The Rise of the Red Queen Page 3

  “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.

  Chapter 4

  Wynan Congers showed up precisely at three that afternoon. Nell followed him into my office with mugs of coffee neither he nor I had requested. Nell was a natural caregiver.

  “My father was a chief of police in Tucson,” she said, handing Wynan Congers his mug.

  “Was he now? And I’ll bet he was a good chief,” said Congers, still standing close to Nell.

  She smiled up at him.

  “Did you ever serve?” he asked.

  “No. I wanted to join the force, but I wasn’t strong enough to pass the physical.”

  I wondered where this was going. I’d never seen Nell talk about herself to a visitor. And Congers, though obsessed with finding his granddaughter, seemed to have momentarily diverted his attention to my still pretty, if aging, assistant.

  Just as I was about to clear my throat and remind them I was in the room, Everett Jones knocked on the frame of my office door.

  “Please come in, Ev. Mr. Congers, this is Everett Jones, one of our adjunct professors. He’s in charge of the lab where Jamie works. Ev, this is Wynan Congers, Jamie Congers’ grandfather. He’s worried about Jamie’s absence.”

  “So am I,” said Ev. “She’s usually very prompt and responsible. It’s been a problem for me the last couple of days not to have her. Is she ill?”

  “She’s missing,” said Congers, annoyed but straining for composure. “I’m surprised you haven’t reported it.”

  Ev stuttered. “Uh, I’m sorry, sir. I don’t usually report absent students when it’s just been a day or so. I mean, I figure they’re old enough to know what they’re doing…or what they’re missing.”

  The older man made a noise in the ba
ck of his throat as close to a growl as I cared to hear.

  Ev, who was as tall as Congers but easily intimidated, turned to me. “Actually, when she didn’t answer my calls, I thought she might just be cutting class and I was thinking about appointing another student to her job. But I guess if she’s missing, I’ll wait until she’s…uh…found…I mean…”

  Nell, sensing the tension between them, interrupted. “I’m sure she’ll be found soon, Mr. Congers. And, Dr. Jones, it would be good to hold off on a new assistant and to make sure everyone in the lab knows that the job still belongs to Jamie.”

  How about that? Nell never interrupted, and this was the first time I’d ever seen her take control of a situation. Perhaps I should give my assistant more responsibility.

  Congers looked calmer. “What about the students in the lab on Monday night? Did any of them see anything that would help?”

  “I’ll be happy to talk to them,” Ev began.

  “I think I’d prefer to have the dean’s detective friend talk to them, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fine,” said Ev. “Just let me know.” Ev wanted more than anything to be a tenured member of our faculty, and had applied for an assistant professorship.

  If he got it, he’d have to prove to me and the other senior faculty that he merited tenure.

  The tenure track can be slippery in a university and one major error, or one offended faculty member voting against you, could make all the difference.

  My turn. “We will let you know, Ev. You know Detective Joe Morgan of the Landry police?”

  “He’s the guy who investigated the dean’s death last year.”

  “Right. Joe will want to talk to you, your students, and others. Please make yourself available when he calls.”

  “Sure will. Nice to meet you, Mr. Congers. Uh…sorry about the circumstances. I hope this works out soon.” Ev’s feet were already in the hall outside my door by the end of his last sentence.

  Congers turned to me. “When do you think I’ll hear again from Morgan?”

  “I’m sure he’ll call you this evening or before. Nell gave him your cell number.”

  Congers regarded Nell. “Thank you, Mrs. Bishop.” He shook my hand and Nell’s and left.

  When we were alone I gave in to my curiosity. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I do. He’s very good-looking.”

  “Never known you to care about how people look.” I smiled and sat down in my desk chair.

  Nell stepped closer to my desk, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “My grandfather was African-American. Mr. Congers reminds me of him.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “Yes. A bit darker than Mr. Congers, but every bit as good-looking.”

  I smiled up at her smooth pale face. “I didn’t know.”

  “Most people don’t.” She smiled back. “I’ve never tried to deny it, but I’ve also never seen much reason to discuss my racial background. I don’t mind telling you my tall, handsome grandfather’s the one who gave me my big brown eyes.”

  I swear she turned to leave my office with what looked like a tiny dance step.

  Chapter 5

  That evening I waited for Joe Morgan to call or show up. I paced my living room, trying not to drink my wine too quickly. This was the kind of evening when I wished I could better predict Joe’s movements. A silly thought. No woman can predict the activity or the whereabouts of a man who devotes his life to examining evidence that makes us shudder and hunting down human beings the rest of us call the scum of the earth.

  But for all the miserable folk he encountered, Joe understood and shared my soft spot for students. Even though our students were all over the legal age and many very responsible and grown up, I kept tabs on a few who seem to need a bit more in loco parentis.

