Page 66 of The Botanist's Assistant
Has something gone wrong or is it because Purdy doesn’t approve of the dark rings of perspiration under the armpits of Margaret’s blouse, which are the results of a walk on asphalt heated by a brilliant sun?
“May I talk with you?” Margaret asks.
“I’m sorry, but the dean is out to lunch,” Purdy says too loudly.
Margaret looks around. There is no one nearby.
“Meet me in the mailroom in five minutes,” Purdy whispers.
“Thank you for your help, Ms. Purdy,” Margaret says, also loudly.
What is this game?
The building’s mailroom is usually empty this time of day,its metal shelves filled with plastic tubs of envelopes and mailers, and towers of cardboard boxes that seem like they might topple at a single, hard sneeze. It’s more evidence of the college’s skewed budget priorities, which allot only enough money for one employee. The former mail services clerk lasted two weeks. Margaret hopes the new hire is of hardier stock, although the job ahead of them is formidable.
A few minutes later, Purdy slips into the room.
“What’s going on? Is something wrong? Maybe you don’t realize what I’m risking here by having you talk to me.” Her face is flushed.
“It’s all right, Beth. Nothing is wrong. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. It’s just that I need another favor.”
A little of the tension seems to slip from Purdy and her shoulders relax.
“Whew. For a moment, I thought maybe somebody found out about Blackstone’s missing invitation.” Purdy smooths two hands down the front of her suit jacket. The baby blue fabric resembles a knobby bedspread. Margaret assumes that kind of thing is fashionable now. “Does this have to do with Professor Sterling, then?”
How had the news traveled so fast?
As if reading her mind, Purdy says: “A student came in to complain about a ‘large crazy woman,’ as she described it, almost knocking her over in the hallway. Did Sterling tell you something?”
Margaret considers Purdy. How much to tell her? Enough so word might find its way to Blackstone and make him nervous enough to slip up and confess?
“Well, yes. Apparently, Dr. Deaver received threats before he was killed.”
Purdy gasps and puts a hand to her chest. “Oh, my heavens. What kind of threats?”
“I’m really not at liberty to say, but I need to find out who might have a master key to the building or access to Dr. Deaver’s office.”
“Why?”
Margaret supposes it won’t hurt to tell Purdy. After all, she’s told Officer Bianchi and the dean the same thing.
“Because whoever had the key could also have had access to the locked cabinet in our lab, which is where the belladonna extract, atropine, is stored and which I believe was used to poison Dr. Deaver.”
“My goodness,” Purdy exclaims. Then: “Did Dr. Deaver know who was threatening him?”
“He thought so, yes.”
“Oh, that’s so terrible—and scary. Have you told the police?”
“Not yet,” Margaret says. “I need more evidence, which is why I need the list of keyholders. Then I may try the police again.”
“Of course,” Purdy says. “I’ll get you the list as soon as I can, but it may take a while. Who else are you talking to?”
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
“How about Mrs. Deaver?”
“We’ve spoken.”
