Red Solaris Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Bourne Morris

  Froman attended to a forkful of veal. Bill and Gert ate salads and said nothing. Froman finished chewing. “And what traits or dispositions would you say a dean needs to be successful?”

  I swallowed, trying to appear thoughtful. “A successful dean has a clear vision for her school. She is skilled at listening to different points of view and creating effective teams…”

  “Ah yes, that’s important. Effective teams. And you think you can create teams with those lunatic journalists at your school?” Froman was still having difficulty looking at my face instead of my breasts. I raised my hand up and, with a pointed index finger, drew an invisible line from my breasts up to my face. His eyes obeyed and followed my finger and, for a moment, I was sure the self-important Mark Froman actually blushed at his own lewdness.

  Bill came to the rescue with a different tack. Gert listened but had little to say. And, finally, after what seemed the longest lunch of my life, we were done.

  On the drive home, Bill said, “I hope you’re ready for the downside. A dean’s calendar is not her own. You get really tired of the twenty-four hour pace and the lack of control over your own time. And once you’ve been a dean for a while, you realize that, after you’ve settled old scores, built teams, counseled faculty and all that, your job can be fairly lonely.”

  “Any cure for that?”

  “Friendship, my friend. Other deans help me all the time. You already have Sadie Hawkins close to you. That’s good. She’s the wisest of us all. But get to know the rest of us as soon as you can. We can be there for you when you feel blue and isolated.”

  “So it really is lonely at the top?”

  “It can be, my dear.”

  “After the year I’ve just been through, I think I know something about that already.” But, of course, Bill Verden was right, because the people who pulled me through the chaos of the school last year were Joe and Sadie and good faculty friends who had been loyal throughout.

  Verden dropped me off in the parking lot. A group of students had gathered at the front of the lot under the cherry trees, laughing and teasing one another. A few were African-American. None of them was Jamie Congers. Damn.

  Chapter 4

  Wynan Congers showed up precisely at three that afternoon. Nell followed him into my office with mugs of coffee neither he nor I had requested. Nell was a natural caregiver.

  “My father was a chief of police in Tucson,” she said, handing Wynan Congers his mug.

  “Was he now? And I’ll bet he was a good chief,” said Congers, still standing close to Nell.

  She smiled up at him.

  “Did you ever serve?” he asked.

  “No. I wanted to join the force, but I wasn’t strong enough to pass the physical.”

  I wondered where this was going. I’d never seen Nell talk about herself to a visitor. And Congers, though obsessed with finding his granddaughter, seemed to have momentarily diverted his attention to my still pretty, if aging, assistant.

  Just as I was about to clear my throat and remind them I was in the room, Everett Jones knocked on the frame of my office door.

  “Please come in, Ev. Mr. Congers, this is Everett Jones, one of our adjunct professors. He’s in charge of the lab where Jamie works. Ev, this is Wynan Congers, Jamie Congers’ grandfather. He’s worried about Jamie’s absence.”

  “So am I,” said Ev. “She’s usually very prompt and responsible. It’s been a problem for me the last couple of days not to have her. Is she ill?”

  “She’s missing,” said Congers, annoyed but straining for composure. “I’m surprised you haven’t reported it.”

  Ev stuttered. “Uh, I’m sorry, sir. I don’t usually report absent students when it’s just been a day or so. I mean, I figure they’re old enough to know what they’re doing…or what they’re missing.”

  The older man made a noise in the back of his throat as close to a growl as I cared to hear.

  Ev, who was as tall as Congers but easily intimidated, turned to me. “Actually, when she didn’t answer my calls, I thought she might just be cutting class and I was thinking about appointing another student to her job. But I guess if she’s missing, I’ll wait until she’s…uh…found…I mean…”

  Nell, sensing the tension between them, interrupted. “I’m sure she’ll be found soon, Mr. Congers. And, Dr. Jones, it would be good to hold off on a new assistant and to make sure everyone in the lab knows that the job still belongs to Jamie.”

  How about that? Nell never interrupted, and this was the first time I’d ever seen her take control of a situation. Perhaps I should give my assistant more responsibility.

  Congers looked calmer. “What about the students in the lab on Monday night? Did any of them see anything that would help?”

  “I’ll be happy to talk to them,” Ev began.

  “I think I’d prefer to have the dean’s detective friend talk to them, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fine,” said Ev. “Just let me know.” Ev wanted more than anything to be a tenured member of our faculty, and had applied for an assistant professorship.

  If he got it, he’d have to prove to me and the other senior faculty that he merited tenure.

  The tenure track can be slippery in a university and one major error, or one offended faculty member voting against you, could make all the difference.

  My turn. “We will let you know, Ev. You know Detective Joe Morgan of the Landry police?”

  “He’s the guy who investigated the dean’s death last year.”

  “Right. Joe will want to talk to you, your students, and others. Please make yourself available when he calls.”

  “Sure will. Nice to meet you, Mr. Congers. Uh…sorry about the circumstances. I hope this works out soon.” Ev’s feet were already in the hall outside my door by the end of his last sentence.

