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Matthias Jones: Murder at the Conservatory Robert P. Fitton Matthias Jones: Murder at the Conservatory   1     When it came to money Lark held onto the buck like a tough fisted first lieutenant, fighting to the death for a chunk of strategic ground. Jones dragged the phone cord tight as Mookie pinged the steel hammer against the exposed copper pipes. " I can't hear you, Lark. What are you saying?" He stepped onto the gray patio stones and closed the slider door, but the hammering persisted. " You're saying Professor Neusbaum owes you money?" " That, Matthias, is the understatement of this year, last year, and every year!" " Calm down." " How can I calm down? Ten thousand of my hard earned dollars have gone down the drain to purchase some&ldots; some Stein-way!" The barrel chested Mookie pushed open the slider with his work boot. In the morning sun, his bristly, unshaven cheeks and short, matted haircut gave him the appearance of a criminal having just escaped the penitentiary. His rounded, frog blue eyes blinked slowly, but his protruding lips never moved when he spoke. " You gut problems." " Mookie, I brought you over here to fix the washers in my kitchen sink. Now, you've got the whole wall torn apart and that brother of yours-" " My twin brother," he said, raising his index finger. Jones pinched the bridge of his nose as Lark came back on the line. " Well, what should I do?"   " You've known Neusbaum for years. He's your big buddy. You knew him when he played piano at weddings. Now he conducts the Prince William Symphony. Can't you reason with him?"   " Reason with him? I want to kill him! He has my money!"   " Call L.G. and take legal action. Very simple."   " You gut big problems," said Mookie.   " Will you just hold it, Mookie?"   Mookie pushed his lips downward and stepped back inside.   " Touchy, touchy. Arnie said you'd be touchy."   " Now, listen, Lark. I suggest you and Flo get into your car and take a long drive somewhere. Cool off and talk to L.G." The ensuing dead air on the line unnerved Jones even more. " Lark? Hello, Lark." He closed his eyes, shook his head and moved back inside as Mookie banged the pipe again.   " You gut big problems."   " You said that," said Jones. He went to hang up the phone, but the wall phone now lay on the counter next to the jagged hole in the kitchen wallpaper and plaster. He maneuvered the receiver into place. " I hope you guys know what you're doing." 1

Matthias Jones: Murder at the Conservatory Robert P. Fitton   Mookie opened his blue eyes wide and tilted his head. He had the annoying habit of pushing air into one cheek, inflating the cheek, and moving the air into the other cheek. " My brother and me, we've been in business for twenty years. Bisbane Plumbing, Twice as Nice."   " What exactly is the problem?" asked Jones.   " A.P.S."   Jones grabbed his clipboard off the counter. He did not want to arrive late at baseball camp. " What's A.P.S.?"   The cellar door opened and an exact replica of Mookie, down to the blue eyes, whiskered cheeks, and scruffy hair, stepped into the kitchen. " A.P.S. Everybody knows about A.P.S. Sooner or later you're gonna get A.P.S."   " Guys, I'm on my way to my baseball camp."   " Listen to him, Kookie. His baseball camp. Everybody knows Arnie Dewars put up the cash for that camp."   " Don't remind me," said Jones. " Now, what's A.P.S.?"   " I heard Arnie got Ricky Johnson from the Padres to run the camp," said Mookie.   " I wanted Ricky. I went to school with him. But he couldn't make it with his schedule."   " He dump ya, huh?"   " No, he didn't dump me. Now, what is A.P.S.?"   " Antiquated Plumbing Syndrome. Hey, you gut bad pipes, Yakima," said Kookie.   " Real bad," said Mookie.   Seeing duplicate copies of both husky guys with their prison cut, peppered hair and pudgy blue eyes, pushed his patience. Kookie started pushing air between his cheeks. " So, what's the upshot?"   " You're lucky ya didn't burst ya pipes," said Mookie.   " Can I have another orange juice?" Jones stared at him. Then Kookie moved forward, tracking dirt from the cellar across his kitchen tiles. " Me, too? And more cereal."   " Don't you guys eat breakfast? I have to go. Do whatever you have to do. Just fix the plumbing."   " What about breakfast?" asked Kookie. " Help yourself. I'm out of here. I have twenty-five boys wait-ing for me at my camp."   " Arnie's camp," said Mookie at the refrigerator.   Jones shook his head, grabbed his cell phone off the table and headed out the front door as the pounding began again. The air had warmed and morning shadows cut across the common's carpeted grass. He took a deep breath and hurried down his brick walkway walk to his red jeep. The stout stone clock tower's tarnished brass hands toward nine o'clock. 2

