Dr. Nunley had definitely been spoiling for a confrontation, and if he thought I was going to forget he'd called my brother a pimp, he had another thought coming.
'Do you know him, Ms. Connelly?'
'I don't know him,' I said firmly. In an existential sense, this was the truth. Do any of us know each other, really? I was sure the staff would back me up with no qualms if they thought Dr. Nunley was a stranger off the street, out to harass me. The minute I said the words 'Doctor' and 'Bingham College' I'd lose some of my own stature as a wronged female.
My new assistant, Mr. Student, said, 'In that case, mister, I think you should leave. And in view of the fact that you seem drunk, I'd call a cab if I were you.'
The clerk made a courteous gesture toward the door, as if Dr. Nunley were an honored guest. 'One of our bellmen will be happy to call a cab for you,' the clerk said in a sunny voice. 'Right this way.'
And before Dr. Nunley could regroup, he was out onto the sidewalk and under the watchful eye of the two bellmen who stood there waiting for cars to pull up.
'Thanks,' I said to Mr. Student. 'I didn't get your name yesterday.'
'Rick Goldman.'
'Harper Connelly,' I said, with a little nod. I shook his hand, though my own was not steady. 'How did you come to be on the right spot at the right moment, Mr. Goldman?'
'Rick, please. 'Mr. Goldman' makes me feel even older than I am. Would you care to sit and talk for a minute?' There were two brocaded wing chairs at a comfortable angle and distance for conversation.
I hesitated, tempted. I wasn't as calm and steady as I was making out. In fact, I was still shaking. I'd been taken by surprise, and in a bad kind of way. 'For a minute,' I said carefully, and sank down as gracefully as I could manage. I didn't want Rick Goldman to know exactly how shaky I was.
He sat opposite me, his square dark face carefully blank. 'I'm an alumnus of Bingham,' he said.
That told me absolutely nothing. 'So are lots of other people, but I don't see them here now,' I said. 'What's your point?'
'I was a cop on the Memphis force for years. Now I'm a private investigator.'
'Okay.' I wished he'd cut the circling around and arrive at the point.
'The board of trustees is pretty sharply divided right now,' Rick Goldman said. Okay, I was getting bored. I raised my eyebrows and nodded encouragingly.
'There's a liberal majority and a conservative minority. That minority is very concerned with Bingham's public profile. When that conservative faction of the board found out what Clyde was doing in his class, they asked if I would oversee the visiting speakers.'
'Keep your fingers on the pulse,' I said.
He seemed quite serious. I had a feeling Rick Goldman was a serious kind of guy. 'Clyde didn't suspect you?'
'I paid my money and signed up for the class,' Rick Goldman said. 'Nothing he could do about it.'
'The older lady in the class, she a monitor, too?'
'Nah, she just likes to take anthropology classes.'
I thought about this for a second. 'So, you just happened to be standing in the lobby here this evening?'
'No, not exactly.'
'Following Clyde, were you?'
'No. He's boring. You're a lot more interesting.'
I wasn't exactly sure how the private detective meant that.
'So have you been following me and my brother?'
'No. But I have been waiting here for you. I wanted to ask you some questions, after watching you in action yesterday.'
I owed him the Q&A, after his timely intervention in the Clyde Nunley incident. 'I'll listen,' I said, which was more than I usually did.
'How'd you do it?' He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on my face. If the circumstances had been different it might have been a flattering moment. But I was afraid I knew what he meant, and that wasn't flattering at all.
I looked back at him with the same intensity. 'You know I couldn't have learned any of that ahead of time,' I said. 'You know that, right?'
'Were you in cahoots with Clyde? And now you've had a falling out?'
'No, Mr. Goldman. I'm not in cahoots with anyone. I don't think I've ever heard anyone even say that phrase out loud, by the way.' I broke eye contact, sighed. 'I'm the real thing. You may not want to believe it, but eventually you'll have to. Thanks again.' I got up and walked very carefully over to the elevators. My leg was still not steady, and it would be too embarrassing if I fell down.
I punched the up button with a quick stab of my finger. The elevator obligingly opened, and I stepped in, punching our floor number with a quick sideways motion of my hand. I stood with my back to the door so I wouldn't have to see him again.
I was ashamed that I had needed help. If I were as tough as I wanted to be, I could have thrown Clyde Nunley to the floor and kicked him. But that might have been a slight overreaction. I found myself smiling at the back wall of the elevator. I guess I'm the kind of woman who smiles when she thinks about kicking a man when he's down; at least, that man.
