“Because Macmillan is, I mean was, the chairman of the college's board of trustees, a position he assumed at the beginning of this semester. And like the proverbial eight-hundred-pound gorilla-the chairman of the board of trustees can do exactly what he wants to do.

And what he wanted to do was participate in the reen-actment since he's a big-time Civil War buff. You do know that he was also a retired U.S. congressman? That's what got him on the board of trustees in the first place.”

“I can understand why he might want to participate. What I don't understand is how real bullets got into the guns. Lizzie, were you there Friday night when the guns were loaded?”

She nodded.

“Could you please tell me exactly what happened?”

Lizzie sat down on the ugliest sofa I've ever seen and patted the seat beside her, raising a little cloud of dust. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I picked it up at the Goodwill. Cheap. Now I know why. Have a seat. I'll try to tell you everything.”

I sat on the sofa and found it smelled nearly as bad as it looked. “Go on,” I said.

“Like I told Chief Miller yesterday afternoon, Janet and I went out for hamburgers at about five. When we came back, the building was deserted or seemed to be. Nobody in their right mind sticks around here after dark. We wouldn't have been here either, except we were waiting for the reenactors to bring the guns.

“There were two of them. One guy was big and fat, with a bushy beard. The other was younger and pretty much of a hunk. They each carried a big box, full of guns, we found out later.”

“Did Janet know who the men were?”

“Sure. At least she knew the big one. I forget his name, but it's in my file cabinet. We stood around the lobby for a while chatting, then the five of us took the elevator down to the basement.”

“Five of you? You only mentioned four: you, Janet, and the two reenactors.”

“Mack Macmillan came with us, saying he wanted to ‘savor the entire reenactment experience.’ As usual, he was late, but not as bad as yesterday, only a couple of minutes. He didn't have any reason to think so highly of himself-it's not like he was a senator, you know. Just a congressman. That's not nearly as important, is it? And he's been retired for more than a year. Anyway, Janet unlocked the door to the storeroom where we had already decided to keep the equipment and let us in.”

“Why was the door locked before the guns were put in the storeroom?”

“Things used to disappear. You know how it is, a box of thumbtacks, a ream of paper, a case of ballpoint pens. After Janet put a lock on the door, the pilferage stopped.”

“I noticed keys hanging on hooks next to the door as I came in. Is that where you keep the storeroom key?”

“No. Those are for the other doors on this floor. Offices, mostly empty, and the rest rooms. People kept misplacing their keys, so Janet said she'd keep a spare set here. But she always kept our keys in her purse.”

“You didn't have a key to the storeroom?”

Lizzie shook her head. “I'm not saying she didn't trust me, but she made a point of keeping both keys. I had to ask her for them every time I needed to replace a pencil.”

“I see. So what happened after the door was opened?”

“The reenactors opened the gun boxes, then the ugly one took a box out of his sheepskin vest pocket and opened it. It was full of bullets-not real bullets-but twists of paper full of black powder with these odd-looking foam tops he called Wonder Wads. He said he'd made them himself. They didn't even look like real bullets, so I don't think he brought the wrong ones by mistake. He and the cute one loaded all fifteen guns. When they were through, the hairy guy had each of us initial the box top as proof that we witnessed him load the guns. That was it.”

“Did anything else happen?”

Lizzie crinkled her brow in thought, then shook her head. “We all stepped into the hall. Janet pulled the door shut, locked it, and put the key ring in her pocket. She said she needed to go up to the office for a few minutes. I don't like hanging around the building after dark-because of the ghosts-so when she said she didn't need me to stay, I left with the ree-nactors.”

The “ghost” reference stopped my thought process in midstream. “What ghosts?”

“It's silly, I know, but stories have been going round for years that the campus is haunted. Some of the buildings were used during the Civil War as a hospital, and so many men died here that they had to be buried on campus.”

“Is that why you thought I was a ghost when you saw me in the basement?”

She nodded and looked a little embarrassed. “The Sisters of Charity set up an operating room in the basement. Students say the ghost of a nun in a blue habit appears there sometimes. She's supposed to have died here.”

Skepticism must have showed on my face. “I know,” she said. “It's probably just stories the guys make up to give the girls a good scare.”

“Guys? I thought this was a women's college.”

“At this point in time, they'd accept anybody who was breathing.” She laughed. “Actually, Tori, men have been on campus since World War II.”

I tried to bring the conversation back around to the former congressman's death. “Who else had access to the room? Custodians? Students? Faculty?”

“There were only two keys, and Janet always kept them with her. I didn't even have one.”

“And she opened the door on Saturday so the soldiers could get their guns out?”

“Right.”

“What about after she unlocked it on Saturday morning? Could someone have gotten in then and reloaded the guns?”

“She didn't unlock the door until Mack got there. Then Woody passed the guns out to the men while we watched. There was no possible way for anyone to have tampered with them.”

“And she had both the storeroom keys with her all night? This doesn't look good for Janet, does it? Suppose I start by going through your file? See if I can't pull out the names of some people to talk to.”

She led me into her office in the other half of the garret. It was slightly larger than Janet's domain, with a lot more actual work equipment, including a cluttered desk, a large drafting table, a light box, and lots of things with flashing lights I didn't even recognize. In contrast to the cyber-age electronic equipment were the old-fashioned slate blackboards covering the walls from the waist-high chair rail to the ceiling. On each was a chart outlining the progress of the different projects the PR department was working on.

“Impressive,” I remarked, pointing to the boards.

“The only way I can keep up with what we're doing and make the deadlines is to put up a time line for each project. I tried to do it on the computer, but this seems to work better for me.” She walked over to one of the boards and proudly explained, “This is the time line for the view book.”

“What's a ‘view book’?” I asked.

“Propaganda we send out to prospective students, telling them how wonderful our campus is and what a charming place Lickin Creek is to live in. Hopefully, it will encourage them to visit, and when they come we will try to persuade them to choose our small, very expensive, nearly-out-of-business women's college over one of the Seven Sisters.”

“Sounds like quite a challenge.”

“To say the least.”

I noticed a date had been checked off, indicating the faculty had been reminded to send information. The dated column where receipt of the information was noted was nearly empty, even though the date had passed.

Lizzie shrugged. “It's hard to get them moving on anything. They don't realize the amount of lead time it takes to put something like this together. They seem to think spring is too far away to worry about. Let me get you the reenactment folder.”

This should be pretty much like following leads for a news story, I thought. Lizzie placed a thick file folder on the desk. I thumbed through it. “You're very thorough,” I said.