Murder at the Estate Sale by Lily Charles

Author:Lily Charles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Opal Books

Chapter 22

Fruitless or Not?

Q. K. Philander Doesticks, The Witches of New York, 1858, brown blind stamped cover with gilt lettering on spine. Pseudonym of Mortimer Thompson, a journalist who traveled around New York City talking to witches.

Professor Parnell was not what Emma expected. Fiftyish, with carefully coiffed blonde hair and high heels, she greeted Emma with, “Ms. Clarke?”

“Doctor Emma Clarke,” Emma said smoothly.

“Please have a seat.” Parnell’s smile was formal, not inviting. She gestured to a wooden chair and seated herself behind her desk with an air of rigid waiting.

“Thank you, Dr. Parnell.” Emma sat in the hard chair. She could see behind the professor a tall bookshelf with a row of books by Lewis and a set of reference books. The Catholic Encyclopedia?

“I’m interested in C.S. Lewis,” Emma said, “and I came across your dissertation recently. Could I ask you a few questions?”

“I have a meeting in half an hour.” The professor looked at her watch.

“I won’t keep you long. I was wondering whether you have learned more about Lord Agerton, and if he was really Lewis’s student at Oxford.”

Dr. Parnell shook her head. “I didn’t find out anything more about Agerton. He was not significant to my research.”

“Did you ever find out how he died?”

Parnell hesitated. “No. Why are you interested?”

“I thought it might add more to what we know about Lewis. Particularly why he was so adamantly against any sort of alternative or pagan spirituality.”

“Lewis was a Christian,” said Parnell, as though explaining the obvious to a not very bright student. “To him, what you call alternative or pagan spirituality was wrong, evil, forbidden.” Her voice sounded even and controlled.

Emma nodded. “But—did he ever have any experiences with—pagan spirituality—that might have influenced him?”

“Why would he have to have any experiences? Can’t we accept that certain people hold strong convictions without having to psychologize those convictions away?”

“Of course they can,” Emma said. She refrained from adding I wasn’t psychologizing! Although maybe that is a difference between a religion professor and an English professor: we want to know how writers’ experiences influence their writing. Instead, she said, “Did you ever find out more about A Boke of Secret Knowlege? Are there any ideas about who wrote it? Who the “Learned Doctor” might have been?”

“No. I know nothing more about it.” Parnell’s face was a mask and her voice flat.

“Did you try to find out where it was, or if it still exists?” Emma persisted, feeling as though she were trying to roll a stone uphill.

Parnell’s face remained expressionless but for her sharp, light green eyes. “No, I said I didn’t.” She glanced again at her watch. “Now, would you please excuse me? As I said, I have a meeting.”

Emma stood. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Parnell.”

Parnell stood and came around her desk. “I’m sorry your visit turned out to be a disappointment.”

“That’s all right,” Emma said, resolute and chipper. “Thanks again.”

The professor followed as though she were herding Emma out the door. “Goodbye, Dr. Clarke.”

On a sudden impulse, Emma turned.

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