  Congers turned to me. “When do you think I’ll hear again from Morgan?”

  “I’m sure he’ll call you this evening or before. Nell gave him your cell number.”

  Congers regarded Nell. “Thank you, Mrs. Bishop.” He shook my hand and Nell’s and left.

  When we were alone I gave in to my curiosity. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I do. He’s very good-looking.”

  “Never known you to care about how people look.” I smiled and sat down in my desk chair.

  Nell stepped closer to my desk, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “My grandfather was African-American. Mr. Congers reminds me of him.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “Yes. A bit darker than Mr. Congers, but every bit as good-looking.”

  I smiled up at her smooth pale face. “I didn’t know.”

  “Most people don’t.” She smiled back. “I’ve never tried to deny it, but I’ve also never seen much reason to discuss my racial background. I don’t mind telling you my tall, handsome grandfather’s the one who gave me my big brown eyes.”

  I swear she turned to leave my office with what looked like a tiny dance step.

  Chapter 5

  That evening I waited for Joe Morgan to call or show up. I paced my living room, trying not to drink my wine too quickly. This was the kind of evening when I wished I could better predict Joe’s movements. A silly thought. No woman can predict the activity or the whereabouts of a man who devotes his life to examining evidence that makes us shudder and hunting down human beings the rest of us call the scum of the earth.

  But for all the miserable folk he encountered, Joe understood and shared my soft spot for students. Even though our students were all over the legal age and many very responsible and grown up, I kept tabs on a few who seem to need a bit more in loco parentis.

  As I once told Joe, “In the olden days, before the liberating 1960s, parents had every expectation that the university would watch over their offspring. Those were the days of deans o
f students and dormitory housemothers and proctors who monitored students more closely.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, but then came the student protests, and students’ demands for privacy and freedom. And students won. Yet, as a cop, I was still always surprised when parents didn’t receive reports of misbehavior.”

  “They didn’t receive grades either.”

  By the end of the protests, grades were not sent home. Faculty were prohibited from discussing an individual’s academic progress. Even the so-called “helicopter parents,” who dropped in constantly, were frustrated by university laws on student privacy.

  Usually I supported the new rules and respected students’ decisions to be on their own. But earlier that day, I’d watched a courageous retired cop rage inside at the thought his granddaughter might be in danger.

  I wished we’d kept better track of her. I wished I’d gotten to know her better.

  At last I heard the familiar sound of Joe’s car in my driveway.

  “Hi there,” he said with a soft kiss on my mouth. He looked at the wine glass in my hand. “I see you started without me.”

  “I’m a wreck,” I said. “I’m starting to worry about Jamie Congers. I believe her grandfather when he says she would have told someone if she planned to leave.”

  “I believe him too,” said Joe, taking off his jacket and draping it over a chair. “Pour me some of that wine and I’ll tell you what little I found out.” As was his custom in my house, he sat down in my favorite living room chair, ignoring my books clearly displayed on the side table. “And then I want you to tell me about that search meeting this morning.”

  “Oh, I can’t even think about the search committee right now. It’s in the hands of the gods.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at dinner tonight with the chair of the committee?”

  “Yes, but, just as well, she postponed until later this week. Since she’s the chair, I guess she can set the schedule anyway she wants.” I sat on the sofa opposite Joe. “Besides, I want to focus on Jamie Congers right now.”

  Joe’s green eyes grew darker and he put his chin in his hands. “Her grandfather’s an interesting guy who, from all reports, was a hell of a cop and a hell of a leader in his department. I checked him out. He has a lot of friends on the Vegas force who want me to do whatever I can.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to anyone else?”

  “Yes, I talked to Ev Jones and the students who were in the lab Monday night, the last people who saw her. I also stopped at Jamie’s apartment and talked to her roommate, Marilyn Ford.”

  “You’ve been busy. That’s great.”

  “But I haven’t gotten much.”

  “Oh, damn.” I poured myself another glass of wine.

  “Easy going, sport. You don’t want to turn into an alcoholic over a missing student.” Joe knew all about my mother’s drinking problems.

  I put my glass down on the coffee table. “Don’t worry. But, please, details.”

  Joe crossed his long legs. He’d been a basketball player in college and still kept himself lean and in shape. When I first met him, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. And even after we began to see each other, I still delighted in the effect his rugged features and surprising humor had on me—and every other woman in the vicinity.

  Sadie loved his jokes, even the corniest. “He’s my storybook hero. Great body. Strong face. Good mind. You’re a lucky woman, Red Solaris.” Sadie invariably took Joe’s side when we had debates at our dinners together.

  Joe took another sip of wine and began. “You know that Jamie was an only child whose parents both died fighting in Afghanistan. And that Wynan raised her in Las Vegas. The guys on the force there told me she’s absolutely the light of his life and they really want me to find her because they don’t think Wynan can make it without her. I have orders to succeed. They also told me she had a boyfriend there who later joined the force. No lead, though. The rookie is now married and was on duty Monday night.”

  “What about the students in Ev’s lab class?”

