Stages of Grey
Table of Contents
Cover
A Selection of Recent Titles by Clea Simon
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
A Selection of Recent Titles by Clea Simon
MEW IS FOR MURDER
CATTERY ROW
CRIES AND WHISKERS
PROBABLE CLAWS
SHADES OF GREY *
GREY MATTERS *
GREY ZONE *
GREY EXPECTATIONS *
TRUE GREY *
GREY DAWN *
GREY HOWL *
STAGES OF GREY *
* available from Severn House
STAGES OF GREY
A Dulcie Schwartz feline mystery
Clea Simon
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in Great Britain and the USA 2014 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.
eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2014 by Clea Simon.
The right of Clea Simon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Simon, Clea author.
Stages of grey.
1. Schwartz, Dulcie (Fictitious character)–Fiction.
2. Theatrical companies–Fiction. 3. Murder–
Investigation–Fiction. 4. Cats–Fiction. 5. Detective
and mystery stories.
I. Title
813.6-dc23
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8393-3 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-559-8 (ePub)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,
Stirlingshire, Scotland.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This particular story came about on a starlit night on a walk through Provincetown with Jon S. Garelick, and for that, as well as many other gifts, I thank him here. Readers and supporters including Brett Milano, Vicki Constantine Croke, Sophie Garelick, Frank Garelick, and Lisa Jones kept me going as well, as did my wonderfully supportive agent, Colleen Mohyde of the Doe Coover Agency. Many thanks as well to John McDonough, for the ins and outs of computer crime and police work. Any and all errors are despite his good work, not because of it. Finally, editor Rachel Simpson and her staff remain wonderful to work with. I could not ask for better. Purrs out, people.
ONE
‘I have reason to believe my boyfriend is a wolf.’
There, she’d said it. The words were out. Not that she got any response. In fact, the small black and white cat whom Dulcie had addressed looked particularly unfazed by her human’s strange pronouncement.
‘I’m talking about Chris, Esmé,’ Dulcie tried again. ‘I seriously think that Chris might be a wolf.’
She didn’t dare raise her voice. It was still early, and a Monday, and her boyfriend was asleep in the other room. Sound asleep, from what she could tell, after another late night out on some unspecified errand. But Dulcie didn’t want to risk waking him. And so even as the sun warmed the tiny kitchen of their shared apartment, she kept her voice to a whisper as she opened a can for Esmé.
‘Meh.’ The little cat seemed uninterested in anything except the dish Dulcie was holding.
‘Sorry.’ Dulcie placed it on the mat. ‘But, Esmé, don’t you care?’
The only response was the sound of lapping. Dulcie had rarely felt more alone.
‘Wolves. I am surrounded by wolves.’ Dulcie tried the thought out again as she walked into the Square. Coffee in hand, the dim winter sun taking the edge off the cold, she didn’t find the idea quite so horrific any more. ‘Still,’ she said to herself as she trudged down the cold winter street, ‘it could be a lot worse.’
At the sound of her own words, Dulcie laughed, her breath visible in the frigid air. Chris, she had realized, would understand in a moment what she meant. As a fifth-year graduate student at one of the world’s most prestigious universities, Dulcie had known competition at its most brutal. Fellow students, desperate faculty, and vengeful ex-lovers all had done their worst if not to her, then in front of her, leading her to see academia as something one shade darker than a Jacobean drama.
Still, Dulcie had been lucky in her friends – from her former room-mate Suze to her department mates Trista and Lloyd – and in several of her colleagues, like the librarian Thomas Griddlehaus. While she wasn’t crazy about her thesis adviser, she was developing a good working relationship with a senior scholar at another university, and she had hopes that that scholar, Professor Renée Showalter, might soon be offered a position here. And she had Chris, the most supportive and loving boyfriend she could hope for. Considering what else was out there – in terms of cut-throat, back-stabbing, crazy rivals – she knew she had it good. If one or maybe two of those closest to her were werewolves, well, at least they were on her side.
‘Unlike the review committee,’ she muttered, watching her brea
th steam.
