps a few years younger than Oscar, though as an assistant professor in psychology she was a rung above him on the career ladder. Even from this distance Emily
could see a sparkle in her eye and a quirk in her mouth that suggested a lively disposition. She liked Lauren on sight.

  ‘Bring her to dinner tomorrow night,’ she said impulsively. There was still no food in the house to speak of, but she’d have time to remedy that and come up with something simple to cook. It wouldn’t be up to Katie’s standard, but then the meal itself wouldn’t be the main point.

  Oscar started. ‘Really? Just like that? Out of the blue?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, she’d be meeting my family. The only family I have left. That seems like a pretty big step for a relationship that isn’t even really a relationship yet. I mean, it would be different if it were a regular dinner party, with other people.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll invite Marguerite. Maybe she can scare up a date as well. Will that do?’

  He scrunched up his eyes doubtfully. ‘I guess.’ The door opened and Lauren walked in. ‘Will you ask her yourself? I’ll introduce you.’

  He stood and waved. Lauren waved back and came up to them. ‘Hey, Oscar, you’re back!’ The two exchanged an awkward peck on the cheek. ‘How was your break?’

  ‘Absolutely amazing. I’ll tell you all about it sometime, but the big thing is – I met Emily. She’s my half-sister, and we never knew each other existed until last week.’

  He gestured toward Emily, and she stood to shake Lauren’s hand – though they’d been closer to the same level while Emily was seated. ‘Pleased to meet you, Lauren. Oscar’s told me so much about you.’

  Her delicate eyebrows shot up. ‘He has?’

  Emily nodded. ‘And I’d love to get to know you. I’m having a few people over for dinner tomorrow, including Oscar. Would you like to come? Please say yes.’

  Lauren looked bemusedly from Emily to Oscar. ‘Sure, I guess. I mean, thank you. I never turn down free food.’

  ‘Wonderful! I live just up the road. Oscar will show you.’ Then she remembered Oscar had never been to her Portland house. ‘It’s three-eight-five-two Woodstock. The little Tudor. With two gray cats in the window, probably.’

  ‘Oh, lovely, I adore cats! What time?’

  ‘Shall we say seven?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’ Emily pressed Lauren’s hand and kissed Oscar on the cheek. ‘I need to get back to work. See you tomorrow.’ She grabbed her things and walked out, hoping Lauren would take her place. Oscar did indeed have a great deal to tell her, though whether they were yet close enough for him to reveal everything that had happened at Windy Corner at Christmas, Emily had no idea. She’d have to tread carefully tomorrow night and take her lead from him.

  From home that evening, Emily called Katie at Windy Corner, both to check in and to get some advice about her upcoming dinner party. She already partly regretted her impulsive decision, but she did want to get to know Lauren and encourage Oscar in pursuing the relationship, and this looked like her best opportunity.

  ‘Mrs C!’ Katie answered. ‘How are you? How’s Portland?’

  ‘Not bad. I seem to have gotten myself mixed up in some student drama, but I should have expected that. The work’s going OK so far. What’s up at home?’

  ‘Rolling right along. I’ve finally gotten the place all cleaned up from our retreat guests, and now I’m concentrating on wedding plans.’ Katie was engaged to Emily’s young lawyer, Jamie MacDougal, and they planned to marry in the spring.

  ‘Excellent! Anything you want to share, or run by me?’

  ‘We’ll have the ceremony at St Bede’s, of course. And I’d like to have the reception here, if you don’t mind. On the lawn would be perfect, but we can’t trust the weather in April.’

  ‘Of course you’re welcome to use the house, no problem. But if you really prefer outdoors, how about renting a marquee, like the Brits do? Seems like almost every wedding reception I’ve ever seen in a British TV show happens in a marquee.’

  ‘That’s a thought. But it can get so windy here – a marquee might just blow down.’

  ‘True. House it is, then. I suppose you’ve got the menu planned out already?’

  ‘Working on it. So many choices. I may be changing my mind right up until it’s time to shop.’

  ‘You’re not going to do all the cooking yourself, surely? You can’t be the bride and the caterer, Katie. That’s beyond even you.’

  She laughed. ‘I’ll get help from my sisters on the actual day. I just want to do some of the prep.’

  Emily decided to pull rank for once and put her foot down. ‘Katie, I’m sure you’re doing this partly to save money, and I won’t have it. I want you to hire a caterer at my expense. I won’t have you setting off on your honeymoon too exhausted to enjoy it. And your sisters deserve to concentrate on being bridesmaids instead of getting stuck in the kitchen.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts. I insist, and that’s an end of it. I don’t care if you design the menu, assuming the caterers are OK with that, but I will not have you lifting one finger toward shopping, cooking, or cleaning up the food. Is that understood?’