Matthias Jones: Murder at the Conservatory Robert P. Fitton   He pushed the picket fence gate. A car engine as loud as a passing jet, caught his attention beyond the common's granite posts. Lark's long faded brown bomber ran the stop sign and his tires skid-ded as he rounded the Main Street corner. An oncoming compact's high pitched horn sounded several times and the little car veered toward the sidewalk. Lark accelerated past the storefronts, but did not stop at L.G.'s law office. The car tires again screeched against the asphalt at the Hamilton Street traffic lights. Luckily the lights changed, but Lark fishtailed, nearly sideswiping a small blue pickup truck and a yellow Volkswagen parked along the curb. Then he raced down Hamilton Street toward the college.   The rapping inside his house continued as Jones attempted to start the jeep. He had a slight skipping problem until Arnie Dewars fiddled with the wires yesterday afternoon. The engine backfired and sputtered out. He set the clipboard on the seat and pumped the gas. Like a slow sunrise, the engine finally caught and blue smoke pushed along his fence. The jeep threatened to stall along the common as he shifted. He wanted to find Arnie, but baseball camp was about to be-gin.   Not landing Ricky Johnson was a major disappointment. Ricky was supposed to tell him today whether he was available for a speaking engagement to benefit Hamilton's athletic programs later in the summer. Jones stopped at the corner and glanced at the Hamilton Street lights. He shook his head at Lark's erratic driving as he brought his jeep up the far side of the common, but he also hoped Lark would not embarrass himself in front of the distinguished Neusbaum.   At the traffic light, the baseball diamond's green grass, dirt in-field and bright white bases were visible beyond the little bowl shaped football stadium named after Lark. Jones slowed and as the light turned green he cautiously released the clutch through the in-tersection. Only a few cars moved along Main Street on this quiescent summer morning.   His backfiring jeep dipped down the Hamilton Street hill into the shadows of the towering hemlocks and maples. The road swept by Larsen Stadium. Jones put on his blinker for the service road, cut-ting between the gym and the baseball field's long chain link fence. The kids were scattered across the grass and smooth infield and Mac Conners's white Honda was parked along the fence. As coach of St. Pat's Mac had always opposed him on athletic field, but while on va-cation at a Hamilton Bay cottage, agreed to help him run the camp for a week. He spotted the hefty Mac, wearing a blue sleeve baseball, shirt, up at bat against one of the kids.   3

Matthias Jones: Murder at the Conservatory Robert P. Fitton  Jones' grin dropped as his jeep strained along the fence. When he finally stopped and turned off the key near the gate behind the aluminum bleachers, the engine stayed on and sounded like the bub-bles in a pot of boiling water. When the jeep finally shut off, he shook his head, grabbed his clipboard and stepped outside. The crack of the bat echoed off the brick library walls to the right. A long fly ball went sailing over the three kids in right field and bounced up the grassy, tree lined hill to the Shaker style music conservatory. Jones cupped his hand at the gate. " The old duffer still has it!"   Mac turned to the right and pointed the wood bat toward the fence. The kid lobbed the ball. Mac swung hard and fell on his knee. He quickly got up and the kid fired another pitch. Again Mac con-nected and the arching fly ball cleared the yellow and green three hundred foot sign behind the center field chain link fence. Mac walked up to Jones and with a cocky look, handed him the bat.   " Match that one, big guy."   " Not bad for an old man," said Jones, looking across the field. Arnie Dewars' powder blue pick up looped around the library parking lot beyond right field.   " Maybe you'd like to take a few swings," said Mac, wiping his brow.   " I have camp to run," said Jones, smiling.   " We're lucky we even got the field this morning," said Mac.   " This idiot comes running on the field screaming about not having an official permit."   " What?" asked Jones.   " Yeah, a mealy mouthed little guy with glasses and a Bermuda shorts. Police shirt. Looked like he was on his way to summer camp. He drove a beat up little brown car marked, Campus Security."   " Bucky Driscoll," said Jones.    " He threatened to write us up," said Mac. " He said we needed written permission to be here."   " I hope you told him to beat it," said Jones.   " Well, he wrote this ticket and said the tow trucks were on the way."   Jones shook his head. " Bucky would get in trouble standing still&ldots; Let's round up the boys." He blew his brass whistle. The group converged around the coaches. Arnie Dewars, cigarette hang-ing from his mouth, clawed his way over the right field chain link fence. He was stuck for a few seconds before he fell onto the right field grass. When he stood, he picked up his dark rimmed glasses and quickly lit another cigarette.   " Who the heck is that?" asked Mac.   5

