Читать книгу The Measure of a Man - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 10

Just as Smith managed to clear the corner without hitting anything with the unwieldy ladder, he realized that he’d left behind the box of light bulbs. Most likely, it was still on the floor in the hall next to Professor Harrison’s office.

Stifling a curse born of an impatience he couldn’t quite seem to put a lid on today, Smith put the ladder down, leaning it against the wall as best as possible. He was pretty certain that no one would walk into it where it was. Even if the school year were under way now, this area of the building saw very little foot traffic.

Smith paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, stuffed his handkerchief into his back pocket and doubled back to the professor’s office. Just as he walked into that part of the hallway, he stopped in his tracks.

The professor was across the hall from his office and juxtaposed to Jane’s. He was unlocking the door to a storage room that was tucked between the door that led to the stairwell and east wall of the building. It was a room that saw, as far as Smith knew, next to no activity at all. For all intents and purposes, it was a forgotten room, an appendage no one paid any attention to. He hadn’t even been given a key to the room when Thom Dolan, the head of the maintenance department, had given him the sets for all the buildings that had been assigned to his care.

“Nobody ever uses that room,” Dolan had informed him on the first day while giving him a tour of the building. The heavyset man had lowered his voice before continuing, as if what he was about to say was a dark secret. But then, he’d noted that Dolan was given to drama. “Rumor has it that this place was built on the site of a boys’ reformatory. This was one of the original buildings. During that time, the people who ran this place used to stick the kids who gave them the most trouble into that room. It’s small, boxlike, with no windows. As far as I know, there’s only junk being stored in there now. No need for you to have a key to it. Hell, I’m not even sure there is a key for that room.”

Well, the professor obviously had a key to it, Smith thought now. He had no idea what prompted him to step back and keep his presence from being detected. Granted, by nature, he was no longer the type to call out a greeting when encountering someone he knew. That had been the teenager, not the man. Besides, he and the professor had just spoken. If he called out to him, the professor would undoubtedly pick up where he’d left off, asking about his “future.” There was no such animal and he had no desire to discuss it.

Still, stepping back so that he wasn’t readily seen by the professor made him feel as if he were skulking. That didn’t exactly sit well with him.

But there was just something almost suspicious, for lack of a better word, Smith thought, about the professor’s behavior right now. Before putting the key into the lock, the older man had looked over his shoulder toward Jane’s office, as if to make sure that the door was still closed and that no one saw him.

Why?

Smith thought for a moment, waiting for the professor to go into the room.

Maybe the old man was losing it. Maybe all those long hours he’d kept, sitting in his office amid dust that was never quite removed, just regularly disturbed by halfhearted attempts on the part of the cleaning crew to live up to its name. Baskets were emptied regularly and what could be seen of the worn beige carpet between the stacks of files and books haphazardly scattered around the professor’s office was vacuumed on a weekly basis, but the dust remained as permanent a resident as the books on the shelves.

That kind of thing had to eventually affect a man’s lungs, Smith decided. And who was to say that what the professor had breathed in hadn’t finally left its mark on the man’s mind, as well?

Still, the professor did seem to be more or less all right whenever they did run into each other. Harrison always had a good word for him, whether he wanted to hear it or not. When you came right down to it, of all the people on the faculty, only Professor Harrison seemed to see him, to treat him as a person rather than a tool or a lackey to be told what to do and then disregarded. Granted, the man had become a great deal sadder in these last eight months than he’d normally been, but he hadn’t withdrawn from life, hadn’t used it as an excuse to be curt or mean in his dealings.

For a second Smith debated saying something to let the professor know that he wasn’t alone in the hallway. He did feel somewhat deceptive about standing in the shadows like this.

But then he decided that none of this was really any of his business and the professor obviously wanted whatever he was doing to be kept secret. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have looked around so furtively before unlocking the door.

So he waited until the professor disappeared inside the room before moving out into the hallway. Picking up the box of light bulbs he’d returned for in the first place, Smith walked away before the professor emerged out of the room.

