Dog Helps Those (Golden Retriever Mysteries) by Neil S. Plakcy Read Free Book Online Page A

was walking out, Lou Segusi said, “Hey, Prof, can I talk to you?”
    I picked up my bag. “I need to get back to my office. Can you talk on the way to Fields Hall?”
    “Sure.” He hesitated, then jumped in. “So, I’ve been doing this tutoring gig at the Writing Lab, like I’m supposed to.”
    He had been pressured into writing papers for a couple of other students, and while they had been expelled I had argued on his behalf, and he had agreed to volunteer for tutoring in the lab, which helped students improve their writing.
    “How’s that going?” I asked, as we walked outside.
    “Real good, real good. But there is this problem.”
    “Hey! Lou!”
    We both turned at the sound of a young woman’s voice. She was a voluptuous brunette with skin the color of very light coffee. “Oh, hey, Des,” he said.
    He turned to me. “This is Desiree.”
    I nodded. Lou had been sneaking around with Desiree earlier in the term, and when her boyfriend found out, he’d broken Lou’s arm. All part of the drama of undergraduate life; I remembered a number of similar incidents when I was a student.
    “This is Professor Levitan,” Lou said to Desiree. “The one I told you about.”
    Desiree came up to Lou and snuggled under his arm. I noticed it was the one that hadn’t been broken. “Listen, I’ll talk to you about that later, Prof,” Lou said. “Thanks.”
    “Sure. You know where my office is.”
    They turned away from me, and I wondered what Lou’s problem was. I hoped it wasn’t going to involve police action—as his previous problems had. I’d had enough of that.
    When I got back to my office I still hadn’t heard from Rick, so I called and left another message. I spent the rest of the afternoon coordinating details for an alumni reception during graduation weekend. Mike was hoping to put together a group he wanted to solicit for major gifts for the capital campaign, and I knew everything had to be perfect.
    As I was shutting down my computer for the day, Rick finally called. “Got your messages but I’ve been swamped all day. You up for a beer tonight? We can talk about whatever you want then.”
    “Sure. Let me take Rochester home, and I’ll meet you at the Drunken Hessian around six. We can get a couple of burgers.”
     Spring was bursting out all over campus as Rochester and I walked back to my car, and I could see that the Building and Grounds department had been busy prettying up the place in advance of graduation. Tulips, daffodils and hyacinths bloomed in big clay pots, the grass was neatly trimmed, and new, darker asphalt covered the winter’s potholes.
    Rochester stopped several times to sniff and pee, and I enjoyed the fresh evening air. Around us, students hurried from dorms to libraries lugging rolling suitcases full of textbooks. The palpable sense of urgency and desperation around us probably had to do with final exams coming up.
    A pair of students passed us as we were entering the parking lot. “I can’t believe he’s going to fail me,” a girl in a Burberry skirt cried. “I went to every class. Just because I didn’t write the papers.”
    “These professors are assholes,” her friend said. “They have no sense of priorities. I tried to explain to my organic chemistry professor about James getting tickets for the Squashed Mushrooms concert on Monday night in Philadelphia, and asked if I could take the final exam some other day. He stared at me like I was crazy.”
    I’d heard many similar stories from my own students, and I had probably said the same kind of thing when I was an undergrad. I refrained from commenting to either girl.
    That reminded me of Lou Segusi, and I wondered again what his problem was. I hoped he hadn’t gone farther than he was supposed to with his tutoring, writing the papers for students he was supposed to be helping with grammar and structure.
    Then Rochester strained ahead, and reminded me what my real priority was. Taking care of one very bossy