Formula for Murder Read online

  Formula for Murder

  Judith Mehl

  A Handwriting Analysis Mystery

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Formula for Murder

  Copyright © 2012 by Judith Mehl

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations. For information/permission contact the publisher, Pennystone Books, at www.pennystonebooks.com.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  To my Mom

  Who encouraged me always

  Clues provided at the beginning of each chapter compress information taken from the titles given and are not exact quotes.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to

  Dr. Ellen Bowers, AAHA certified analyst, for her expertise in guiding me through the handwriting analysis clues of this book.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Stabbed ovals form one clue of four; if three others follow, deep secrecy or dishonesty prevails.

  “Handwriting Analysis: Putting it to Work for You” by Andrea McNichol

  Truth fueled Kat Everitt’s mission. Sometimes she felt like a match near a gas can. The irony struck her as the autumn evening’s chill swirled past her when she entered Mountain View University’s Wolcott Science Center. The distant sound of receding footsteps and closing doors echoed through hallways of concrete and tile. Excited student chatter drifted away.

  She hated being the harbinger of bad news. Coming late at night to protect her friend, Gerald, from eavesdroppers was the best she could offer; she couldn’t shield him from the truth she carried.

  Her Michael Kors sandals snapped out in precision, and ricocheted off the hard surface. She picked up the tempo climbing the stairs toward biology labs and offices. The dropping thermometer reminded Kat she should pack away her sandals and line up her fall shoes and boots. Maybe tomorrow she’d wear her new Italian black kidskin pumps, but she needed protection tonight for the emotional armor her Kors provided.

  It was well after nine o’clock and dark shadows persisted. These noises barely penetrated inside one of the labs. Kat glimpsed a lone professor scan his neatly stacked notes and twist the cap off a foul-smelling chemical. Sound was never the prevailing sense on the second floor of the old science building. Here it was the scents, the reek of pyridine, sulfur compounds, and halogenated solvents that permeated the labs. This late at night dark corners of the room corralled the odors silently.

  Kat heard him mumbling, recognized the voice of Charlie Abbott, and kept going. She’d examined Charlie’s handwriting once. It shouted secretive, but then many scientists were. Antisocial,too. A few paces further she heard giggling in a lab as she headed to the atrium at the end of the hall.

  Charlie was in a foul mood. His hands twitched in frustration. Anger raced through his mind making it difficult to concentrate. His research was big, really big, and here he was wasting his time with freshman chemistry prep. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, exhaled harshly in a long sigh, then grunted. Small campus, small town. Infantile students who didn’t know one end of a periodic table from another. He craved time; time to validate, to verify, to check the data once more. Time was no longer his.

  At first the figure in the entrance didn’t invade his concentration. Charlie’s thin lips spewed curses as he mixed compounds for the lab quiz in the morning. Boy, was he going to rake Kauffman over the coals. This was supposed to be his job—prepping for the freshman chemistry lab. He smiled derisively while devising an appropriate punishment. Yet he bent forward over the vials in an almost reverent posture.

  Shadows and Charlie’s concentration cloaked the intruder, whose still posture belied the boiling rage that built so quickly. He wasn’t aware how much the hate had festered until he saw Charlie, doing what he loved best, amidst the shimmery world of chemical prisms.

  The setting triggered sinister thoughts of an appropriate ending. All that glass, sparkling in the fluorescent lights, the tubes, the bottles, the flasks. A glass rod reminded him of a giant twizzle stick. He dropped his duffel bag and grasped the rod. He broke the tip by rapping it on the counter, creating a much more lethal weapon than an alcoholic stupor. At the sound of shattering glass the professor’s head snapped up and around toward the doorway.

  Neither man was aware of the students in the lab next door.

  Robin, a chemistry major, and Kelly his girlfriend, dueled there in another chemical arena. “Come on, Kelly. Nobody even knows we’re here in the lab. What’s wrong with a little fun,” Robin whispered in the petite blonde’s ear as he held her around the waist and cuddled a little closer.

  “Robbieee, making love amid test tubes in a chem lab is not my idea of fun,” Kelly shrieked as she pulled away. “This whole building is too eerie at night.”

  Robin’s disappointment was tempered with the promise of more lingering fun and he pondered an appropriate bribe to get rid of his roommate when the sound of shattering glass from the next lab broke the magic of the moment.

  “What’s that?” Kelly asked in a fearful whisper.

  “Someone in the next lab probably dropped something,” Robin bravely answered, but discretion stampeded through his mind. “Maybe we should, like, go and find someplace a bit more private?”

  She quickly nodded and reached for her sweater, all the while biting her lower lip in anxiety.