It felt good to get it out, and she was still far enough from the university that she was pretty sure nobody would have overheard her. Still, she glanced around to make sure – it was instinct at this point. Once she got within sight of the departmental offices, she’d have to go into full-on political mode. Yes, she was grateful for the feedback. No, she’d have no trouble revising her paper once again. Of course, she would consider incorporating the review committee member’s own work as a source. This was all part and parcel of getting her paper into an academic journal. No wonder a couple of wolves seemed benign in comparison.
‘Good morning, Dulcie.’ The friendly voice broke into Dulcie’s reverie as she entered the little clapboard house that served as the offices for the Department of English and American Literatures and Language. Nancy, the departmental secretary, was an anomaly in academia. Always warm and cheerful, she also managed to be briskly efficient. ‘Are you looking for your mail?’
‘Yes, please.’ Dulcie felt her own mood lifting as the motherly secretary reached across her desk to pick up a thick bunch of envelopes. ‘Here’s hoping.’
‘I haven’t sorted through these yet,’ Nancy said as she began leafing through the stack of envelopes. Dulcie bit her lip. Most of her mail went to her apartment, of course. But some of the academic journals to which she had submitted proposals would be responding to her via the department. It was their offhand way of checking her credentials, she knew, and that meant that they hadn’t heard of her. Still, she was too excited to be insulted. That was a big pile of envelopes.
‘Here, I knew there was one.’ Nancy pulled a business-sized missive from the pack and handed it to Dulcie.
‘One?’ Dulcie looked over at the pile. ‘And those others?’
‘I’m sorry, Dulcie.’ Nancy’s voice was solicitous. ‘These are largely for Mr Thorpe. The rest, well, they’re for other students.’
‘One.’ Dulcie felt herself deflating as she looked at the slim envelope in her hands. Well, one was better than none – and the return address on this one was a box office in New Haven. She carefully lifted the flap and removed the single sheet.
Tired of paying such high rates for student loans?
‘Great.’
‘Dulcie?’ Nancy looked concerned and was rising from her desk. ‘Is it … bad news?’
‘No.’ Dulcie forced what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Just junk mail. I’m sorry, Nancy. It’s just that I was hoping … You know, after presenting at the conference and all …’
‘But your paper has been accepted for the ELLA journal.’ Count on Nancy to find a bright side.
‘Pending revisions,’ was all Dulcie could add. She shook her head. ‘I can’t think about this any more. Is he in?’
Nancy nodded, clearly happy to let the matter drop. ‘Would you like more coffee?’ It was the only consolation she could offer at this point, but Dulcie was grateful for it. Nancy did make great coffee.
‘For this relief, much thanks.’ Her travel mug full, Dulcie went to face her thesis adviser.
Ten minutes later, she was back on the street, and it wasn’t only the stinging wind that was bringing tears to her eyes. Thorpe couldn’t help it, she told herself. Her thesis adviser – and the acting head of the department – didn’t mean to be insensitive. But the moment she had walked into his office, he’d been after her about her revisions.
‘You have to keep up, Dulcie,’ he’d said, an unusually stern note creeping into his voice. ‘If the panel doesn’t like your progress on the revisions, word will get out, you know.’
‘But …’ She’d wanted to argue. She’d presented the paper already, at one of the biggest conferences in her field. Plus, it had already been vetted not only by Thorpe himself but also by her unofficial mentor, Showalter. Shouldn’t the publication process be getting easier by now? She didn’t dare ask that. Instead, she had ventured a tentative thought. ‘They wouldn’t actually reject it at this point, would they?’
‘You heard what happened to Timothy Lemuel, didn’t you?’
‘Timothy Lemuel?’ She felt so out of it. ‘No. I’m sorry. I don’t know him.’
‘Exactly,’ Thorpe said, looking down at a paper on his desk. ‘Now, where are we on your latest chapter?’
It was a wonder she made it out of the offices without breaking down. Not that she had time to. Not only did she have the latest revisions – rewrite requests that directly contradicted the last set she’d done – but Thorpe had made it clear that he expected her next chapter by month’s end.
‘Plan on bringing me some pages by Friday,’ he’d added, almost as an aside. ‘If you can’t multitask …’ He’d left the sentence open-ended, intentionally. At least, Dulcie thought he did. Since he was reaching down into his desk drawer as he spoke, she couldn’t be entirely sure.
