Skeleton Key by Steven Charles

Author:Steven Charles
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: eBook ISBN: 9781596875654
Publisher: J. Boylston & Company, Publishers
Published: 2017-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

Eight

JENNIFER LEFT THE ROOM TO THE SOUND OF HIS QUIET laughter, hurried down the hall, and swore vehemently to herself when she could not rouse Marysue. If Beauford doesn’t get back here with the car pretty soon, she thought as she ran to the front stairs, taking them down two at a time, I don’t know what I’ll do.

She hastened to the front door and glanced into the common room. Only a handful of girls, curled on the couches, reading; in the study room to the left, the tables were empty, waiting for the evening study time.

Once on the porch, she vacillated, not knowing which way to turn, which way to run. She couldn’t see the entire student parking lot and could not see the tell-tale red of the Thunderbird. Nor was she able to pick out either Lee or Conrad from among the few boys who walked between the buildings.

Please! she wished silently and started for the Student Union, staying close to the posts that held up the porch and walkway roofs, in case she spotted the dean. No one spoke to her, though a few girls looked at her oddly, and by the time she reached the Union she was frantic. They had to be there; they just had to. It was almost an hour since Marysue had left for town, and even though she wasn’t a recklessly fast driver, it wouldn’t take that long to get to the garage and back, even picking up the boys along the way.

Calm yourself, she ordered. Just take it easy and use your head.

A deep breath, another, and she was about to reach for the door handle when Dean Dramon put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

She couldn’t find the words, couldn’t create the excuse, and couldn’t find a reason to delay when he began leading her toward the administration building. He said nothing. He nodded to other students, had a brief whispered word with a hurrying instructor, and all the time kept his hand on her shoulder, not obviously gripping it, but the slight pressure let her know that it would do her no good to try to get away.

A silent prayer for someone, anyone, to appear and save her, and they were through the high double doors, across the white marble floor of the foyer, and past the fan-shaped staircase. There were other open doors off the foyer through which she could see secretaries and clerks working at their desks, but none of them looked up, and she didn’t bother to try to attract their attention when the man opened a dark oak door and ushered her into his office.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to a black leather chair.

The room was huge, lined with shelves, and dominated by a highly polished walnut desk. Dramon sat behind it and rested his elbows on the top.

Jennifer sat on the edge of her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She found it difficult to breathe and

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