  “What are you doing here, and what’s that for?” Charlie’s shout rang out as they gathered their book bags and coats to leave. The students hesitated a minute when they heard more harsh words. Robin bumped into a file cabinet by the door to the lab as he stuffed notebooks under his arm while she opened the door a crack and peeked through. Kelly grabbed his sleeve and pulled. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

  In the larger lab, the enraged man risked a quick glance toward the sound over by the file cabinets, then approached Charlie with the sharp-edged rod. Charlie retreated slowly, shaking his head in disbelief. As if finally registering the man’s intent, Charlie swung around and looked for escape.

  The aggressor slashed downward and the stroke opened the professor’s thigh. Charlie Abbott turned back to face him and pretended to grab his wounded leg. Instead, he lunged at the intruder, who braced for attack by bringing the rod firmly in front of him. Charlie’s unbalanced momentum pushed him onto the jagged burette. The assailant pushed and Charlie fell on his back, taking the rod with him. His hand swept the lab bench and the breaking flasks tinkled down after him, a crystal requiem.

  The students slipped by,
their passing disguised by the sound. They saw Kat walking in the atrium and slunk past. Deaf to the argument back in the lab, and the silent students walking by, Kat lingered to admire a ten-foot Araucarias and several five-foot Dieffenbachias glowing in the moonlight. The taller Norfolk Pine drooped its lacy leaves gracefully, but the thick Dieffenbachias’ waxy leaves were splashed with variegation. The atrium transformed this end of the hall into a patch of eternal green by day and mysterious specters at night. When a cloud passed in front of the moon and demolished the effect, she approached the last flight of stairs.

  Inside the lab the heavy breathing of the attacker broke the silence as he stared down at Charlie. Brushing at the quickly absorbed blob of fetid smelling chemical on his sleeve, he grabbed his duffel from the counter by the door, jerked it over one arm, checked for anyone in the hall, and fled.

  The dark figure brushed past Kat, careening around the corner and down the stairs. Her heart misplaced several beats. She grabbed the railing to catch her breath and allow her now thudding heart to stabilize. Just the last student in the building in a hurry to leave, she told herself. She watched the shadow bound down the stairs, a duffel bag swinging wildly in hand. She paused on the landing and then, with composure recaptured, climbed to the third floor and Gerald’s office.

  Down below, the professor’s assailant, rounded the corner, picked up speed, and caught a rear glimpse of Robin’s short brown hair and Kelly’s poodle cut far ahead of him. He followed them to Robin’s car, recognized it as a 1957 two-tone Chevy, and vanished into the night.

  An ordinary housefly circled Gerald’s cluttered office as Kat entered. The room sported nicotine-beige walls, two mismatched chairs, one wooden and one leather, under a bulletin board lavishly papered with unread notices and announcements of little consequence. The fly circled a rickety olive-drab table. It surveyed a gravel field of spilled coffee grounds surrounding the coffee pot, then explored a mountain range of paper on the desk. A series of plateaus rose to varying elevations: layers of projects undone, newspapers forgotten, and crumpled fast food wrappers. The fly, anxious about volcanic activity spewing from a glass tray filled with ash, bits of tobacco, and the smoldering remains of a fresh pipe, zoomed to and fro, seeking a safe landing.

  It turned its attention to the fleshy features of the old biology professor who leaned way back in a chair behind the desk and faintly snored. The insect brazenly alighted on the sleeper’s nose.

  There was a grunt, a twitch, and a swipe of an arm, all of which discouraged the fly but unbalanced the man in the chair.

  Gerald Higgins was only barely conscious when gravity won and he tumbled into the corner with a thud, the chair clattering to the floor beneath him.

  Katharine just crossing the threshold, cried out in alarm.

  Gerald growled and focused his attention on the fly. He raised his left arm to motion Katharine not to move then rolled up last week’s Gazette, prepared for murder. The fly innocently groomed itself but was doomed. A loud smack became retribution.

  “What in the world?” Katharine asked, not sure if she should laugh or be concerned.

  Gerald grunted. “I’ve just executed musca domestica and I’m not at all ashamed.”

  “Pardon?”

  He sighed, disposed of the carcass, and ran his fingers through his thin white hair, attempting to reorganize his appearance, then righted the chair. “A common housefly,” he lectured. “A bother at this time of year.”

  She chuckled as he motioned her to a chair and then settled himself. “So you’ve come calling to revel in an old man’s embarrassment. Surely you must be bored.”

  She nodded, displaying a faint smile. “True enough. Absolutely nothing’s happening. It’s a month into the semester and everyone’s settled down and behaving. Not even a beer party to cause a scandal.”

  He shrugged. “Poor Kat. You’re finally in charge of news and there’s nothing to test your skills.”