Matthias Jones: Murder at the Conservatory Robert P. Fitton    " The sponsor of this camp. I can still see him bugging Ricky last month at the Colonial House." Jones exhaled. " Mac, can you get the boys set up? I'll take care of Arnie."   Mac nodded and Jones trotted into the outfield. Arnie wore a Yankee's jersey and waved in a wide arc. " Matth-i-as!"   " Arnie."   " Looks like I'm right on time."   " Time for what?" Lark's car now zoomed past Arnie's pickup and continued toward the music conservatory.   " You look like you could use some help," said Arnie, elbowing Jones in the ribs. " Not as young as you used to be, eh?"   " Look, Arnie, we appreciate the funding for the camp."   " Everybody knows you couldn't raise the dough."   " That's not true. We had plenty of pledges"   " Right." Arnie blew smoke around Jones' face.   " And put out the cigarette."   " Can't take the smoke, eh?"   Jones raised his index finger. " Look, Arnie..."   " Do you know who you're dealing with, Matth-i-as? I played semi-pro ball."   " You?" Jones could not halt Arnie from trekking to the infield. " Where did you play semi-pro?"   " The Yankees team in Roswell, New Mexico."   They reached the infield dirt. " Isn't that where the all those alien stories started?"   " True stories," said Arnie, exhaling again.   " Arnie, put out the cigarette."   " Oh... yeah," he said, throwing it on the dirt. Jones shook his head and snuffled out the cigarette with his sneaker. " Hey, Maccer!"   A different sound cracked off the library bricks. Jones looked to the kids passing the baseballs by the third baseline. Then he heard a dog barking inside the open conservatory window. " That sounded like a gunshot."   " You've been on too many cases, Matth-i-as." Jones shook his head and turned toward the conservatory.   " For once, Arnie, I might agree with you." He turned toward the kids. " Come on, Arnie, we'll get you a glove."   " Glove? I want a few swings," said Arnie as they crossed the infield.   " Let's start with the glove, hot shot." Jones flipped over the roaster page on his clipboard while Arnie pontificated about his playing days.   " I led the league in doubles. Old double dare Dewars."   " Double dare?" asked Jones, looking up.   6

Matthias Jones: Murder at the Conservatory Robert P. Fitton    " They'd give me the intentional," said Arnie as he pounded the glove with his closed fist.   " I'd like to give you the intentional."   " What did you say, Matth-i-as?"   " I said let's get this camp going." Jones spun around when a distinct gunshot emanated from the conservatory and the dog barked again. " That was a shot."   " Little nervous about runnin' the camp without Ricky John-son?" asked Arnie as he poked Jones in the arm.   " I tell you that was a shot."   Jones retreated across the infield and picked up speed once he hit the outfield grass. Bucky Driscoll spun his little car across the li-brary parking lot and disappeared behind the conservatory. Jones broke into a sprint and vaulted the fence like a gymnast in competi-tion. He heard a loud car engine start on the far side of the building as he jaunted up the tree shaded slope. Lark's clunker raised the dust and careened onto the adjacent the athletic fields.   " What the hell is going on here?"   He reached the trees as Lark's car knocked over a soccer goal and scraped the curb onto Hamilton Street. The conservatory's win-dows facing the library were open, but the only entrance was around the parking lot side. As Arnie cackled from the outfield, Jones paral-leled the octagonal building's stone facade, and Lark fishtailed down Hamilton Street toward Route 32.   Bucky's compact brown security car, front fender dented, was parked near the conservatory entrance's cement walk. Jones leaped up the weathered wood steps under the columns. He ran through the open barn board doors and up the inside stair treads. " Bucky! Bucky!"   Gray quarry tile lobby rimmed the locked outside pane win-dows and the inner barn board walls. The area was deserted and the lower white paneled doors to the music hall were closed. Jones slipped across the red lobby runner, but when heard barking, he veered toward the main conservatory doors. Bucky's voice was muf-fled behind the door panels. " Identify yourself."   " Matthias Jones, what's going on in there?"   " Who?"   " Matthias."   Now Bucky's voice was on a megaphone behind the doors. " Clear the area! All personnel will exit the building."   " Bucky, I'm the only one in the building! Open the door. What's going on in there?" After a long silence Jones pounded the door. " Bucky, I heard shots."   " Oh, it's you, Matthias. The battery is dead on my short wave."   " Open up!"   7

Matthias Jones: Murder at the Conservatory Robert P. Fitton   " I can't do that. We have a murder scene here!"   Jones shook his head and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket as Arnie Dewers entered the lobby. " Hey, Matth-i-as!"   " Do we need paramedics, Bucky? Who was shot?"   " Said individual has expired."   Jones dialed George Strickland's number at the police station.   " Who? Who's dead?"   " Hamilton. Ned."   " Ned, get George."   " He's playing checkers with Wendell. Wendell's lost four in a row. Although sometimes I think George lets him win."   " Ned, there's been a murder." The phone dropped, rattling Jones' ear. Arnie lit a cigarette as he approached. " Arnie, stay at the outside door and don't let anyone inside."   " You a little shaky?"   " No, I'm not shaky&ldots; I'm trying to get inside, but Bucky won't let me in!"   " I'll get ya in."   Strickland came on the line. " Matthias, what happened?"   " Somebody has been shot up here in the conservatory," said Jones as Arnie gripped the brass doorknob. " Arnie this is a crime scene!"   " Huh?" he asked and pulled open the door. " Hey, Buckster, what happened?"   Bucky assumed a firing position and aimed at Arnie. " Get back, A.D."   " What's going on up there?" asked Strickland.   A brisk air current through the open library side windows cooled Jones' arms as he moved alongside Arnie. Professor Neus-baum's white hair flowed over the grainy floorboards. His arm was cuddled over a cello and the drawstring was two feet away, near the gray paneled wall and closed window panes. A wide maroon blood splotch radiated outward from a tiny bullet hole in the center of his pale green shirt. Four feet diagonally from the wall, a snub nosed handgun with a back handle and chamber, surrounded by a silver or aluminum frame lay on the wood. Neusbaum's German Shepherd watched Jones' every move from a position between Neusbaum and the glossy black piano. Jones remembered Neusbaum playing Frisbee his daughter and dog on the common.   " George, the maestro, Professor Neusbaum. He sure as hell looks dead."   " I'm already on my way."   " Wait, George. Lark was in here and just cut across the fields in his car toward Prince William!"   " Lark?"   " Lark."   " I'll talk to you when I get there."   Jones cut the line. Bucky was still in a firing position.   " Everybody outside."   " Chill out, will you, Bucky? Is he dead?" asked Jones. 8  Home Page Unimited Annual Access to all Fitton e-books and PODCAST Episodes $ 6.99 © 2000 - 2007 Fitton Books. All rights reserved.