  “A few were absent, but the ones I interviewed said she was a good lab monitor. Apparently, she really helped some of the freshman with computer programs. They describe her as beautiful and private. They knew her name. That’s all. No one saw anyone suspicious that night.”

  “Could one of the students…”

  “Sure. I have to interview those who missed class today and each one, alone, to rule that out. Same for Everett Jones.”

  “Oh, I hope Ev isn’t involved. I won’t be able to stand it if another teacher has gotten in trouble with a student.”

  Joe’s face looked grim and he leaned back in the chair, his hands now on top of his head. “Let’s not assume Ev Jones had anything to do with it.”

  Charlie went over to Joe and put his head on Joe’s knee. Joe scratched his ears and neck. Charlie loves Joe. In fact, Charlie loves both of us unconditionally, which is more than I can say for most people. Our world might be better if our temperaments were more like dogs and less like dragons.

  “Am I cooking tonight or are you?” Joe was a magician in the kitchen, but there was no way he’d found time to shop. And he looked worn out.

  “Neither of us. Let’s order in some Chinese. I am too tired to light the grill.”

  Joe stood and walked over to the couch. He put his hands on my shoulders and his fingers reached around the back of my neck and began a slow, delicious massage. He leaned into me, kissed the top of my ear and whispered, “An agnostic professor suffers from insomnia and dyslexia and stays up all night wondering if there really is a dog.”

  What more could a woman want.

  I turned to him and smiled just as he leaned in to kiss me. “Then, of course, there’s the dyslexic cop who goes around arresting IUDs.”

  Chapter 6

  After a full day at the office, Joe and I met at the house for dinner. Neither of us had news about Jamie. We worked silently, each a bit restless, although we normally loved being in in the kitchen cooking together.

  This was the part of the day we liked best. We each had a task and a glass of wine. Charlie lay curled up under the kitchen table. I chopped carrots on a wooden board and Joe sautéed onions in butter and garlic on the stove. Heaven was the smell of Joe’s cooking.

  The doorbell rang.

  Wynan Congers stood on my small front porch. “I have some news. Maybe a lead,” he said.

  “Please come in, Mr. Congers.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Solaris. I was told Joe Morgan might be here.”

  I indicated a chair in the living room.

  Joe emerged from the kitchen. “Hi, Wynan. What’s up?”

  Congers still stood by the chair. “I may have a lead,” he said, clearly exhausted. The flesh under his eyes was swollen. “Marilyn called and said that the tenant in the next door apartment told her she saw a man entering Jamie and Marilyn’s apartment when Marilyn was in class.”

  “Did Marilyn get a description of the man?” said Joe.

  “Not really. As soon as she began to quiz the next door tenant, the woman clammed up. Marilyn may have been too eager and too free with information about Jamie being missing. She thinks the woman got spooked and stopped talking.”

  “Maybe you and I can unspook the lady,” said Joe, removing the chef’s apron I gave him for his birthday. “Let’s go see her now. Just let me turn off the spaghetti sauce.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” said Wynan, heading toward the front door.

  “If dinner’s going to be delayed, may I go too?” I spoke to Joe’s back as he turned into the kitchen. “The next door lady might feel more comfortable talking with me than with you two six-footers.”

  “Three’s kind of a crowd,” said Wynan.

  “But it might help create a sense of urgency in the woman’s mind if the dean of the sch
ool shows up,” said Joe. “Don’t worry, Chief. I can assure you that Red knows how to behave herself.” I got a wink for that.

  “Let’s go,” said Wynan, opening my front door.

  The apartment house where Jamie and Marilyn lived was a three-story brick building on the south end of campus, just across the street from the back entrance to Mountain West University. The elevator looked tiny, so the three of us took the stairs to the second floor.

  Marilyn opened her door so quickly I wondered if she’d been braced against it, waiting for us.

  She was a pretty girl, darker and not as tall or as elegant looking as her roommate. Dressed in jeans and a Mountain West sweatshirt, she had her hair pulled up in a tight bun on the top of her head. Her large brown eyes filled with tears as soon as she saw Wynan.

  “Oh, Mr. Congers, I’m so sorry if I handled this badly. The woman next door has never been friendly, and when she mentioned rather casually that she had seen a man coming in here yesterday, I practically jumped at her.”

  “It’s all right, Marilyn. I brought Detective Morgan with me. You remember him?”

  The girl nodded. “Yes. He talked to me last evening.”

  “And I’m sure you remember me, Marilyn. Meredith Solaris, dean of the journalism school. You were in my media ethics class last year.” I held my hand out to the girl, who was trembling and looked as if she could use a strong arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t we sit down and you tell us what happened. Would you like me to get you some water?”

  “Thank you, Dean Solaris. I’m all right. I’m just glad to see you all here. I’ve been a mess since I talked to Mrs. Cimaneti next door.” Marilyn sank into the couch that took up most of the small living room. “She’s old and grumpy and as soon as she knew the man’s coming in here upset me, she pulled away. She thought he was a handyman and said she didn’t want any trouble and that was all.”