Free Poison Ivy by Cynthia Riggs Page A

some other way I can help, let me know. Her appropriation of your papers is far beyond what academia ought to accept.”
    Christopher stood up. “Thanks, Mrs. Trumbull.” He glanced out of the window. “Really coming down hard.”
    â€œSomeone left an umbrella in the entry. You’re welcome to take it. It’s been there at least a year.”
    â€œI’ll bring it back,” he said. “Give me an excuse to call on you again.”
    Victoria smiled.

 
    C HAPTER 9
    After Christopher Wrentham left, Victoria watched as rain poured over the edge of her gutters. She’d have to have them cleaned out, which meant Robert, who seemed willing to do anything, getting up there with a long ladder.
    She didn’t intend to get deeply involved in this particular dispute between students and a faculty member. However, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to invite Roberta Chadwick for lunch.
    â€œWhat about tomorrow?” she asked after Professor Chadwick accepted with alacrity.
    â€œTomorrow is fine. I’ve heard so much about you, Mrs. Trumbull. I look forward to meeting you.”
    The following day, wind howled and shrieked and whipped brittle branches off the maple trees. The nor’easter had set in to stay. There’d be plenty of kindling for her evening fires. Horizontal sheets of rain rippled across the drive, now a muddy river.
    An ancient Volkswagen surged through the puddles and parked away from the falling branches. The driver shoved the car door open against the wind and hunched out, tugging the hood of her yellow oilskin over her head. She wore black rubber boots that came up almost to her knees.
    Victoria greeted her at the entry door. “I picked a fine day for our luncheon, Professor Chadwick. You can leave your boots and slicker out here and dry off inside.”
    Roberta Chadwick tossed her hood back and grinned, a gap-toothed grin that made her look quite young. “I love storms, and always have.” She kicked off her boots, exposing socks with a pattern of pink kittens on a lime-green background. She hung her wet jacket on a nail in the entry. Underneath the jacket she wore a pink sweatshirt over a white turtleneck and jeans, wet in front from her knees to midthigh where her jacket and boots hadn’t protected her from the deluge.
    â€œCan I get you a towel to dry off a bit?” Victoria asked.
    â€œI’m fine. My jeans didn’t get really wet.” The professor held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Trumbull.”
    Victoria hadn’t planned to like this woman, but she couldn’t help herself. A free spirit who appreciated weather. She held the kitchen door open with one hand and shook the professor’s hand with the other. “Please, come in.”
    Roberta Chadwick was not at all what Victoria had expected. She was comfortably plump, her brown hair was short and tightly curled. She projected an image of complete trustworthiness. In her pink sweatshirt with chickadees printed on it and her green-and-pink socks, she was the image of niceness. Victoria remembered Jodi’s initial enthusiasm for this almost-like-a-sister teacher, and reminded herself to be careful.
    Before they went into the cookroom, she said, “I think a glass of wine might help brighten a day like this. I have some chilled Chardonnay. Would you care for a glass?”
    â€œThat sounds wonderful. Can I help?”
    Victoria handed her the unopened bottle and a corkscrew and the professor set to work.
    â€œUm, I think this is a screw-top, Mrs. Trumbull. I’ve just punctured the cap.”
    â€œNever mind, I have a spare bottle cap.” Victoria smiled. “I think screw-tops make more sense than corks. The only problem is they make one think inferior wine.”
    â€œNot anymore, Mrs. Trumbull.”
    They took their glasses and the bottle into the cookroom, where Victoria had laid two place settings.
    She poured