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Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder    1     Dr. Povitch should have died long ago. His heart problems left him confined within death watches for months last year, and now, although miraculously recovered, his condition remained questionable. Father Gallagher, after years of antipathy with Povitch, invited him to St. Bart's rectory for a dinner of reconciliation. Matthias Jones worried whether Gallagher's temper might break through his priestly demeanor and rattle Povitch's fragile heart.   Jones slowed his jeep at the narrow road leading up Mount Polaris. A chained gate was open and a single lane was plowed, producing lumpy snow banks from last night's storm. The birch branches hung heavy with swollen snow and the pines stooped toward the road. He had always wanted to look into deep space from the large telescope atop the mountain, north of Hamilton, but did not think he would have to drive up Mount Polaris in the aftermath of the biggest storm to pelt the area in ten years. Fred Dempsey had told him the clear, cold night would provide an excellent viewing opportunity.   He shifted his jeep into four-wheel drive and turned to Duff. " So, how did you end up in Prince William on a Tuesday night, Duff?"   Duff said nothing for a few moments and stared out the window. " I was suppose to meet a girl."   Jones looked in the rear mirror, back toward the street gate as he moved up the incline. " Women, they can make ya or break ya. Especially if you don't have a car. "   " Yes, coach."   " Let's face it, Duffy, you were leading all scorers last year. But now something's affected your play."   " I have a lot on my mind... Dr. Povitch says I need to focus."   The snow banks were highlighted by the headlights. He swerved the jeep slightly but easily negotiated the steep road. " You and the doctor are close. I heard that. He's your mentor."  1

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton   " He is. And advisor. He knows my story."   " Yeah, but what does he know about outside jump shots?"   The freckled face Duff smiled, but continued to look out the jeep window. " I've never been up here in a after a big storm. You sure it's cleared at the top?"   " I guess they plowed the top. I called Campus Security to unlock the gate. Bucky, you know Bucky."   " Campus insecurity." Duff balanced his chin on his palm and stared silently into the trees lining the snow skimmed, outside guardrail. Jones smiled. Duff was edgy ever since he got in the jeep at the Hannibal Mall in Prince William. Jones held the wheel with one hand and kept his right hand on the stick shift, as if his removing his hand from the lever might cause some great tactical problem. " Bucky, has his own ideas about police work. We have to keep reminding him that he's in charge of the campus security and not a real cop."   Duff stretched his long legs. " He gave me a parking ticket two weeks ago."   Jones shifted again, moved the jeep around the turn and started up a new hill. " You don't own a car."   " Well, I was driving Bernie Gauzinski's Toyota. I parked it like everyone does next to the gym."   " So, what was the problem?"   " I'm still trying to figure that one out. Bucky steps out of his little brown Campus Security car, pad flipped over, and pen in hand."   Jones nodded and laughed. " I can see the whole thing."   " He waddles over in his uniform and he tells me I'm in violation of section twenty-six of the campus parking code. He said if I didn't move the car he was going to have it towed off campus."   " Bucky had Dean Kent's car towed. Of course he didn't know it was Dean Kent's car," said Jones, shifting again. " Never mind Nigel is also the President of Hamilton College has the license plate marked DEAN. So what happened with the Toyota?"   Duff pointed to Jones' blue parking sticker on the driver's side of the windshield. " I showed him Bernie's sticker. It's good through the academic year."   " So, what was the problem?"   " He bends down on his hands and knees and starts crawling around on the pavement. He told me I was straddling the handicapped space. I guess was: by a couple of inches. So, he moves his pen around that little pad of his and rips off the sheet. Twenty-five bucks!"   Jones round the corner for the final hill to the observatory. " Oh, come on."   " Seriously."   2