For the first time in a long while, Smith found that his curiosity had been aroused. He figured a stiff drink or two after work this evening would effectively take care of that.

The Sandwich Bar had been more crowded than Jane had anticipated today. A lot of the returning students were on campus to purchase new books for the coming semester, or just to settle back into their dorms in anticipation of the routine that was to come. A quick ten-minute venture had turned into half an hour.

She hurried to the professor’s office and dropped his order on his desk. He wasn’t around, but she assumed that he’d just stepped out for the moment and would be back shortly. Leaving his office, she hurried across the hall to her own.

Lunchtime was more than half over. Not that the professor ever placed any boundaries on her time. More than once he’d told her she could take as long as she wanted for lunch in case there were any errands she needed to run. He’d said that he knew a single mother with a young son had demands on her time that couldn’t always be neatly tucked away within the hours that came after she left the college for the evening.

But the university had a strict policy as to how long anyone could take for lunch and she didn’t want to be seen abusing it. It was bad enough that the board was after the professor. She didn’t want them saying that his secretary was found wanting, as well, and in some twisted way use that against him, too.

So she was going to have her lunch at her desk while she caught up on some data she needed to input into her computer. God knew she was behind this week. She’d taken the last week off, wanting to spend some time with Danny before he took that first big step into the world of learning. From here on in, once school began for him, her son’s next seventeen years plus were going to be accounted for.

She thought of that time in terms of money and the very notion sent a long, cold shiver shimmying down her spine.

Somewhere, somehow, she was going to find the money for Danny’s college education. There would be no mysterious benefactors for her son the way there had been for her, but that didn’t mean he was going to be deprived. Danny was going to receive his college diploma even if she had to work 24/7 to get the money.

Jane stopped her train of thought. There were times, she knew, when she got a little too carried away.

“First, you need to let Danny get through kindergarten,” she told herself as she opened the door to her cramped office.

Jane stopped in the doorway. There was a tall, slender blonde standing in her office with her back to the door, taking up what felt like one quarter of the tiny space.

“Can I help you?”

The woman turned around. Jane felt a little foolish, thinking that this was a stranger. Not that they were exactly friends, but they knew one another. They’d both been at Saunders the same year and had had some classes together. Their lives, however, had gone on to take completely different paths.

For some reason Sandra was in her office, obviously waiting for her. Jane tried to think if there was anything remotely newsworthy going on. Sandra was a journalist for a neighborhood newspaper in Boston’s North End, given to writing human interest stories and short, entertaining articles about up-coming local functions. Sandra was also the wife of one-time Saunders University jock, David Westport. Jane remembered that the two had been college sweethearts around the same time that she and Drew had gotten together. Theirs was a match thought to be made in heaven, or at least a successful Hollywood romance movie.

Nice to know some marriages actually worked, Jane thought.

Still looking at Sandra, she put down the bag with her sandwich and her tall container of soda, the caffeine in which she hoped would see her through the long afternoon. Danny’d had nightmares last night. Twice. The second time he’d come running into her room, she’d taken him back to his and then stayed up with him until long past when he’d settled back to sleep. She estimated that since Danny had been born, she’d averaged roughly five hours of sleep a night—if she was lucky.

Without a doubt, she was going to need more than one hit of caffeine. After she found out what the ex-cheerleader was doing here.

Sandra moved away from the window she’d been looking out of. “I certainly hope you can help.”

Jane’s eyebrows pulled together thoughtfully. She had absolutely no idea what she could possibly do to help someone like Sandra. At first glance—and twelfth—Sandra seemed to have it all: beauty, a job she liked and, most important of all, a loving husband.

But Jane was nothing if not game. Sticking a straw through the small hole in the soda container’s lid, she took a long, refreshing sip, then looked up at the other woman in the room.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“Please, go ahead and have your lunch,” Sandra told her, waving at the brown bag with its whimsical logo of a college student devouring a three-foot sandwich. “I promise this won’t take too long.”

Now Sandra really had her intrigued. Despite the fact that marriage to Drew had made her always expect the worst, no matter what the turn of events, Jane was struggling hard to break that habit.