  As I once told Joe, “In the olden days, before the liberating 1960s, parents had every expectation that the university would watch over their offspring. Those were the days of deans of students and dormitory housemothers and proctors who monitored students more closely.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, but then came the student protests, and students’ demands for privacy and freedom. And students won. Yet, as a cop, I was still always surprised when parents didn’t receive reports of misbehavior.”

  “They didn’t receive grades either.”

  By the end of the protests, grades were not sent home. Faculty were prohibited from discussing an individual’s academic progress. Even the so-called “helicopter parents,” who dropped in constantly, were frustrated by university laws on student privacy.

  Usually I supported the new rules and respected students’ decisions to be on their own. But earlier that day, I’d watched a courageous retired cop rage inside at the thought his granddaughter might be in danger.

  I wished we’d kept better track of her. I wished I’d gotten to know her better.

  At last I heard the familiar sound of Joe’s car in my driveway.

  “Hi there,” he said with a soft kiss on my mouth. He looked at the wine glass in my hand. “I see you started without me.”

  “I’m a wreck,” I said. “I’m starting to worry about Jamie Congers. I believe her grandfather when he says she would have told someone if she planned to leave.”

  “I believe him too,” said Joe, taking off his jacket and draping it over a chair. “Pour me some of that wine and I’ll tell you what little I found out.” As was his custom in my house, he sat down in my favorite living room chair, ignoring my books clearly displayed on the side table. “And then I want you to tell me about that search meeting this morning.”

  “Oh, I can’t even think about the search committee right now. It’s in the hands of the gods.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at dinner tonight with the chair of the committee?”

  “Yes, but, just as well, she postponed until later this week. Since she’s the chair, I guess she can set the schedule anyway she wants.” I sat on the sofa opposite Joe. “Besides, I want to focus on Jamie Congers right now.”

  Joe’s green eyes grew darker and he put his chin in his hands. “Her grandfather’s an interesting guy who, from all reports, was a hell of a cop and a hell of a leader in his department. I checked him out. He has a lot of friends on the Vegas force who want me to do whatever I can.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to anyone else?”

  “Yes, I talked to Ev Jones and the students who were in the lab Monday night, the last people who saw her. I also stopped at Jamie’s apartment and talked to her roommate, Marilyn Ford.”

  “You’ve been busy. That’s great.”

  “But I haven’t gotten much.”

  “Oh, damn.” I poured myself another glass of wine.

  “Easy going, sport. You don’t want to turn into an alcoholic over a missing student.” Joe knew all about my mother’s drinking problems.

  I put my glass down on the coffee table. “Don’t worry. But, please, details.”

  Joe crossed his long legs. He’d been a basketball player in college and still kept himself lean and in shape. When I first met him, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. And even after we began to see each other, I still delighted in the effect his rugged features and surprising humor had on me—and every other woman in the vicinity.

  Sadie loved his jokes, even the corniest. “He’s my storybook hero. Great body. Strong face. Good mind. You’re a lucky woman, Red Solaris.” Sadie invariably took Joe’s side when we had debates at our dinners together.

  Joe took another sip of wine and began. “You know that Jamie was an only child whose parents both died fighting in Afghanistan. And that Wynan raised her in Las Vegas. The guys on the force there told me she’s absolutely the light of his life and they really want me to find her because they don’t think Wynan can make it without her. I have orders to succeed. They also told me she ha
d a boyfriend there who later joined the force. No lead, though. The rookie is now married and was on duty Monday night.”

  “What about the students in Ev’s lab class?”

  “A few were absent, but the ones I interviewed said she was a good lab monitor. Apparently, she really helped some of the freshman with computer programs. They describe her as beautiful and private. They knew her name. That’s all. No one saw anyone suspicious that night.”

  “Could one of the students…”

  “Sure. I have to interview those who missed class today and each one, alone, to rule that out. Same for Everett Jones.”

  “Oh, I hope Ev isn’t involved. I won’t be able to stand it if another teacher has gotten in trouble with a student.”

  Joe’s face looked grim and he leaned back in the chair, his hands now on top of his head. “Let’s not assume Ev Jones had anything to do with it.”

  Charlie went over to Joe and put his head on Joe’s knee. Joe scratched his ears and neck. Charlie loves Joe. In fact, Charlie loves both of us unconditionally, which is more than I can say for most people. Our world might be better if our temperaments were more like dogs and less like dragons.

  “Am I cooking tonight or are you?” Joe was a magician in the kitchen, but there was no way he’d found time to shop. And he looked worn out.

  “Neither of us. Let’s order in some Chinese. I am too tired to light the grill.”

  Joe stood and walked over to the couch. He put his hands on my shoulders and his fingers reached around the back of my neck and began a slow, delicious massage. He leaned into me, kissed the top of my ear and whispered, “An agnostic professor suffers from insomnia and dyslexia and stays up all night wondering if there really is a dog.”

  What more could a woman want.

  I turned to him and smiled just as he leaned in to kiss me. “Then, of course, there’s the dyslexic cop who goes around arresting IUDs.”