Fall Semester by Stephanie Fournet Read Free Book Online Page B

about a dozen vehicles in the parking lot, no pedestrians were in sight, and the University Police patrol car that often parked under the two oaks on Rex Street was blessedly absent.
    He popped the remote to unlock the trunk of the Accord and took another look around before opening it. The 6mm was still tucked under jumper cables, but he wished he’d thought to at least wrap it in a towel. Wasting no time, Malcolm placed the box inside the trunk, took off the lid and shielded the AMT with one hand as he grabbed the handle with the other. It was in the box. He picked it up, clutched it to his chest, and slammed the trunk behind him.
    Heart hammering, he fixed his eyes in front of him and marched back to Griffin Hall. As he did, a patrol car cruised down Rex and stopped at the corner of Lewis Street. Malcolm swallowed hard, knowing that he could not let his panic run away with him.
    He pulled open the door and sped up the stairs. At the second floor he heard voices coming from the bullpen, the office that housed the eight T.A. cubicles on the south end of Griffin. Other than the lingering grad students, the floor seemed empty.
    At last, he reached his office and locked the door behind him. A sigh rushed out of him as he let his heart slow. Malcolm scanned his office. The only place where he would feel safe leaving the gun was in the bottom drawer of his file cabinet. He opened the file, slid the stack of folders forward, took the gun out of the box, and tucked it into the darkness. He slid the drawer back, heard it click, and locked the files.
    Malcolm let himself collapse in one of the wooden armchairs opposite his desk. It had not gone as he’d planned, but that danger was behind him. Now, he just had to face the words.
    Drained and nearly limp, Malcolm packed his briefcase and locked up his office. A maintenance worker pushed a dust mop across the floor in front of the closed department office. Two of the three rows of fluorescent lights above had been turned off. As Malcolm headed for the stairs, figures stepped out of the bullpen, closing up behind them.
    “Oh, hi, Dr. Vashal.”
    Malcolm squinted to see Maren, Helene, and Jess crossing to the stairwell. He guessed that it was Maren who had greeted him. He nodded and let them descend ahead of him. They were quiet, and he wished they would converse among themselves as if he weren’t at their heels. This was not to be. Maren looked over her shoulder at him.
    “Friday night is no time to work, Dr. Vashal,” she said.
    Malcolm could not think of a response.
    “Is that so?” he said finally, wishing only to reach the last stair and aim for his car.
    “Who was it who had to finish grading freshman journals?” Helene intoned with irony.
    “Yes, exactly. Friday evening is the time to finish work. And I’ll study tomorrow,…” Maren conceded. “But now I’m having a drink….You look like you could use one, too, Dr. Vashal.”
    How dare she? Malcolm gave her a look of shock. Dalton laughed.
    That bastard.
    “Give it up, Maren,” he said, still laughing. “Dr. Vashal isn’t really the party type.”
    Malcolm could not stand to watch the boy laugh at him, but the biting remark that should have leapt to his lips failed to present itself. The truth was he probably did look like he needed a drink. He felt utterly depleted. He would go to Bisbano’s—if only to make it impossible for him to face La Fuente de Piedra before morning. But he’d be damned if he’d let Dalton laugh.
    “Always so full of shat, Dalton,” Malcolm said, evenly. “I’ll buy your first round just to stop your mouth.”
    The look that overtook Dalton’s face was worth the price.
    Malcolm arrived at Bisbano’s and headed downstairs to the cellar to find the English department commanding two long tables pushed end to end. MacIntosh, St. Marks, and Russo were there, but, thankfully, Rainey had toddled home to his wife.
    True to his word, Malcolm stopped at the bar before joining them and