Now she blinked away the tears and looked at the brochure he’d handed her when he’d sat back up. ‘Time Management for Academics: A Seminar.’
TWO
‘You don’t need another seminar.’ Trista was fuming. ‘What you need is some fun!’
Dulcie was too tired by then to put up much of a fight. It had been a long day. Still, she lifted her head enough to protest weakly. ‘I have fun.’
Her blonde friend snorted in derision. ‘Racing over to meet us for a drink after the library closes does not constitute fun.’
Dulcie was about to argue. She had, after all, run straight from her carrel – where she had written very little – to join her friends. But before she could defend herself, Trista continued. ‘Opening night at a new bar – right in the Square, no less – and I have to nearly drag you out. I know Chris would agree with me. Now that he’s not working nights, he must want to go out sometimes.’
Dulcie simply nodded, trying to keep her dismay from showing on her face. It was hopeless, anyway. Trista was not only more of a party girl than Dulcie would ever be, she had also finished her thesis. Could she have forgotten so quickly what it was like? Maybe she had, because she kept talking – and Dulcie snuck a peek at her cell phone. She’d called Chris on her way over to the bar, but had gotten his voicemail. Maybe, she decided, she should text him. Unlike their old, familiar hang-out, this place was crowded and loud. He could be on the other side of the room, and she wouldn’t know it.
Even as she was typing, a message came in. But, no, it was from Renée Showalter.
I understand how discouraging it can be. Dulcie smiled. Only a professor would actually type out complete words. But this is only one of many publications to come.
Thx, Dulcie typed back – and then corrected herself. Thank you. It wouldn’t hurt her to emulate her role model.
‘Are you in, Dulcie?’ She looked up to find Trista and their assembled friends looking at her.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Tickets,’ Trista said.
‘To that new theater,’ Raleigh stepped in to explain. ‘Trista said they’re doing a disco interpretation of Ovid. She says it’s really fun.’
Dulcie opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure of how to respond. Lloyd, Raleigh’s boyfriend and Dulcie’s office mate, laughed.
‘It’s not that bad, Dulcie,’ he said. ‘At least, it’s not supposed to be.’
‘The actors are top notch,’ Trista chimed in. ‘And they’re in great shape. There’s one act in which they’re supposedly only wearing body make-up.’
Dulcie looked around. Jerry, Trista’s long-time boyfriend, had not joined the crowd. That didn’t mean anything – Chris wasn’t here yet, either. But Dulcie felt her heart sinking. She liked Jerry. And she liked Trista less when she was in this mode, all flirty and full of herself.
‘Come on, Dulcie.’ Trista looked like she could read her friend’s mind. ‘Even Jerry wants to go. Some buddy of his from the Boston software coalition can get us tickets at, like, half price.’
Theater even computer geeks could love? Dulcie bit back the temptation to voice her thoughts out loud.
&n
bsp; ‘Clark said it was pretty good, and he’s in Classics.’ Raleigh read her look correctly.
‘It would be a chance to see that new theater,’ Lloyd chimed in. ‘The URT.’
‘Is this the one that took over from the bookstore?’ Dulcie considered this another reason to boycott.
‘That old place, yeah.’ Clearly, Trista did not. ‘I don’t know how they got the smell out.’
Dulcie opened her mouth to protest, then decided against it. True enough, Revolt! had been a bit close, though unlike many, she had always assumed its mustiness came from the stacks of used books – ‘donated by the people, for the people’ – rather than the rotating crew of volunteers who staffed the place.
‘I’m just sorry they’re gone.’ That was honest, as well as diplomatic. ‘They did fill a niche.’
Trista’s raised eyebrow – accentuated by her latest piercing – was response enough.
‘Tell us about the new production, Tris.’ Raleigh stepped once more into the breach. ‘Clark only told me a little.’
‘It’s called Changes, and everyone says it’s brilliant.’ Trista sat back, happy to have won. ‘The director – I think he’s British – is reinterpreting the Metamorphosis. Taking it back to basics.’
‘It’s not going to be like that Hamlet that just closed, is it?’ Lloyd still looked skeptical. Dulcie turned in astonishment, and he pointed to Raleigh. ‘She keeps up with the New York scene.’