But it wasn’t easy. Especially when Sandra’s pretty heart-shaped face looked so tense, despite the smile she’d so obviously forced to her lips.

“And ‘this’ would be?” Jane prompted, taking out her sandwich.

Sandra sank onto the chair that was directly against the side of the desk and looked at Jane. “I’m sure by now you know that the board is trying to get rid of Professor Harrison.”

Jane wasn’t thrilled with Sandra’s imperious tone. “Yes, I’m aware of what’s happening,” she said coolly. She waited for Sandra to continue.

Sandra flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound as if I’ve got some kind of inside track. If anyone does, it’s you. Which is why I’m here.” She took a breath, then launched into the heart of the matter. “The professor called on a few people—David, Nate Williams and a couple of others—asking them to come and speak to the board on his behalf.” Sandra’s mouth curved into a smile that seemed to Jane to be more sad than happy. “I guess he thought if he could show off some of his success stories, they wouldn’t come down so hard on his ‘old-fashioned’ methods.”

Jane was well aware of the professor’s plan. He’d had her scan the Internet for phone numbers of a handful of his former students who had gone on to make something of themselves so that he could get in touch with them.

She’d noted that although she and the professor were close and she worked with him every day, the professor hadn’t asked her to address the board on his behalf. She supposed he might have thought it was putting her on the spot. Nothing could have been further from the truth. She had every intention of speaking up for him.

Granted she wasn’t a shining example of what one could achieve given the advantages of an education at Saunders and the benefit of having sat in one of Professor Harrison’s classes. But it didn’t matter that her personal life was in a state of flux and upheaval. That was certainly no fault of the professor’s. After her parents’ death, if it hadn’t been for the professor, she wouldn’t have found the courage to complete her education. Coupled with the mysterious bequest that had taken the financial burden off her shoulders, she’d been able to graduate and receive her diploma. But she wouldn’t have been able to do it on just money alone. The state of her emotions had been an equal if not more important factor in her attaining her diploma. The professor had helped her to believe in herself.

She wasn’t sure just how much of an impact she would have, pleading the professor’s case. After all, she wasn’t some high-powered doctor, or famous lawyer, or internationally known model like the people he’d contacted. She was just an administrative assistant, which in her case was a glorified euphemism for secretary.

Still, that didn’t take away from the fact that Professor Harrison had left a tremendous, lasting impression on her life, one for which she would be forever grateful. To her way of thinking, he should be allowed to do the same for the students of the classes that were to come.

Jane nodded in response to Sandra’s words. “That sounds just like the way the professor thinks,” she agreed.

Eager to get started, Sandra continued, “I’ve discovered that Alex Broadstreet intends to humiliate the professor, to twist things around and accuse him of improper behavior.”

Jane looked at her, stunned. She’d almost dropped the sandwich she was unwrapping. Of all the absurd things she’d ever heard in her life, this had to take the prize. “Improper behavior? That’s ridiculous. Professor Harrison is the epitome of a gentleman. He’s—”

Sandra held up her hand, realizing the confusion. “No, I don’t mean harassment. Improper things like grade tampering.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Cheating? He’s going to accuse the professor of cheating? To what end?”

Sandra shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe for money?”

Jane felt as if she’d been insulted herself. Indignation for the professor’s honor swelled in her chest. “That is the most mean-spirited, awful thing I have ever, ever heard—”

“I totally agree,” Sandra quickly interrupted. She shook her head at the half sandwich Jane offered her. “Thanks, but I already ate.” She blew out a breath, addressing the reason she was here. “But protesting how heinous the accusation is isn’t enough. By all accounts, Alex Broadstreet is a very, very clever man. He wants to bring Saunders University into the twenty-first century, to shed the ‘quaint’ aura and turn Saunders into a college that all the moneyed captains of industry want their children to attend. The professor isn’t fast-tracked enough for him, so he has to go. And Broadstreet undoubtedly feels he’s just the man to make him do that.”

