Red Queen's Run by Morris Bourne

Author:Morris, Bourne [Morris, Bourne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Amateur Sleuth, british mysteryies, detective novels, english mysteries, female sleuths, murder mysteries, mystery and suspense, Romantic Suspense, Women Sleuths, Women's Fiction
Publisher: Henery Press
Published: 2015-02-17T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Three days before winter break we held the morning meeting with Stoddard and the three faculty members who had maligned Larry Coleman.

My objective was to persuade George, Edwin, and Simon to formally apologize to Larry in front of the whole faculty at the last meeting of the semester. I wasn’t sure it would stop the grievance proceeding but it might stop the gossip.

It also might convince President Lewis to hold off on further thoughts of receivership.

Stoddard arrived first, bundled in an enormous camel hair coat and pale blue scarf. His big cheeks were bright with cold. “Coffee?” he gasped.

Nell was right behind him with a tray of mugs and milk. “Dr. Cartwell says he’s running late,” said Nell, putting the tray down on my round table. Nell wasn’t good at concealing her contempt. “Do you want me to see if the others will be on time?”

“Tell them the provost has another meeting this morning and will be very disappointed if they miss this one,” I said.

“Passive aggression. The hallmark of the dysfunctional group,” said Stoddard, sitting down at the table and pouring milk into his coffee.

A cough from the doorway announced Simon.

He stared at Stoddard, his gray eyes as cold as the morning outside. “So you think we’re dysfunctional,” he said, taking a chair for himself.

“I do,” Stoddard replied. “Also self-destructive.”

The predictable stomach pain started. This was not going the way I had hoped.

If Stoddard antagonized Simon further, the likelihood of an apology to Larry Coleman seemed remote.

George entered, silent for once. He poured himself coffee, took a sip and looked steadily at the provost. “What brings you here to our little journalism school this frosty morning?”

Before Stoddard could reply, I stood up and said, as calmly as possible, “We are here to discuss the unfortunate campaign you two, along with Edwin, have been waging against Larry Coleman.”

“He should not be tenured. We asked for your support on this,” said Simon.

“And you did not get my support,” I said. “You will recall, I said if you did anything to subvert the process, which you seem to have done, that Larry Coleman would file a grievance, which he has done.”

“I look forward to making our case to a university grievance committee,” said Simon.

“And if the media gets curious, I would be happy to accommodate them,” said George.

Silence. Edwin entered while we were all contemplating the next step. “Sorry to be late,” he said.

“You are here in time to hear the most important part,” I said. “The president and the provost are considering putting the school of journalism into receivership.”

“What the hell does that mean?” asked George, as usual uninformed and uncertain about academic procedures.

The pain sharpened. “It means we would lose our status as an independent school and be put under the management of the College of Liberal Arts.”

“That’s preposterous,” boomed George. “We would lose all our benefactors, starting with me.”

“You’re being silly, Meredith,” said Edwin. “Philip Lewis would never think of doing such a thing.”

“Never,” echoed Simon.

Stoddard remained silent with his hand under his chin as if forcing himself to remain quiet.

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