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton      Jones winced as he thought of traveling to an auto body in Prince William with Nigel and finding Nigel's Mercedes stuck between two rusted Ford Pintos from the 1970's. " Duff, let me speak with Dean Kent. See if I can clear this ticket thing up."   " I think Bucky went a little overboard," said Duff, pausing and looking at Jones. " Coach, I'm sorry."   " For what?"   They moved along the snow bank now covering the guardrail, high above the valley. " Things are bothering me."   Jones shifted again. The narrow plowed road leveled in the headlights.   " You want to talk about it?"   Duff shook his head. " I will."   " Okay." Jones tried to change the subject as he moved through the plowed snow. " Dr. Povitch looked healthy when I talked to him at the last game... when he invited me up here."   " Dr. Povitch is lucky to be alive," said Duff.   " He's been through it all, that's for sure."   " Everybody thought he was a goner last year when he was in that hospital in Boston."   " He was in there for months, wasn't he?"   " When he came out of it, Professor McIntire was shocked."   " Oh, yes, his art professor friend. He's got a good twenty years on her." Jones flicked the high beams as the road darkened through a birch thicket ahead and the jeep's large tires crunched the snow tracks.   " Thirty-four years old and he's sixty-two. I heard she likes to spend his money," said Duff. " I guess Dr. Povitch's wife had some bucks and his college texts are popular."   Jones laughed and zipped through the woods. " You know all the dirt on campus, Duff. You ought to start a gossip column for the school paper. Maybe start with the way this telescope was refurbished. But I guess that feud was smoothed over tonight. I'm very surprised Father Gallagher asked Povitch over to the rectory."   " They hate each other," said Duff.  3

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton    " The money from the Elton Foundation set to refurbish St. Barts." A tawny fox turned in the road ahead, his eyes glowing in the headlight's glare. He ran between the snowy spruce and disappeared into the darkness. " I can't believe Povitch took on Father like he did. Every cent went into this telescope. Elton's governing board leans toward churches and non-profit endeavors. Povitch convinced him of the observatory's merit."   " Well, it might be more complicated than that. What did Father Gallagher say to him?"   " Oh, you don't want to know what exactly Father said," replied Jones.   " I thought he was a priest."   " He is, but he don't ever back him into a corner. He used to box and was a football player at Notre Dame. Without the Elton money he was left to raise six hundred thousand for the church renovation himself." Jones gazed across the Hamilton lights twinkling across the valley. The brighter Prince William glare unfolded beyond the Devonshire Hills to the west. " I would have liked to have been fly on the wall at that rectory tonight."   Duff tapped his fingers on his thigh and looked out the side window. Jones shifted along a cable fence, supported by cement posts, half buried in the snow near the cliffs. He made a turn into a long straight wooded stretch. In the field beyond, two cars spewed smoky exhaust into the cold night air and cast their headlights across a chained gate.   " Oh, no," said Jones.   " What?" Duff turned. " Bucky Driscoll, why is he still up here?"   Fred Dempsey's maroon minivan was to the left and parked diagonally across the mountain road was a beige Ford Escort. The door was marked in bold green letters: CAMPUS SECURITY. " Oh, he's probably supposed to unlock the gate for us. "   Jones pulled alongside the minivan and rolled down his window. He was about to lean over to talk to Fred when the rotund Bucky, in his blue and gold security uniform, swung a huge sledge hammer through the air. " What the hell is he doing?"   " They don't call him Campus Insecurity for nothing," said Duff.   Bucky, his glasses slipping down his nose and his foggy breath billowing into the night, grunted and groaned as he bashed the gate lock. His heavy winter coat was draped over the Escort's hood. " Hasn't he ever heard of a key?"   " Matthias, welcome to Mount Polaris," said Fred Dempsey, smiling from the minivan.   Jones stared at Bucky. He turned to the dark haired Dempsey. " Fred, don't you have a key?"   4

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton      The Fletchers want Campus Security to have the keys."   A sudden crunch and the sound of glass breaking sent Jones from the jeep. Duff followed him around the minivan. Fred Dempsey looked in astonishment as Bucky pulled the sledge hammer out of the van's smashed headlight. " Bucky, you just hit my headlight!"   " Hey, I ain't one to give up. I'm just glad to be alive to live another day." Bucky lifted the hammer into the air again and everyone moved back. He growled like a distraught bear, swung again, but missed the lock and fell backward into the snow. Sitting in the icy road he pointed at the lock. " You stupid lock..."   Jones rushed forward and rubbed his hands in the cold. " Bucky, where's your key?"   Still sitting in the snow, Bucky shook his head and pulled a cluster of keys from his coat pocket. He pushed his wire rim glasses back up his nose and with his mouth hanging open, stared at the keys. " Nope, she ain't here. Gut em all numbered."   Jones zipped his parka. He tightened his face in the cold as he looked at Duff and Fred. Fred alternated glances between the broken headlight and Bucky. " Why don't we all get back in our cars? Dr. Povitch will be along shortly. He should have a key."   " Nope. I took it away," said Bucky, using the hammer handle to leverage himself up. He grabbed both sides of his belt and tried to yank his trousers higher over his stomach. " You see, Dr. Povitch having that key would be a violation of school policy."   Jones' fingers were numb and his nose stung. " I'm going back in the jeep."   " Come on in the minivan, Matthias" said Fred.   Fred gawked at the broken headlight as he passed and slid the van's side door. Big Band music shook the speakers as Jones and Duff crawled inside the warmer air. Jones slid the door shut. Once Fred was back inside, he leaned forward and squinted. " What a loose cannon."   5