Broadstreet could “feel” that all he wanted to, but that still didn’t change the fact that Gilbert Harrison was the most principled man June had ever met. “I still don’t see how—”

Sandra smiled at her. Whether the journalist was aware of it or not, she was also guilty of delivering a slight, almost-derogatory shake of the head, as well, as if to say that Sandra thought her to be naive. She might be a lot of things, Jane thought, but naive was no longer one of them. Not after Drew.

She raised her chin defensively as her eyes narrowed. “He can’t do anything honestly.”

Sandra laughed shortly. “I don’t think Broadstreet troubles himself with things like strict honesty. It’s all in the phrasing.”

“Phrasing?”

“You know,” Sandra urged, “It’s like saying, ‘So when did you stop beating your wife, Professor Harrison?’ When the person protests that he didn’t stop, it doesn’t really matter that he didn’t stop because he’d never started, the implication that he beat his wife is there, in the mind of the listener. The seed has been planted. And Broadstreet will be the first with a shovel in his hand to add some nice, warm dirt so that it can thrive.” She looked at Jane pointedly. “We need to make sure that there isn’t any ‘dirt’ he can use.” Sandra relaxed a little, now that she’d gotten rolling. “In addition, there’s that urban legend—”

She really needed to get more sleep, Jane thought. She was having trouble following Sandra as the former cheerleader leaped from one thing to another. “Legend? What legend?”

“You know.” Everyone in their graduating class had heard talk about it. About one of their own being on the receiving end of some scholarship or bequest of money that no one had ever heard about before. “About the mysterious benefactor.” Since Jane said nothing, Sandra continued to elaborate. “Money that suddenly appears to help a financially strapped student—” She stopped abruptly when she saw Jane’s face go pale. “What’s the matter?”

Jane had never really paid much attention to rumors and campus gossip about the so-called benefactor who anonymously gave all kinds of aid to students in need. When the money had first turned up, she’d made a few attempts to track down the source of her sudden windfall, but quickly came to a dead end each time. She’d finally just come to think of it as her own personal miracle. No one she knew had that kind of money to lavish on a newly orphaned student and there was no family, however far flung, to have come to her rescue. That qualified it as a miracle.

Until now.

“It’s not a legend,” she told Sandra. “I had money placed into an account for me when I was attending Saunders.”

Sandra stared at her. The reporter in her was making copious mental notes. “It just suddenly appeared one day?”

Hearing Sandra say it, it sounded almost ludicrously unbelievable. But truth had a way of being stranger than fiction.

“Basically, yes. There was a letter saying the money was to pay for the remainder of my tuition. Whatever was left over was to be used for housing and books. I got a job waiting tables off campus and the earnings plus the ‘gift’ was enough for me to stay on at Saunders and get my diploma.”

Sandra could barely contain her excitement. Maybe they could show that the professor somehow had a hand in this, maybe through quietly soliciting donations from charitable foundations for deserving students. The wheels in her head began whirling.

First things first, she warned herself. “Who was the letter from?”

“The administrative office.” Jane could still recall how stunned she’d been, opening the letter and holding it in her hands. She’d thought she was dreaming. She remembered weeping for a long time.

Sandra leaped to the logical conclusion. “So it was a school scholarship—”

But Jane shook her head. “No, that’s just it. It wasn’t. Not the way the letter was worded.”

Sandra looked at her intently, as if willing her to have total recollection of the event. “And just how was it worded? Exactly.”

Sandra was asking more of her than she could give. Again, Jane shook her head.

“I can’t remember.” And then, to prevent the other woman from thinking that she was some kind of an air-head, she explained, “You have to understand, my parents had just been killed in a car accident. I was all alone in the world and I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly about anything. When the letter came, it was like the answer to a prayer. I couldn’t believe it. If that money hadn’t come when it had, I would have had to drop out of school.”

The way Smith had.

The thought brought her up short. Where had that come from?

And why?

With renewed verve, Jane pushed on, her sandwich completely forgotten. “All my parents had was a small insurance policy that would have barely taken care of burial expenses. Eventually, I had to sell our house to pay off most of their other bills.”

