Free Grey Expectations by Clea Simon

 . . .’ This was the part she hadn’t figured out yet. What to say that wouldn’t betray Trista’s confidence or get either of them in trouble. ‘I would like to speak with him.’
    Coffin made a sound somewhere between a snort and a grunt. In happier circumstances, Dulcie would have seen him as a walrus. Here, he was just scary.
    â€˜Excuse me?’ She called on her last ounce of nerve. A fair lady could be brave. Had to be, sometimes.
    â€˜Well,’ he grumbled, ‘I assume it will soon be common know-ledge, what with your Facebooks and your Twitters. You may as well hear the truth.’
    He paused. Dulcie suspected it was for effect, but it was almost more than she could stand. Trista had been right; Suze wrong. Roland had been murdered.
    â€˜Is he  . . . gone?’ Her voice squeaked, and she felt particularly mouse-like.
    â€˜I’ll say.’ That grumble again. The hall walls began to spin. ‘And about time too.’
    Dulcie grabbed at the frame of the door behind her for support. None of this was making sense.
    â€˜At any rate, once we find him, this young man – I cannot call him a gentleman – will be called to account for his misdeeds.’ Coffin gestured, raising his hand to the sky – or to the dying light-bulb that flickered above them. ‘He has been a dark stain on the university’s history. The sooner erased, the better.’
    â€˜So, he’s not – dead.’ Her voice was so low, she didn’t even know if he heard her. At any rate, he paid her no heed and kept talking, addressing the hallway as if it were the pulpit of Memorial Church.
    â€˜To start with, that name? Roland Galveston? If anybody in admissions had been half awake, she or he would have recognized an obvious pseudonym.’
    Now that the blood was returning, Dulcie felt a flush of irrational disappointment. She’d loved Roland Galveston’s name. It had been perfect for the cheery Texan.
    â€˜He had not been graduated from Vanderbilt.’ Coffin was still talking, listing sins each greater than its predecessor. ‘We do not even know if he matriculated! Foolish of him, really, to have chosen a relatively respectable institution. So easy to check. And we have every reason to believe he is involved with the disappearance of the Dunster Codex.’
    Dulcie stepped back – and into the wall. The way Coffin was looking at her, she was sure he suspected her personally of something.
    â€˜Roland? A thief?’ Was this what Trista had been about to tell her?
    â€˜We suspect he had an accomplice.’ Coffin’s eyes were as grey as his hair and as steely.
    â€˜Here? In the department?’ She couldn’t help it. She’d been thinking of Trista anyway, and now – no. Not Trista.
    â€˜Yes.’ Coffin was staring at her most intently. ‘Sound familiar?’
    With a start, she saw what he was implying. ‘Me? No way!’ If she could have backed up more, she would have. But Coffin had either grilled her enough – or assumed that she was sufficiently terrified that she would confess without further prompting. The latter wasn’t that far off, Dulcie realized, and it was with great relief that she saw him lean back on his heels and then, with another grumble, turn back into Thorpe’s office. Only then did she realize that her thesis adviser had already disappeared. It was not, she thought, a bad idea.
    â€˜Coffee.’ She stumbled down the stairs and into the front room. The crowd had begun to thin a bit, but one look at her face and they parted to let her at a blessedly full pot.
    She was pouring, already savoring the rich aroma, when the crowd closed back up around her. She heard Lloyd, her long-time office-mate and friend. Ethan, who, although clueless, was also guileless. She took a sip and relaxed. When she opened her eyes, Nancy was smiling at her. All would be right again with