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton    " Nigel hired him. Apparently he had a good record at some school in New York."   " Yeah, Ding Dong School," said Jones. Bucky, the back of his pants now soaked, returned from his car with a hack saw. " What is he going to do now?"   Duff leaned forward.. " Coach, he's going to try and cut that thick chain with a little hack saw."   Jones pushed the illuminated dial on his watch. " Mercy... Fred, why don't we just walk the rest of the way?"   " Another mile, Matthias. If it were summer I would."   Jones closed his eyes for a second and reclined in the seat. He thought about the open chain on the bottom gate. " Wait a minute, didn't he open the bottom chain? Wouldn't they have the same lock?"   " That would be logical, wouldn't it? " asked Fred. Jones nodded. " Except Bucky changed them last week for security purposes."   " And he lost the key," said Jones, looking out at Bucky, hacking furiously at the chain.   " No, he lost the key to the old lock." Fred turned down the radio as the music ended and an AM station out of Portland, Maine began a news broadcast. He pushed the FM switch and twisted the dial for the campus station. " Nice van, Fred."   " You like the van?"   Jones checked the mileage. " Is that a Two-hundred and seventy-fifty thousand? Van looks newer."   " No, no, you're looking at the elapsed mileage. Two hundred and seventy-five. I always push it to zero when I fill up on gas, so if something goes wrong with the gauge, as it has on occasion, I know how many miles I have left before I'm running on fumes. But I did cross the hundred and forty thousand mark. This van owes me nothing. I change the oil frequently."   " That's the ticket," said Jones, peering out the side mirror. Headlights shined down the cleared snow road. Jones checked his watch. It was seven thirty-two. " Good, maybe this is Dr. Povitch."   The car switched to low beams. Duff turned quickly. " It's Sergi's BMW."   " Sergi?" Jones smiled, glancing briefly at Bucky still hacking the thick chain out front. " Unless, the doctor has a key, I don't know why we're all so enthusiastic. Bucky's still sawing out there. We could be here all night."   The gray BMW slowed and stopped behind Jones' jeep. Jones slid open the van door and hopped into the frigid air. The BMW's driver's window electronically moved downward and the bearded Dr. Povitch, bushy brows, blending into his fur lined hat, peered up at Jones.   " Problem, Matthias?" he asked tersely.   6

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton   Jones moved closer to his puffy brown eyes. Povitch was usually a congenial man with a good sense of humor, but he did not seem happy now.   " The security guy, Bucky. He... he lost the key to the gate."   Povitch rolled his eyes, adjusted his cashmere scarf and put on his brown leather gloves. Then he opened the door, slowly swung his body around and stuck his feet into the snow. He grabbed the edges of the door and lifted himself up. Jones was not sure whether he would insult Povitch by taking his arm, but readied himself in case the doctor fell. Povitch shuffled in slow motion across the snow to the front gate where Bucky was still sawing wildly and swearing openly. Jones could see no progress as he cut the cold metal.   " Excuse me, Mr. Driscoll," said Povitch.   Steam moved upward from the elongated sweaty stretch along Bucky's back. In the cold air, he curled his lip upward and breathed heavily. " Huh?"   " I believe you misplaced the key."   " Don't you worry, Dr. Povitch. I've had years of experience in security."   Jones rolled his eyes and jumped up and down to negate the effects of the cold. He had coached football games in colder weather than this, but at least he could run up and down the sidelines.   " Your hat," said Povitch.   " Oh, I don't need no hat. The cold and me, we're good buddies," said Bucky and with saw in hand, faced the thick chain again.   " No, the other day in my office. You taped the key to the visor of your hat."   Jones looked to his right and retrieved Bucky's hat from the car hood. Under the visor was a long piece of masking tape. The key was stuck to the adhesive. When he peeled it back. Bucky, still looking confused, held the hacksaw in his hand. Jones pulled the key from the tape and handed it to him as Povitch slowly returned to his car.   " No wonder I couldn't find it."   Jones pinched the bridge of his nose. Bucky walked back to the chain and was about to place the key in the lock, but he dropped it in the snow. He bent over and scoured the ground. Jones threw his hands up in the air and then stomped across the snow, almost slipping. He spotted the key near the gatepost, bent down and pinched it between his fingers.   " You have an eagle eye, Coach. An eagle eye."   Jones thrust the key into the lock and popped it. He and Duff dragged the chain back across the road, but Bucky gripped the links and ran through the snow. Jones fought to maintain his balance. With the gate now open, he moved precariously to Povitch's car and the electric window came down again. He handed the key to the doctor. " Here, I think you'd better hold on to this."   " Hold it! Hold it!" called Bucky as he ran from the gate. " Let's not violate school policy. I need that key! I don't want to have to file a negative report."   " Bucky, how about we let the doctor keep the key?"   " But we're out of compliance!"   Povitch's window went up and he drove forward over the snow pack. Jones followed Duff into the jeep as Fred Dempsey started forward, one headlight now illuminating the road ahead. Jones leaned out the jeep window. Bucky stood with his hands on his hips. " Tough break, Buck. You'll just have to wing it."   He shifted as Bucky kept ranting at the gate. In the side mirror he kicked the snow near his car. " Bucky Driscoll...." 7