It had been a point of honor with her, even though Drew had called her a fool for doing it when she’d told him what she had done. She didn’t add that her father had had a problem hanging on to money. That he spent it faster than he earned it, striving for a lifestyle he couldn’t afford. No one, except the professor, knew about that. Not even Drew. Though her mother had loved her father, they’d argued a great deal about his compulsion.

There was no doubt in her mind that her parents were probably arguing about it the day they were killed. The driver of the semi that hit their car swore that the driver looked as if he’d had his face turned away from the road.

Sandra digested the information, trying to turn it to their best advantage. “Do you think there’s a chance that the professor might have had something to do with your windfall?”

Not likely, Jane thought. The salary of a college professor was far from a king’s ransom. Certainly not enough to secretly bestow the kind of money it took to attend Saunders on a number of students. Or even one student for that matter.

“I sincerely doubt it. When I worked in the administration building in the accounts office, I got to see what Professor Harrison, along with the rest of the staff, earned. Not nearly enough money to play fairy godmother. Why?”

Sandra shrugged. “I’m looking for something, anything, that might put him in the very best possible light in front of the board. If we could somehow show that Professor Harrison gathered together funds from other sources to help needy—” she quickly substituted another word and hoped that Jane didn’t notice “—um, deserving students, then maybe…”

That wasn’t the way to go, Jane thought. “I’m sure he would have said something to me in all this time if he was involved in some kind of charitable action.” Her eyes met Sandra’s. “We can’t lie to the board about that, tempting as it might be. Somehow, Broadstreet would call us on it.”

Sandra sighed. It had been a nice idea while it lasted—all of six seconds. “I know.”

Jane took another long sip of her soda, then asked, “So, what is it you’d like me to do?”

This time, Sandra proceeded slowly, building word on word. “You said you used to work in the administration building, right?”

That was a matter of record. It was a job she knew the professor’d had a hand in getting for her, just as he’d gotten her this one when his own secretary had retired. “Yes.”

“All the old files are archived in the basement.” Sandra didn’t wait for Jane to confirm the fact. “Maybe if we go through the ones pertaining to the professor’s former students and the others he advised, we can find something that we can use. I really don’t know what we’re looking for until we find it,” she confessed. “But I do think it’s worth a try. And I do need your help.” Sandra looked at her hopefully. “Can I count on it?”

“I’ll do anything to help the professor,” Jane told her. “That goes without saying.”

“Wonderful.” Sandra took her hand in both of hers and shook it heartily. “I’ll get back to you on this. Soon,” she promised.

Walking out quickly, Sandra left Jane pondering the situation. Chewing on a sandwich she didn’t taste, Jane wondered if there was anything else she could do to help further the professor’s cause. She felt energized and at the same time at a loss as to where to place all that energy.

She supposed she didn’t have to wait for Sandra’s go-ahead. She could just get started doing what the woman had suggested. Looking.

Except there was one thing wrong with that.

Sandra’s basic supposition had been flawed, Jane thought. She knew where the files were kept, all right, but she couldn’t get at them. They were in the basement, under lock and key. To get to look at them, she was going to need to unlock the door to the room where they were all archived.

Which meant she needed a key. Either that or a handy burglar.

She couldn’t ask anyone in the administration office to unlock the door. They’d want to know what she was doing. Most likely, they’d want to go down to the basement with her. She couldn’t very well say she was hunting for documentation showing what an excellent man and educator the professor was. Word undoubtedly would get back to Broadstreet and then they really wouldn’t be able to get at the files. There was no telling if someone in the administration office was trying to curry favor with Broadstreet. She had a feeling the man had spies everywhere.

What she needed, Jane thought, was to approach someone she felt confident was in no one’s pocket. Someone who would never run and tell Broadstreet or the board what she was up to.

Outside, it was beginning to rain. Within a blink of an eye, her office was cast into shadow, turning afternoon into practically night.

She reached across her desk and turned on the lamp. As light filled the room, Jane smiled to herself.

There was someone she could ask. Someone, she instinctively knew, who was in no one’s pocket and never would be.