Murder My Past by Delia C. Pitts

Author:Delia C. Pitts [Pitts, Delia C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2021-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Eighteen

The twenty-minute taxi ride to Alexander University’s uptown campus gave me time to review the information I’d gathered about Smoke’s cousin.

Dr. Galaxy Pindar was Dean of Arts and Humanities at the university, a position she’d held for six years. She was also Distinguished Professor of African History and past chair of the history department. Her resumé listed books, articles, presentations, awards, and even an art exhibit she’d curated on West African textiles. Smoke said Galaxy was a few years older than him, putting her in the late fifties. In her formal photo on the Arts and Humanities website she looked a decade younger. Maybe academic life really was a splash in the fountain of youth. Now my destiny was lock-sure: when I reincarnated for a cushy second crack at life, it would be as a tenured full professor.

Smoke said his cousin was worried about a threat to her personal safety. But he couldn’t get more specific than that. Galaxy sounded spooked by some trouble in the office or at home, he wasn’t sure which. She knew he was in private security, so she’d brought the issue to him. Smoke said even though he didn’t know me well, the Ross Agency stamp of approval was good enough for him. He was sure I could handle whatever problem cousin Galaxy threw my way. I was happy for a jaunt through the leafy quadrangles of Alexander University. Better than joining the mob at the shoe store. Standing on a street corner swamped by the surging hormones of fans of 2-Ryght the Rapper was my idea of hell.

Concrete barrels decorated with purple creeping vines and golden mums blocked vehicle access to the campus. The cab dropped me in front of the library, and I strolled fifteen minutes to Randolph Hall, the location of Dean Pindar’s office.

I could have made the walk in less time. But the warm September sun inspired undergrad women to make one final glorious display in cut-off jeans. Long legs, long hair, sultry pouts, steamy gazes. Every girl lounging under the lofty trees seemed mesmerized by a phone, tablet, or iced latté. Expanses of skin shone vanilla, margarine, almond, meringue, and buttermilk in the sunlight. I looked them over; they looked me over. I nodded; they smirked. I blinked; they fluttered. We agreed to be agreeable. Only a few boys joined the basking girls. I wondered if one of the boys might be Sally Anastos’s kid brother, enjoying his first semester of college. Banners in violet, white, and gold flapped over the pretty scene declaring the longevity of Alexander University. The scrolled motto on the pennants was brief: Labor in the sun, learn in its light. That brutal tour in ninth grade Latin with Sister Margaret Agnes finally paid off.

The festive academic atmosphere put me in a good mood, which was punctured by the arrival of a campus cop.

“You looking for something in particular, mister? Or just sightseeing?”

Stuffed into a navy uniform that was too tight across the chest and too baggy at the knees, his scowl screamed killjoy.

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