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton   2     An intricate mass of brilliant stars stretched across the cold winter sky. Jones and Duff walked through the snow toward the huge white dome, housing the college telescope, set within a long cinder block building.   " Where's the big dipper?" asked Jones. He gazed up again and followed Duff's extended arm upward. The familiar group sparkled just above the Devonshire Hills and the Fletcher estate. " I've always wanted to learn the constellations. What about that series of bright stars?"  " Orion, watched by Cassiopeia."   Jones scanned the sky as they reached the door. " Orion's the one with the stars in his belt, right?"   " What?" Duff opened the metal door.   " Duff, I'm trying to learn something. You're out to lunch tonight. " The warmer air inside filtered out the door. " How do you know which stars are hot, which ones are cooler..."   " You can tell the temperature of each of those stars by the color. The blue ones are hotter." Jones followed him inside the white cinder block foyer. Hanging metal shade lights blazed from the high-galvanized ceiling and a group of offices faced the long white telescope. Povitch clutched the metal frame of an open elevator and slowly rose fifteen feet to the telescope platform.   Jones banged his boots on the cement. " You all right, Doctor?"   Povitch was unusually pale and breathed heavily. Jones feared the confrontation with Gallagher and the confusion at the gate might have shaken him. " I'm afraid I'm just a little fatigued this evening."   " We can cancel."   9;" No, I'm all right, I am." He paused, stepped onto the metal grid and trekked to the black vinyl observation chairs at the telescope's base. He carefully lowered himself into the front chair. Once settled, he lifted an adjacent long clipboard into his lap.   " Duff, is he all right?" Jones asked in a lower voice.   " You know how he's been sick, Coach. I sure this is just the effects of his disease. He really has been sick."   " So, Matthias," said Fred Dempsey, emerging from the first side office in his khaki chinos and blue button down shirt. " As Dr. Povitch's assistant, I must pose the official question to all our visitors. Have you ever looked at the stars?" " I've seen the stars but not through a telescope like this."   " Completely refurbished. Big bucks," said Fred loud enough for Povitch to turn.   As Fred crossed the room toward the spiral staircase. Duff leaned over and whispered. " That's taking away a lot of stain glass windows at St. Barts."   " That reminds me," said Povitch from above. " You were supposed to finish the report on the expenditures here, Fred."   " I'm aware of that, Sergi."   " Procrastination will be your downfall, Fred."   Povitch was still angry, perhaps from his dinner with Gallagher. Jones looked the lighted computer screen and books scattered around Fred's office.   " Come on, coach."   8

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton   Duff motioned Jones to the metal staircase next to the elevator. Jones climbed behind his lanky player. When Jones reached platform Povitch sat with his eyes closed. " You are all right, Doctor?"   " Yes, fine," said Povitch, opening his glassy eyes. He leaned back in the contoured chair near the telescope's eyepiece. " Just a little indigestion."   " Shall I tell Father Gallagher he needs to send for takeout next time?"   " There will be no next time. That man is about as much a priest as I am."   Fred appeared at the top of the metal staircase. He raised his brows and shrugged his shoulders. " Well, at least we have a clear night."   " About time," said Povitch, squirming slowly in the chair. He rubbed his shoulder. " Duff, prepare for observation."   " Yes, Doctor."   " Then I wish to speak privately with you. " Povitch swiveled in the chair and perked up. He gazed down as if he were in the lecture hall. " This telescope is capable of looking halfway across the galaxy. Most people don't realize that we work all night, fight the storms, and progress is measure in centimeters not kilometers. Meticulous observation, gentlemen. Right, Fred?"   " Meticulous."   " Can you really see the craters on the moon?" asked Jones.   Povitch smiled. " Of course, Matthias. But you need the moon in the sky."   " Oh." Jones turned as the outside door slammed and Bucky coughed.   " What is your specialty, Doctor? You know, an area of expertise."   " Cepheid Variables."   " Sounds like something swimming under Hamilton Bay," said Jones.   " Actually, we are talking about quickly orbiting, high gravity stars that output tremendous energy at periodic rates. I am fond of measuring those rates."   " Bursts of energy?" asked Jones.   " Yes, like lighthouse beacons. Now my contention has always been-"   " Hey, fellas, I put that gate out of action!" shouted Bucky as he dragged snow across the floor.   Povitch seemed annoyed, watched Bucky cross the room and then looked back at Jones and Duff. " As I was saying. My thesis over the years has been variable, no pun intended. If we extrapolate the data-"   " You wanna know how I did it?" asked Bucky, now wearing a thick knitted cap and heavy wool coat inside.   " Bucky, Dr. Povitch is trying to tell us about Cepheid Variables," said Jones.   " I ran it down. Got in my car, revved up the engine and got mad at it. Damage wasn't too bad," he said, looking at Fred.   " I still have one headlight," said Fred as the phone rang. " Excuse me." He quickly moved to the wall phone at the far end of the grid and picked up the receiver. " Fred Dempsey. Yes. He did? Tibbets or Grunyn? Okay, great. Okay, I'll call you back."   Jones studied the telescope. " You were saying, Doctor."   Bucky walked in a complete circle below them. " Anybody seen the head? I've got to go so bad I can taste it."   Fred closed his eyes and pointed toward the entryway. Bucky lumbered across the observatory and rounded the corner. With a grin Jones stared at the entryway. The he turned toward Fred. " Tell me this guy really doesn't work for the college." 9