  She sighed. “Temporarily in charge. Until that friend of the president arrives. And he’s only an interim at that. At this rate, it’ll be a year before they finally hire a permanent media relations person.”

  Gerald sorted the sheaf of papers on his desk. “Well, we’ve never been known to act in haste around here. Have some coffee.” He waved his hand toward the little table.

  She winced when she plucked the pot from the mess on the surface. “Want some?” she offered.

  “No, I had my limit some time ago.”

  Katharine snuggled into the black leather chair, delicately toed off her shoes and curled her long legs under her. She studied the overturned heels and pondered switching to the German anklestrap courts tomorrow instead of the boots. The red leather would give her a boost. But she was avoiding the inevitable. Maybe a little coffee first before she delivered her report. She wrapped her hands around the mug and enjoyed its warmth, then carefully sipped and nearly gagged. “What is this?” she croaked.

  “Just my normal coffee.”

  She curled her lip and wrinkled her nose. “Gerald, when did you make this coffee?”

  “When I came in at six this morning to finish my notes on this experiment,” he absently muttered.

  She rolled her eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you that coffee gets really, really strong when it sits for fifteen hours?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sure. A little too strong again, eh?” he said as his eye pounced on a typographical error on the first page of the research report. He grabbed a pen to jot a correction. “Sorry. Martha used to come in and make fresh pots throughout the day for me. Never got used to doing it myself.”

  Kat’s friendship with Gerald was an extension of her own with Martha, a literature professor. Love blossomed for Gerald and Martha at a conference. He moved to Mountain View University to accept the endowed chair in biology. They married and had several beautiful years together before she perished in an accident.

  Kat recognized Gerald’s unspoken loneliness and often visited at the end of the workday to share campus gossip. He was a humble man, though not always a quiet one. His efforts in many areas represented the university well, and reminded Kat why she loved this place and these professors.

  Memory of the thin-lipped Charlie Abbott that she’d just passed downstairs sparked a momentary frown. Well, most of them, she thought, picturing the thinning brown hair hanging in wisps from the top of his head as he studied his notes. A man amidst the shimmery world of chemical prisms, he did not shine.

  She asked Gerald about him, experiencing guilt from her unkind thoughts. “Why is Dr. Abbott so self-centered?”

  Gerald picked up the jumbled papers and tapped them lightly on the desk to realign them and form the only neat pile in the room. To him, it was the most important one. He pushed his notebook forward, shoved his glasses further up his nose, and settled back in his chair to better examine the question.

  “Dr. Abbott suffers from tunnel vision, filtering out all extraneous events. Unfortunately that often includes people.”

  Katharine nodded and attempted to switch gears. She seized the opportunity to share the results of the handwriting analysis with Gerald, who’d become concerned that his student, John, had cheated on an exam. He couldn’t expel the student on the basis of a negative report, but he retained the right to request a test remake. Kat held several certificates from an international graphoanalysis association and was highly respected in her field. A few at Mountain View University were finally seeing the value of handwriting analysis. Kat handed Gerald the report hesitantly, while thanking him for his faith in her detection abilities.

  She returned the borrowed essays and tests with the report. “You were right. His first essay, which also is pretty atrocious, shows some unstable writing but no signs of dishonesty.” Kat moved to the side of his chair and pointed out some examples in the second essay.

  “But look here; there are too many triple-looped ovals. He’s trying to hide deceit here. It’s only one of the clues, but I’m convinced he was cheating.”<
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  Gerald nodded, frowning deeply. He pulled the report forward and reviewed the rest of the analysis. It was enough to prompt him to want a discussion with the student and run a repeat of the exam in a secure setting.

  He settled back and smiled at Kat. “You know I’ve admired your skills in this area ever since you put Vice President Simmons in his place when he mocked the validity of graphology. He was afraid to reveal any of his handwriting for months!”

  Kat shared the chuckle, then settled wearily back in her chair. “Sorry, about John. I know you were hoping he wrote that last essay by himself. How do you figure he cheated on the exam?”

  “There are certainly enough choices. He could have had the answers written on the brim of his cap, on his arms, or even the tongues of his shoes. I’ve seen it all,” he sighed.

  Katharine took a moment to replay some of the day’s little indignities and was grateful for his patience and attention. “This new guy, Nick Donnelly. I’m a little miffed we didn’t even have a chance to meet him beforehand. It was thrust upon us. He was to arrive today.”

  Gerald nodded and folded his hands together on the desk. “Hmm. President Ludlow must see something in him. Why not give the fellow a chance? What harm can come of it?”

  She sighed. “You’re right. Are you ready to leave? I’ll walk down with you.” After the incident in the hall, she wished for an escort but didn’t want to seem unduly anxious.