A Fugitive Truth: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,17

me that my continued presence at Caldwell College in Maine was on the line, just as I’d gotten away from those worries for the moment to submerge myself in my own work, real research for a change. Until now I’d thought of him as a balding, second-rate Dickensian villain, a pain that came with the territory. But I knew from my experiences with him over the past several years, that his call wasn’t just insensitivity, wasn’t just social maladroitness, he was genuinely screwing with my head, now that he was in a real position to do so.

Congratulations, Dean Belcher. You’ve just been promoted to sadist, first class.

I looked down and realized that I’d wrapped the phone cord around my hands and was pulling so hard that I’d managed to straighten some of the curls out. I unwound the cord from my hands carefully, noticing how I’d managed to cut off the circulation in them without even thinking about it: The ends of my fingers were red and cold and there was a deep, white groove where the cord had bitten into my flesh. My hands were trembling, and I tasted bile at the back of my throat, the way I do when I’ve been hit too many times at my Krav Maga class and I’m ready to tear the lungs out of my instructor Nolan’s chest if he’d only let me get close enough to do it. I knew from experience that it was a bad place to be, and I felt powerless to do anything about it.

I let go of the last of the cord and turned around to go to my room. I nearly ran into Jack, who suddenly appeared on the stairs, just about eye-level with my fists. He stumbled backward and would have fallen, had I not steadied him by grabbing his shirt.

“Oh, my God! What is this?” Jack said. “I thought it would be quiet out here.” He had been wearing his headphones and must have been scared to death to see me appear suddenly.

I flushed at being caught acting so. “I’m sorry, Jack! I…don’t know what came over me. Yes, I do, it was my dean. I apologize.”

“Hmmph.” An opportunity presented itself and a sly look crossed his face. “Well, no harm done. Perhaps you would care to join me in a drop of something to calm the nerves?”

I was about to decline, but I felt so guilty about having scared him that I agreed. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

As Jack went off chattering and humming to himself, Michael slouched up the stairs, still dressed in his overcoat. I was beginning to believe that he’d been born in a tiny London Fog.

“Care to join us, Michael?” Jack had returned and was very excited to have company in what was clearly his favorite pastime. He’d brought out a bottle of cheap cherry brandy.

Michael eyed the bottle askance. “Thanks, I won’t. But I will watch you and Emma enjoy it.” A blank expression crossed his face. “I’d have thought you could make it up the stairs without tossing back another shot.”

“Oh, Michael!” All atwitter with the unexpected attention, Jack explained the reason for the impromptu party in the sitting room.

I took a sip and instantly my teeth ached to crawl back into my jawbone. My stomach rebelled, and I noticed Michael was leaning back, half-glasses perched pretentiously on his nose, watching me with vast amusement.

“Deans are a malignant force of nature.” He shrugged. “Can’t be helped. It only gets worse, in our little slice of purgatory.”

“Pshaw, you dreadful thing, that’s no help!” Jack swatted at Michael, who rolled his eyes. He took another sip, his round little eyes bright with the liquor, and took his glasses off to clean them as he spoke. “Oh, my dear, you must take heart! You see, both Michael and I have been through precisely the same thing, and now look at us. Just fine.”

And if the sickening brandy wasn’t cause enough, I almost lost my dinner when Jack licked the lenses of his glasses, then dried them off with his sweaty shirttail.

Michael made a rude, wet noise in the back of his throat. “Yes, Emma. Do look carefully at us.” He heaved himself off the wall. “That’s enough frolicking for one evening. Night all.”

I threw back the rest of the thimbleful of liquor so that it wouldn’t linger on the palate and said “Thanks, good night” to Jack. But it was with that revolting taste, the churning in my stomach