Chapter 37

  

Back home, I stood in the shower for a full twenty minutes letting the hot water pour over my aching body. I was out of my mind going over and over what Joe had said. I’d only seen him that angry once before when he thought I was secretly in love with someone else. But he knew how to admit he was wrong, and maybe he would this time.

Then again, I had been lured by a glint from a gun. I’d been a fool again, and there was every chance in the world that this time, I would not be forgiven.

  

When I got to the journalism school, Nell was the first person I saw. “What a time we’ve had,” she said, giving me a big hug. “Let me get you some coffee, and how about a sandwich?”

Edwin appeared in the hall. “Red, my dear, from this morning’s TV reports, I gather that you have been moonlighting as a police detective.”

“Just my old habits as a news reporter, Edwin. I have to be on the scene whenever something exciting happens.”

“Well, I want to hear all about it at tomorrow’s faculty meeting. At least, all that you are free to tell us.”

Nell handed me a stack of telephone messages. “Philip Lewis has called twice. Says he wants to see you the minute you get to campus.”

  

I was still in a somber mood and very tired as I walked across campus toward Philip Lewis’s office.

“Red, are you okay?” It was Howard Evans rushing across the lawn to meet me.

“I’m fine, Howard. Thank you. But I’m heading to an urgent meeting with the president, so I can’t stop right now.”

“Isn’t it astonishing about McCready?” Howard was flushed with excitement. I nodded and turned again toward the administration building. Howard kept pace with me. “I mean, frankly, I for one am glad McCready’s gone. But it’s not very good for our university’s reputation to have our provost charged with…what was the charge the television reporter said…‘abduction with intent to defile.’ That’s pretty heavy, isn’t it?”

“There are still some questions about the provost’s intent.”

“McCready must be mentally ill, don’t you think?” Howard called after me.

I did.

As it turned out, so did Philip Lewis. The university president, sitting at his desk absorbed in thought when I was shown in, struggled to his feet. “Oh, my dear,” he said.

I took his hands in both of mine and told him to sit again, while I took the chair opposite his. Philip Lewis looked ghastly. His face was gray and his hands shook, but his tone was reassuring and strong. “You’ve had to go through so many trials, Red. I hope they’ve made you strong, even as they must have made you sick to your stomach.”

“I’m still here, Dr. Lewis. Although I admit there have been times recently when I felt like giving up.”

“It’s time you called me Philip.”

I started to object but he raised his hand. “I’m not very well these days. Give an old man his way.” He brought his hand up to rub his chin. “Did you know McCready was mentally ill?”

“Not until last night. I just thought he was cruel and difficult.”

Philip pressed his jaw with his fingers and shook his head.

“Would you like me to pour you some water?”

“Thank you.”

I left my chair and walked over to the carafe on the conference table. Two glasses were beside it and I poured into both. A folder titled “Dean of Journalism” sat next to the glasses.

The president drank eagerly from the glass of water, then paused to catch his breath. “I didn’t know McCready was cruel, or difficult, much less sick enough to kidnap a woman. My God, how I admired that man. He had a wonderful reputation as a dean at his previous university. Great leader, they said. They thought the world of him. His research had made him famous.” Philip drank again. “The search committee raved about him. I knew him slightly and thought he was brilliant, would make a great university president someday. I must have been much foggier than I realized when I interviewed him.”

“We all misjudge sometimes. Myself included.”

Philip smiled. “But you redeemed yourself and changed course when you had to. And, the ability to change, my dear Red, is a characteristic of great leaders.”

My heart rate increased. Maybe I still had a chance for the job described in that folder on the table.

“Which leads me to a much happier subject,” Philip said. “Even though I admired Ezra McCready, I was never going to let him give the dean’s job to anyone but you.” He rose from his desk and made his way over to the table. He picked up the folder.

“Even Manny Lorenzo?”

“Manny’s a great guy and a splendid scholar. I just spoke to him an hour ago. I urged him to come here as interim provost and then to apply for the permanent job.”

“Fantastic. Did he say he would?”

“He said he would. He really wants to come here. If I could avoid the protocols around here, I would just outright hire him now. But you know the faculty will insist on a new search.”

“Manny will make a sensational provost.”

Philip turned toward me with the folder but lost his balance and started to fall. I caught him in my arms. We held each other in a tight hug for several seconds. When he recovered his balance, he made his way back to his desk but remained standing. He handed me the folder. “Dr. Solaris, I hope you will accept the position of permanent Dean of Journalism. Nothing would make me happier.”

I hugged him again. “Nothing would make me happier either.”

He sat down in his desk chair with a loud sigh. “I have more news. News I think you will like. Fred Stoddard has agreed to come out of retirement and take over my job. He’ll serve as interim president.”