  Katie sighed. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She might be disappointed on the surface, but Emily could hear the relief underneath.

  Another thought struck her. ‘And I also forbid you to take Lizzie along on your honeymoon. I will take care of her. Erin and Abby can come over to help when they’re free.’

  This time the relief was obvious. ‘Oh, Mrs C, you are the specific dream-rabbit!’ Emily chuckled at the quotation from Jeeves and Wooster. ‘I was kind of dreading taking her along, but I didn’t know what else to do. Erin and Abby will be on spring break from school, but they both work part-time and their schedules overlap, so they wouldn’t have been able to cover her twenty-four seven. How can I ever repay you?’

  ‘You’ve been giving a hundred and fifty percent to this job since I hired you. I’m just repaying you. But since you mention it, I do have a favor to ask.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Not a big one. I sort of landed myself in the proverbial soup. I invited Oscar and his lady-love to dinner tomorrow, but I have no food in the house and absolutely no idea what to cook. I’ve been relying on your wonderful meals for so long, I can’t even remember what I used to scrounge up when I was on my own.’

  ‘That doesn’t even count as a favor. Let’s see. You need something that’s kind of festive but easy to cook, right? Three people?’

  ‘Actually five. Oscar didn’t want it to be too intimate, so I asked Marguerite to come and bring a friend.’

  ‘OK.’ She paused, and Emily could almost hear her thinking. ‘How about this: you know that casserole I make sometimes with the ground beef and noodles and all the cheesy stuff in the middle?’

  ‘Cholesterol casserole. That would be perfect. But isn’t it hard to make?’

  ‘Not at all. Practically foolproof. Not that—’

  ‘Foolproof is good.’

  ‘And all you need with it is a salad and some nice fresh French bread. I bet Marguerite knows the best bakery.’

  ‘I’m sure she does. What about dessert?’

  ‘You don’t want to stress yourself. I’d have Marguerite pick something up from the bakery along with the bread.’

  ‘Right. What about the recipe for the casserole?’

  ‘I’ll email it to you. Oh wait – you don’t have email, do you?’

  ‘Nope.’ Though it was starting to sound awfully convenient.

  ‘OK, I’ll just read it out to you, then. Ready?’

  Emily took down the recipe and noted the other items Katie had suggested, along with a few tips for setting a pretty table. ‘Thanks, Katie, you’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘No problem. Hope it goes well. What’s she like, Oscar’s girl? Have you met her?’

  ‘Just briefly this afternoon. She’s a tiny Asian woman with what seems like a giant-size personality. I like her so far. I’ll fill you in after I get to know her more. I’d better go now. Kiss Lizzie for me.’

  Emily hear
d baby babbling and deduced that Katie was holding the phone next to Lizzie’s ear. ‘Love you, Lizzie-girl! Be good for your mommy, now.’

  Lizzie gurgled affirmatively, and Emily hung up. She missed her little family already. This was going to be a long month.

  FOUR

  Marguerite had gone all French and mysterious when Emily invited her to dinner, so she had no idea who her fifth guest might be. Knowing Marguerite, he could be anything from a twenty-year-old exotic dancer to a silver-haired investment banker or a foreign film star. The only sure thing was that he would be, in Marguerite’s personal estimation, un bel homme.

  By five minutes to seven Emily had the table set, salad made, Merlot uncorked, and casserole simmering in the oven. All that remained was to slice the bread once Marguerite arrived with it. When the doorbell rang, she put the flame to the last candle, whipped off her apron, and ran to answer the door.

  Marguerite stood in the doorway, baguette in one hand and a promising white bakery box in the other. She gave Emily the customary kiss on each cheek, then stepped inside to reveal her guest.

  Richard McClintock.

  Emily had thought that after more than twenty years of friendship, she was beyond being surprised by anything Marguerite might do. But she’d been wrong.

  She quickly rearranged her face, which must have registered shock, to approximate welcome. But Richard’s sneer told her she had not been quite quick enough.

  ‘Richard! How nice to see you. Please come in.’ She stood back to admit him.

  The chair of the Division of Literature and Languages ambled across the threshold, pushing his mended wire-rimmed glasses up on his nose. ‘Emily,’ he said curtly. ‘I take it Marguerite decided to surprise both of us this evening.’

  She shot a glance at her friend. Marguerite returned a bland smile.

  ‘What would life be without a few surprises? You’re very welcome, expected or no. But surely you recognized the house? Have you actually never been here in all these years?’