Chapter 3

  

Nell met me outside my office. “Everything go all right?” Her soft eyes were filled with concern. Nell’s face is younger than her years, but she looked pale and anxious.

“Hard to say. I think some of the committee members like me but others seem to prefer a candidate from outside the university. One whose hands are clean of last year’s mess.”

“Oh, Red, we are all sure you did everything you could.”

“Not everything, Nell. You know as well as I do that I took much too long to intervene. I’m afraid some of the committee members know it too. If I’d gone to the administration sooner, I might have prevented the assault of that girl.” I could still see my student’s battered face when she told me what her former lover had done to her. The worst part was her assailant had once been my good friend and confidant, a man I’d trusted way too much.

“We were all fooled.” Nell tugged at one of her steel gray curls. “None of us saw the truth until it was too late. You can’t blame yourself.”

But I could blame myself. And I did.

As I sank into the chair behind my desk and put my hands over my eyes, I remembered the day I finally confronted the killer. Maybe Froman was right.

I was too involved in all the violent events of last year to lead the school as its permanent dean.

My cell phone rang and I glanced at the screen. It was Joe—the man who’d shown up that day at the last minute and saved my life. “How did the search committee go?” His slight note of concern pleased me. Whenever he thought I might be down, he transformed from detective to counselor.

“About as well as could be expected.”

“I’m betting it was better than that. You have no idea how persuasive you can be when you put your mind to it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“We’ll see. You’re always pessimistic, and you’re especially good at expecting the worst to happen. But I have another reason to call you. I got a visit from a Wynan Congers. Says his granddaughter’s missing, one of your students. You gave him my name?”

“I did. Congers talked to the police but got nowhere, so I told him to see you.”

“You know how much I’d enjoy helping out the next dean of the journalism school, but I’m not sure what I can do for this guy. The girl’s over twenty-one and has only been gone a short time. My chief’s not likely to put a team on her case for another few days.”

“Congers knows that. But he’s sure something awful has happened to her. He wants to talk to students and the head of our lab where she worked.”

“Okay. Tell me what you know about her.”

“Transfer student with good grades, according to her records. Light-skinned African American. Short curly hair. Tall. Great figure and a gorgeous face.”

“That’s how Congers described her too. Maybe she’s gone to Hollywood.”

“She’d fit right in, but her grandfather is certain she would have called him before taking a trip anywhere.”

“She’s an adult, but I’ll see what I can find out. Her grandfather gave me her roommate’s name and address. He’s already talked to the roommate but wants me to see what I can dig up.”

“Thanks very much. That will mean a lot to Congers. He’s a retired deputy police chief, you know, from Vegas.”

“So he said. I plan to do what I can to help the guy.”

“Thanks, Joe. You’re terrific. I’ll help, too. I have Everett Jones, the head of our computer lab, coming in this afternoon so Congers can talk to him.”

My thoughts stayed on Congers as I headed out to the parking lot where Bill Verden stood beside his ancient Buick convertible.

“Would it be all right to leave the top down?” he said as he opened the passenger side door for me. “My wife keeps a scarf in the glove compartment if you like.”

“Leave the top down, Bill. I can use the fresh air. Where are we going for this lunch?”

“Froman wanted us to meet at Antonio’s. You’re okay with Italian, right?”

“I’m okay with food. I’m starving. Who else besides you and Froman are going to grill me along with my fish?” I reached for the scarf, remembering I had to look tidy for my official lunch with the search committee.

“Gert Simons. You know Gert.”

“Sort of.” I didn’t know her well, and what I did know was she always seemed timid. I couldn’t figure out how Gert Simons had survived the politics of the university, much less achieved the level of director.

The warm wind felt good on my face as we drove out of the south end of campus and took a narrow side street to the main drag of Landry. Shops and bars and three small casinos sat in a row of one-story buildings with the sky and mountains behind. The sky was that absolutely cloudless blue that covers the high desert.

I turned my head to Bill Verden’s profile. “Bill, how the hell did I make it into the final three? I felt a lot of negative vibrations in the meeting this morning.”

“Oh, c’mon, Red. False modesty doesn’t suit you. You’ve done a terrific job with the school this past year, against incredible odds. Every dean and director on campus knows that.”

“But Bridget Thomas seemed…”

“Bridget Thomas has the disposition of a wolverine and is much too occupied trying to second-guess the administration. Don’t worry about her. Her aggressiveness is all show.” Bill turned his head and gave me a wink and what he thought was a comforting grin.

But I wasn’t comforted. “Okay. But Mark Froman doesn’t have to cater to the university brass. He has so much money they cater to him. And he seems dead set against my getting the dean’s job.”

