Theodore was Mark’s twenty-five-pound Maine Coon cat, and a permanent fixture around campus. Mark found him as a kitten abandoned outside Dexler three years ago and had no idea how much cat he was getting. Maine Coons are known for their impressive statures, but Theodore was at least ten pounds overweight. Mark taught Theodore to walk on a leash, and it wasn’t uncommon to see the two of them strolling across campus together. Many students carried cat treats or goodies from the cafeteria in their knapsacks for Theodore, resulting in his present obesity.
“I left the windows down,” he defended himself.
Mark and I raced back across campus to the small faculty lot behind Dexler. The fastest way to reach the lot was to dash by the fountain. I saw Lepcheck’s gaze follow us as we flew by. We were the spitting image of respectable faculty.
Mark’s hybrid car was one of three cars in the lot, and like he promised, the windows were down. I reached the car first. Theodore lay on the backseat of the small car, on his back, his front paws suspended listlessly in the air. I threw open the door and touched him. He chirped pathetically. Mark reached my side and cried, “Is he okay? Theo! Theo!”
“He’s overheated. You don’t leave him in the car like this a lot, do you?”
“No, just this once. Theo, I’m sorry.” he sniffled and patted the cat’s upturned belly.
“Let’s get him out of the car and cooled off,” I leaned into the car to pick up Theodore. When I placed my hand on his round tummy, he attacked. His claws dug into my bare arm and he bit down hard on my fingers. “Ow! Get him off me.”
Mark grabbed Theodore’s paws and pried them from my skin. I knocked Theo on the head, and he relinquished my fingers. I inspected my arm. Tiny puncture marks and purple bruises dotted my forearm and hand. Blood welled up from deep scratches. I jumped away from the car and cradled my arm.
Mark pulled Theo out of the car. “Poor baby.” Theodore lay in his servant’s arms, purring happily.
There was no time to tend to my wounds. With Lepcheck lurking about I needed to get Mark off campus. I ushered man and cat toward the library.
Chapter Seven
Taking a less direct way to the library, we avoided Lepcheck and the fountain. I made Mark put on my lavender cardigan. It wasn’t much of a fashion statement, but at least it covered the bloodstains on his white dress shirt. Luckily, he was wearing dark jeans, so I didn’t have to sacrifice my skirt. Just inside the service door, Mark slumped in a padded folding chair with growling Theodore stretched across his lap.
“Stay there.” I ordered both of them.
I hurried through the workroom and collided headlong into Jefferson Island, the cataloger. The collision was more painful for me, since Jefferson is six-four and three hundred plus pounds. A transplanted Georgian who detested the north with every fiber of his being, Jefferson had dressed conservatively in a white button-down shirt and gray polyester pants. He also wore a red leather bolo tie with a pewter Dachshund charm in honor of a childhood pet.
Now he regarded me through narrowed eyes. “Miz Hayes, please watch where you’re goin’. You nearly bowled me over.”
I rubbed my aching nose. “Sorry, Jefferson.”
“Rush, rush. All you Yankees rush. It gives me a headache. Even with all that rushin’, nothing gets done. Who gets the books on the shelf around here? Me, that’s who. Who—”
His bulk thoroughly blocked my path. Frustrated, I interrupted his pity party. “Move.”
Shocked, Jefferson stepped aside. “Pardon you, young lady.”
Lasha stood behind the checkout desk reprimanding a student worker. “If you put the books in the wrong place, you might as well as burn ’em, because we sure as hell are never going to find them.”
The student, a thin junior, ducked his head to hide a defiant smirk.
“I don’t care if it takes you all day. Take that cart up, and do it right.”
The student scurried away. Lasha scrutinized him with beady disgust. “I thought they taught them numbers and letters at Martin; it appears I was sadly mistaken.” She looked at me. “Romania.”
“Lasha, can I speak to you in private?”
“Sure thing,” she said. Jefferson stood two feet behind me, watching our exchange. “Georgia, watch the desk.”
“That’s not in my job description,” the cataloger blustered. “It’s not my responsibility to watch the desk.”
“It’s only for a few minutes, and if you get into any trouble, ask one of the student workers.” She slid past him. “Are you coming, Latvia?”
Lasha shut her office door behind us. The office was the size of closet and half of the limited space was taken up by a metal desk. She sat behind the desk in a office chair she’d bought with her own money. “What’s up?”
I sat in one of the two arm chairs in the room. My knees butted up against the front of her desk as I told her about Olivia, and Mark’s involvement with the accident. She expressed sympathy, and I thanked her. “Of course, I am worried about Olivia, but I’m also concerned about Mark. I was wondering if I could take the rest of the day off.”
Lasha waved away my request. “I think this constitutes an emergency situation. Just go ahead and leave. Looker will have to come in earlier.” Looker was Lasha’s nickname for Bobby. He reveled in it. “We’re understaffed today, as it is. Dixie and a half-handful of students aren’t going to cut it.”
“He’ll love that.”
“That’s why you can call him.” Before I could protest, she rose and slipped out of the office, throwing over her shoulder, “Use my phone.”
I called Bobby’s home, but no one answered. I tried his cell.
“Bobby—”
“No to whatever you are about to ask me. No. The answer’s no.”
“Bobby, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent.”
“Like yesterday was urgent?”
“It’s Mark,” I blurted.
“What happened?”
I ran through the same story I’d spilled to Lasha, a tad more dramatically—Bobby’s tougher to sell.
After I finished, Bobby asked, “Is Olivia okay?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Last I heard, she was unconscious.”
I heard hushed conversation on Bobby’s side of the line. “Who are you talking to?”
More muffled voices, one of which sounded suspiciously female. “Bree,” he finally answered.
“Olivia’s Bree?”
“I’m showing her around Stripling.”
“Uh-huh. You work fast,
“Listen, Bree just called the Blockens on her cell. She’s heading to the hospital to meet them.” Dramatic pause. “I’ll come in.”
“Thanks, Bobby, you’re the best. I swear to God, you’re an angel. If I had any musical talent, I’d write a ballad about your greatness.”
“Charming. There’s a
“A
“Oh, yeah. Library orientation.
In the third week of August, the freshmen would arrive on campus. The new students have a few carefree days before the upperclassmen arrive lurking for prey, and the administration slams them into classrooms with overburdened faculty. By the second week, early post-adolescent synapses zap and the freshmen realize that college wasn’t ultimate recess, but
