Ghost to the Rescue by Carolyn Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

what she saw as the department chair’s wish.
    We found a small table around the corner from the bar, quiet enough that we could speak comfortably, and ordered wine.
    â€œI suppose”—her tone was casual—“you only focus on the positive aspects of a program.”
    I lifted my chin, said firmly, “I report what I find, good and bad. Otherwise we would have no credibility.”
    She nodded and I thought I saw a flicker of a satisfied smile. “Yes, of course. That’s understandable. Goddard is extremely fortunate to have someone of Dr. Randall’s caliber. He is a superb . . .”
    I drew out a notepad from my purse, looked attentive, and made notes. Maureen was extremely positive, as would be expected in speaking of a superior, but I thought her admiration for the department chair was genuine.
    â€œ. . . and he is always alert to creating a curriculum that addresses what students need to know. That means a great deal to students.” She nodded in approval. “Now, how can I help you?”
    There was quick intelligence in the depths of her violet eyes. More, there was sensibility and intuitiveness and perception.
    I chose my words carefully as I met her gaze. It was as if she drew in my words, arranged them, analyzed them, foresaw possibilities beyond my understanding. “. . . and if you could give me a sense of Jay Knox’s character?”
    â€œJay’s character.” I heard a slight tremor in her low, soft voice, though her haggard face remained as it had been, quite lovely but clearly a faded beauty.
    â€œJay is young. Perhaps you can gain a better picture of him from someone nearer in age.” She smoothed back a tendril of midnight dark hair. “I suggest you speak to one of our recent graduates.” She paused as if thinking, her glance roaming the area. “I see Liz Baker.” She nodded toward the small table a few feet from us.
    Liz now sat alone, misery evident in the droop of her narrow face. One hand turned a half-empty glass around and around.
    Maureen’s face was unreadable. “I believe Jay offerededitorial help to Liz.” Maureen’s voice was uninflected. It was as if she wished to be clear that this was a casual suggestion, possibly helpful, possibly not. “You might talk to her, gain some knowledge about Jay’s work with hopeful authors.”
    â€œI’ll do that. I understand Jay heads up the creative writing section and you work for him.”
    The hollows deepened in her cheeks. “It would be more accurate to say we both work in the same area.” There was coolness in her tone.
    â€œIs he a good teacher?”
    She shrugged. “I couldn’t say. Jay and I teach our own classes. Students are in a better position to judge professors.”
    See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. She was not only intelligent, she was very, very careful. Yet I sensed an undercurrent of emotion. Did she like Jay, dislike him? Was I imagining this undercurrent?
    She gazed at wine that gleamed like gold in the glass. “Excellent Chablis.” As if as an afterthought, she said, “You might want to talk to Professor Lewis. Ashton Lewis. He has strong opinions about faculty standards.” Her voice again was uninflected. Again a flicker of a smile.
    She took a last sip of wine, put the glass on the table with finality. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Hope.”
    â€œOne last thing,” I said hurriedly before she could rise. I offered a conspiratorial smile. “I’m sure you’re in the know about the new faculty member in creative writing.”
    Her lovely face was suddenly still and watchful. Obviously, she had no idea.
    I leaned closer, whispered. “Deirdre Davenport appears to bean excellent choice.” Would it matter to Jay Knox if he learned that the conference was burbling about Deirdre’s expected appointment? It couldn’t do any