Free Bloodied Ivy by Robert Goldsborough

seriously. “You know he has a lot of commitments, even at lunch.”
    “Such as sharing a table with his provost and dean of students—the same people he eats with every day?”
    Schmidt shrugged and reached for the last roll. “The business of running the university never ends.”
    “Business, my Aunt Matilda,” Elena snorted. “Look at the three of them huddled together laughing over there. I’ve got five dollars that says they’re either telling the latest sleazy ethnic joke or figuring out which teams to take Sunday in that pro football pool Charley runs—Charley’s the men’s dean, Mr. Goodman. He majored in odds making at Colgate.”
    “As you can see, Mr. Goodman, Elena is our caustic wit,” Schmidt said. His face smiled but his voice distinctly lacked humor. Clearly Elena’s criticisms of Potter were hitting a sore spot. Before I could respond, Greenbaum, who was on my right, turned and asked about my business. I got away with a few generalities on insurance investigation that seemed to satisfy him; meanwhile, the others started in on whether Prescott should make a concentrated effort to increase its enrollment. Schmidt voted yes, claiming that it was essential the school grow by at least one thousand students over the next few years, which apparently was the party line as espoused by Potter.
    Both Elena and Cortland took the other side, contending that Prescott was if anything too large already. Greenbaum pretty much stayed out of the discussion, although I couldn’t tell if it was from boredom or simply because he had no opinion.
    “I think we’ve talked about this long enough,” Elena said at last, turning her lively eyes on me with what I translated to be interest. “Mr. Goodman, have you seen enough of Prescott so far to form any opinions? What are you going to tell your nephew?”
    “I’m still doing research,” I answered. “And you can help me, if you will. If you have a few minutes after lunch, I’d like to ask you about the History Department.”
    “Careful what you say, Elena. Remember, he is an investigator,” Greenbaum admonished, signaling for more coffee.
    “Let him investigate,” she challenged, smiling impishly. “I’ll be on my guard, Ted. Yes, Mr. Goodman, I can spare a little time. Do you mind going back to my office? I’ve got to pick up some papers there.”
    I said that was fine with me as the group broke up. They each had separate checks, and Cortland picked mine up. We agreed that I’d meet him back in his office at two o’clock, and off I went with the exotic Mrs. Moreau. “My office is in Meriwether Hall,” she said as I caught a whiff of a scent I couldn’t identify, but liked. “Have you been there yet?”
    “Nope. Richardson and Bailey, but not Meriwether.”
    “Well, don’t get too excited,” she said. “They’re all pretty much the same—American Colonial on the outside and Academe Dreary on the inside.”
    Meriwether indeed looked like the other buildings, although it was set in a nicer grove of trees and had more ivy on its brick walls. Elena’s office was on the first floor, and was barely bigger than Cortland’s, but considerably neater. There was a color photo of the New York skyline at night on the wall facing her and another of the Golden Gate Bridge behind her. “See what I told you?” she said, gesturing me to a chair facing her desk and closing the door. “I think schools hire somebody to come in and make the interiors of all their office and classroom buildings as cheerless as possible.”
    “Could be worse,” I said, grinning. “At least you’ve got a nice view. I appreciate your taking the time to see me.”
    She flashed that impish smile again. “Oh, I would have invited you over here if you hadn’t invited yourself. I’m most curious as to what you’re up to here at Prescott, Mr. Archie Goodwin.”

SEVEN
    I LIKE TO THINK VERY few things knock me off stride, but that did, and I probably showed it. “I beg your