The grin disappeared. “You’re probably right. Froman’s overly impressed with Victor Watts. Pulitzer prize winner, ex-New York Times writer, and so on. Froman likes fancy company. He may not be inclined to promote an inside candidate, especially a woman, in spite of the great job she’s done getting her school through one crisis after another.” Bill turned again to me. “Screw Froman. He’s one vote.”

“I’m sure you shouldn’t be telling me things like this until after the search committee sends its recommendation to the provost.”

“I know. I shouldn’t share the committee discussions or their prejudices. So please don’t ever rat me out on this. But I wanted you to know, before we break bread with Froman, that several of us have your back. Remember you were the one who saved the day. You’re the right dean for the J-school. Okay?”

I was grateful to Bill. Like Sadie, he was also my friend and my primary spy on the committee. I adored his willingness to be both supportive and indiscreet.

We pulled up to the parking in back of Antonio’s and went in the back entrance. Froman and Gert Simons were seated at the table. Gert was a small woman with a round, gentle face, and slim hands with long fingers. She could have modeled rings, but she wore none. She sipped on a ginger ale and studied her menu.

In contrast, Froman looked large and imposing, tilting his chair back, too big and tall for the small table. He had loosened his expensive tie and was halfway through a martini when we came in. He also was talking on his cell phone and ignoring Gert. I am forever amazed at the rudeness of the dedicated narcissist.

Gert looked up and smiled at me as Bill pulled out a chair for me opposite Froman, who continued on his phone call.

Gert whispered, “I’m so glad to see you apply for this position, Dr. Solaris. It’s great to have a female top candidate even if she doesn’t win. It’s so encouraging.”

“It will be even more encouraging if I get the job,” I said, smiling back as brightly as I could. Gert rubbed her hands together as if she had just put on lotion. We all have our own nervous tells. Mine used to be twisting a strand of my hair, until my father persuaded me it was childish.

It was warm in the restaurant so I removed my jacket and instantly wished I’d worn a high neck blouse instead of a scoop neck silk tee under the jacket.

Froman, still talking on his phone, focused intently on the visible part of my cleavage.

Froman ended his call and finished his martini. After a dab of his napkin, he extended his sizeable hand across the table and shook mine with a heartiness that almost tipped over the salt and pepper. “Well now, Dr. Red Solaris, how are you doing?”

God, I wanted a drink, but didn’t dare. “Fine, thank you,” I said shifting my attention to the waiter to request sparkling water.

We ordered and when the food came, Froman took over. “Let’s get right to it, Dr. Solaris. This morning you told us what you did last year and how difficult it was. Now then, explain to this unenlightened old outsider exactly what a university dean normally does.”

I looked at him steadily. “Mr. Froman, I doubt you are all that unenlightened, but for the sake of this conversation, a dean is the leader and key administrator of the college. She normally manages faculty, staff, curriculum, and budget. She must also be a good fundraiser and a good marketer of her school.”

Froman attended to a forkful of veal. Bill and Gert ate salads and said nothing. Froman finished chewing. “And what traits or dispositions would you say a dean needs to be successful?”

I swallowed, trying to appear thoughtful. “A successful dean has a clear vision for her school. She is skilled at listening to different points of view and creating effective teams…”

“Ah yes, that’s important. Effective teams. And you think you can create teams with those lunatic journalists at your school?” Froman was still having difficulty looking at my face instead of my breasts. I raised my hand up and, with a pointed index finger, drew an invisible line from my breasts up to my face. His eyes obeyed and followed my finger and, for a moment, I was sure the self-important Mark Froman actually blushed at his own lewdness.

Bill came to the rescue with a different tack. Gert listened but had little to say. And, finally, after what seemed the longest lunch of my life, we were done.

On the drive home, Bill said, “I hope you’re ready for the downside. A dean’s calendar is not her own. You get really tired of the twenty-four hour pace and the lack of control over your own time. And once you’ve been a dean for a while, you realize that, after you’ve settled old scores, built teams, counseled faculty and all that, your job can be fairly lonely.”

“Any cure for that?”

“Friendship, my friend. Other deans help me all the time. You already have Sadie Hawkins close to you. That’s good. She’s the wisest of us all. But get to know the rest of us as soon as you can. We can be there for you when you feel blue and isolated.”

“So it really is lonely at the top?”

“It can be, my dear.”

“After the year I’ve just been through, I think I know something about that already.” But, of course, Bill Verden was right, because the people who pulled me through the chaos of the school last year were Joe and Sadie and good faculty friends who had been loyal throughout.

Verden dropped me off in the parking lot. A group of students had gathered at the front of the lot under the cherry trees, laughing and teasing one another. A few were African-American. None of them was Jamie Congers. Damn.