Free File M for Murder by Miranda James Page B

like someone bracing for a collision. Laura stepped back, taking herself out of the picture. I resumed progress toward the stage, in case I needed to intervene between the two men. Diesel came with me, though I could feel resistance on the leash. He didn’t care for confrontations any more than I did.
    “What do you know about directing a play?” Lawton glared at the other man. He was two inches shorter than Johnston but much more muscular than the reedy department head. “You sure as hell don’t know anything about writing them. That piece of garbage you submitted to the American Academy of Drama prize committee was a total waste of my time. You’re nuts if you think I’m going to let you have anything to do with
my
work.”
    Johnston’s face paled. He sputtered, but no intelligible words emerged from the sounds. I heard a few titters, quickly hushed, from the crowd of students.
    I reached the stage, then, and ran up the stairs stage left. Laura saw me coming and met me at the head. I handed Diesel’s leash to her, and she took it. “Be careful,” she whispered.
    Johnston still seemed unable to articulate, but he drew back his right arm and punched at Lawton’s head. The playwright’s reflexes were too good, however. He ducked, and Johnston’s fist sailed past Lawton’s face. The momentum caused Johnston to teeter backward and stumble.
    Before Lawton could react, I motioned to a tall, muscular youth a few feet from the other side of the combatants. He responded immediately and stepped forward to grab Ralph Johnston and pull him further away. I stepped in front of Lawton and glared at him.
    “Enough.” My temper flared, and I knew if the playwright attempted to attack me, I’d knock him back so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him. He was much younger than I, but I outweighed him by at least fifty pounds and was several inches taller.
    Lawton took one look at my face and apparently read my intent. He stepped back, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender.
    “You should be ashamed of yourself.” A new, but familiar, voice startled both the playwright and me. I glanced aside to see Sarabeth Conley, Johnston’s administrative assistant, her expression one of grim determination, striding toward us.
    Lawton glanced at her and paled. He took two more steps back, almost to the edge of the stage. Sarabeth, tall and heavyset, was a formidable sight, like Boudicca defying the Romans. She stopped a couple of feet away and raked Lawton with a glance of disgust. “You were raised better than this. How long do you think you can get away with treating people like idiots before someone teaches you a lesson you won’t recover from?”
    With that she turned away and focused her attention on Ralph Johnston. The light caught her caftan, the same one she had worn at the party, and played off the many beadsand sequins. The muscular student had released him, and Johnston was breathing deeply to regain his composure. When Sarabeth slid an arm around his shoulders, he spoke. “First I must offer my apologies to you all. My behavior was inexcusable, though I feel justified in saying that I was the subject of extreme provocation.” He paused for a deep breath. “I’m going straight to the president of the college to report his incident, Lawton. I’m going to do my best to have your contract terminated immediately.”
    Lawton made a rude gesture, but before the situation could escalate again, Laura stepped forward, Diesel at her side.
    “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Professor,” she said in her best placatory tone. “Things have certainly gotten out of hand, but I’m sure once Connor has had time to think things over, he’ll apologize to you and to everyone else.” She glared at Lawton, as if to intimidate him into submission.
    Why on earth was my daughter running interference for this cretin? Did she still harbor feelings for him? Or was she simply trying to help a friend who’d gone too far?
    “And here