Bombshell

“Professor Salazar, you said Delsey slipped out without anyone seeing her?”

“Hardly anyone. I went looking for her, but I could not find her. Clarice—she is one of our flautists—told me she saw Delsey slip out the back door. She saw her do this, so it is not supposition. I know she was escaping him. There is no doubt in my mind.”

“Did you notice if anyone else left the party about the same time Delsey snuck out?”

This gave Salazar pause. He slowly shook his head. “Not that I can remember. One of the students demanded my attention, and I was occupied. Always the students need my attention.”

“Was Delsey drunk from the margaritas Dr. Hayman gave her?”

“It is possible.”

“Did you ever hear Delsey mention she was worried about someone? Another student, perhaps? Another professor here at Stanislaus?”

“No, certainly not. Well, the students—you must understand that competition is not only encouraged, it is necessary. There are few truly major orchestra seats available for talented musicians to win. For those students, like Delsey, who wish to gain success in composition, there are also many others vying for recognition. Talent is not enough. It is drive that gains the brass ring. Delsey’s fingers could close on the ring, if she would fight for it.”

“Could all that competition have led to violence? Out of jealousy, perhaps?”

“Surely not, but it is a thought that must intrude, is it not?” He frowned toward one of his guitars. “Drive and effort are what are needful in every worthwhile pursuit in life. Perhaps even in yours?” Again, a whiff of contempt.

“Perhaps you will be able to observe that for yourself, Professor,” Griffin said.

When Griffin left Salazar’s study, he heard him shout for Barbara to bring him his nonfat mocha cinnamon latte. Griffin returned to the living room, settled in on the sofa with the stain, and started asking questions.

Gabrielle DuBois said, “There was no earthly raison for Dr. Hayman to single her out, but Professor Salazar is right. He did last night, gave her drink after drink. And why, I ask you?” Her French accent was very pronounced, this time for dramatic effect, enough to make Griffin grin. “I mean, does she sing like Edith Piaf? Non, she does not. She has not the talent to achieve any sort of magnificent height.” Like mine, he heard her add under her breath.

If Gabrielle was edgy and harsh in her dislike of Delsey, Griffin soon got the impression several of the other women also didn’t appreciate Delsey’s getting so much of Dr. Hayman’s attention. Simple jealousy or ambition? He realized some of the women were frightened about the attack because it was too close to home. Others appeared to be worried about Delsey, but none of them admitted to anything strange or unusual having happened at the party the previous evening or to having any idea who might have hurt her.

Griffin asked the group, “Why do you think Professor Salazar and Dr. Hayman don’t get along?”

Barbara of Starbucks fame, a full-bodied future opera singer with an incredibly rich speaking voice, said, “They’re brothers, twins. I’ll bet they’ve competed since they were kids, fought all the time. And now here they are together again at Stanislaus, both fishing in the same pond.”

The little fairy, Gloria of viola fame, said, “Really, Barbara, I don’t like to think of myself as a tuna. Professor Salazar and Dr. Hayman have made it into a fine art. But, you know, I can’t recall ever hearing Dr. Hayman saying anything about Professor Salazar.”

“Professor Salazar, on the other hand,” Barbara said, “is always insulting, snipping, but only when Dr. Hayman isn’t around.”

Gloria said, “It is true, though, many of the professors who aren’t married or near death are the same way.” She grinned at him. “But the professors aren’t stupid. Most of them steer really clear of the undergraduate students.”

Black Pigtails said, “No one wants to be lonely, do they? Everyone wants some attention and intimacy now and then, and what’s wrong with that? I only wish Professor Salazar would pay for our gas to come here.”

Gabrielle said, “Yes, but Professor Salazar is not like his brother. He is seeing me, only me.”

Black Pigtails said matter-of-factly, “Yes, and since Professor Salazar told you you sing like Edith Piaf, you’ve practically had it tattooed on your butt.”

There was one lone snigger.

Salazar strolled into the room, his Starbucks cup in one hand. He didn’t look at Griffin, but told Gabrielle he was certain he’d seen a small sausage roll beneath the sofa. She was on her hands and knees in an instant, her butt in the air, and he stood behind her, smoking another cigarette.