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton    " He does." His smile fell when he looked at Povitch.   Gears and wheels turned as Povitch adjusted something in the telescope mechanism.   " Come over here, Duff," said Povitch. " If you gentlemen will excuse us for a few minutes. I apologize."   " Sure," said Jones and he followed Fred down the staircase.   Jones stood in the office doorway as Fred shuffled some wire-rimmed notebooks on the counter. Above, Povitch turned in the chair. Duff sat in the adjacent chair as Povitch leaned forward, elbows on his knees, pointing. Duff appeared uncomfortable.   Fred held some reports as he emerged from one of the side offices.   " Matthias, welcome to the world of astronomical observation."   Jones tilted his head and tried to read the papers in Fred's hand.   " Looks like you have to record what you do. Observations, etcetera."   " Writing and research. Someone has to do it. Let me show you around here while those two kibitz."   Jones glanced upward again. Povitch briefly held Duff's wrist. " They seem to have a close relationship. More than just a professor and student. Povitch talks like he's Duff's father."   Fred pushed his lips together and looked down. " Without Sergi, well, Duff would have lost everything."   " What do you mean?"   Fred pulled Jones into the cinder block office. " You're his coach. I shouldn't spread stories but you should know the truth."   " Know what?"   " Pills."   " What?" Jones roared. He peered around the corner and stared his auburn haired player. " I don't believe it. Where did you hear something outrageous like that? Rumors can be deadly, Fred."   " Sergi told me himself. If it wasn't for Sergi helping that kid, he probably would have died. I think he's clean now."   10

Matthias Jones: The Corona Borealis Murder Robert P. Fitton   " The kid is on my basketball team. No way. I don't believe it. His play has been off this year, but... I can't believe this." Bucky rounded the cinder block corner, tried to zip up his fly, but the zipper was stuck. Jones turned back to Fred. " I'll keep this confidential of course."   " Stupid zipper." Bucky entered the office, still yanking at the zipper, and finally pulled it up. The heat from the long metal wall units warmed the office, but Bucky positioned his stocking cap over his forehead and zipped his heavy coat to the neck. " There. You know, Matthias. My sister wants to go out with you."   Jones studied Bucky's large nose and protruding teeth and wondered what the sister looked like. " Great."   Bucky maneuvered himself between Jones and Fred. " So, Dr. Dempsey, I want you to know that I've been doing some observing in my back yard telescope."   " Oh?" asked Fred, smiling at Jones.   " Yeah, been studying Tranquillity Base. You know, Tranquillity Base where Buzz Armstrong landed on the moon in '69?"   " Neil Armstrong," said Jones.   " Flag is still flapping."   Fred edged Jones toward the door. " That is quite impossible. The moon has no air."   " There's a lot of hot air around here though," said Jones as they passed a befuddled Bucky and headed back into the main observatory. Povitch was still speaking with Duff. Jones remained stunned Duff had a drug problem. It was hidden very well.   " Are you ready, Sergi?" called Fred, but Povitch did not appear to hear him. " We'll start the observations. Providing you're feeling all right. I don't want to push you."   " I don't think he looks well," whispered Jones.   " Sergi!"   " One minute, Fred." Povitch again jammed his finger at Duff.   " Tonight we will be scanning M-13 in Orion's belt," said Fred.   " What is that? A galaxy?" asked Jones.   " Exactly. You've been studying up."   " Lucky guess." Jones shrugged his shoulders and grinned.   Duff stood quickly and asked Povitch if he was all right. Povitch took deep breaths and complained of being dizzy. He made an attempt to stand, but staggered on the grid and collapsed. Duff bent over the fallen doctor as Jones sprinted across the cement and leaped up the spiral staircase. He scrambled across the platform.   " He's dead, Coach!" 11  Home Page Unimited Annual Access to all Fitton e-books and PODCAST Episodes $ 6.99 © 2000 - 2007 Fitton Books. All rights reserved.

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