Fred and Manny. I was elated. At last, a university management team I could respect and admire.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

“So do I. But I’m on my last legs. And with your promotion and Fred’s return, I leave knowing my university is in excellent hands. That’s a good way for an old man to feel. That’s what I call a good final act.”

“Before you go, may I ask one favor?”

“You may.”

“I’m on the sexual assault policy committee. We’ve been really struggling with trying to come up with a policy we can all agree upon.”

“I’ll talk to Stoddard and Lorenzo tomorrow when they arrive for our first joint meeting. My view of the sexual assault policy is that I want it soon, but I also want it right.”

  

Nell was jubilant. “Can we plan a party? At least cake and coffee here at the school?”

“Maybe tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, I’m not going to be here tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Wynan wants to sell his place in Las Vegas and move up here and I agreed to help him tomorrow afternoon. He’s looking for a house that would be large enough that Jamie and Marilyn could stay with him until they graduate.”

Marvelous how some things work out.

I picked up my cell phone and saw a text from Bill Verden. “Never doubt my ability to predict the future. Long live the Queen.”

Finally I dialed Joe’s number, but got his voicemail. I left him a message about my new job and tried to sound conciliatory about his anger with me. But, damn it, I didn’t feel apologetic for discovering that road, that house, and leading him to Jamie’s rescue. More and more—even if sometimes I was a wretched fool—I’d begun to trust my instincts, and I wished Joe Morgan could too.

The thing was, my instincts also told me to trust my deepening feelings for Joe Morgan, and I was scared he didn’t reciprocate.

  

Karen Milton’s was the last phone call of a tiring and exhilarating day. “Congratulations,” she said. “It’s all over campus, you know.”

“Thank you. How goes it in your part of the universe?”

“Badly, I’m afraid to say. A second girl has filed a complaint against Peter Delacroix. She went to the police and to me. It happened the other night. Same routine—Delacroix borrows a book from a girl, then waits for the opportune moment to return it to her when she’s alone in her room. He brings the book along with a flask of drugged alcohol.”

“Unbelievable. Shy, sweet Peter Delacroix. What’s going to happen to him this time?”

“The DA has agreed to prosecute him. He’s about to get his politically well-connected ass fried.”

“Senator Mom notwithstanding?”

“You got it.”

  

I drove home through the main street of Landry, then past the police station, hoping to spot Joe’s car. I hoped we could talk. But his car was nowhere in sight.

Sadie Hawkins was out of town visiting her son, and I faced the prospect of celebrating my new job alone. The sun was setting and the sky looked as if it was on fire. The buildings and houses of Landry were bathed in peach-colored light. Our wide open sky in late summer and early fall provided amazing sunsets that guaranteed I would never leave, even if I ended up living in Nevada as a solitary single woman.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, the sun had gone down, leaving behind a scrim of blue and purple. Charlie greeted me at the door. I was standing by the sink, opening a can of dog food and looking out at my backyard when I heard a familiar sound. Joe’s car in the driveway.

I gave Charlie his food and waited. Then I couldn’t stand it a moment longer. We had to make up from our quarrel.

I pushed open the kitchen door and almost hit Joe, who was coming in with a large carton in his arms. He put the carton down on the butcher-block island in the center of the kitchen. He took me in his arms. “Congratulations, sweetheart. I knew you were going to get that job.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Your message. Besides, it’s all over town. Nell told Wynan who told Norm, who...” I stopped him with my mouth and we lingered there.

There were no apologies. That was Joe. And no, we were not going to talk about his earlier angry remarks. Not yet.

I looked in the carton. Joe’s enormous soup pot was nestled next to his favorite cast iron skillet, items he sometimes brought over to cook at my house, but items he always took back to his apartment. Precious possessions. Upright and next to the pot was a leather case that I knew was filled with his extra sharp chef’s knives.

Joe removed the skillet from the carton and began to wander around the kitchen. “I’m wondering where to hang this,” he said, his eyes roaming the walls.

“And I’ll need part of that lower cupboard for the soup pot.”

I had a steel rack with hooks over the sink. Joe removed an old fry pan of mine and put up his cast-iron treasure. He went back to the carton and pulled out a special knife rack. He held it against the wall near the sink where I assumed he wanted to install it.

I stifled the temptation to applaud. “If you leave this stuff here, how are you going to cook at your place?”

Joe shrugged. “I’m not. I figure with the demands of your new job, I’ll be doing all my cooking here from now on.” Charlie let out a low groan of delight. Never doubt that dogs understand English.

Joe headed back to the open kitchen door.

“Now what?” I asked.

“My clothes.”

I knelt down and pretended to shift pots in the lower cupboard. Then I stopped, closed my eyes and put my hands over my mouth, trying hard to conceal a triumphant grin.