Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_03 Read Free Page A

pigs.” Her tone was contemptuous. “They listen to those radio shows, they watch those dreadful TV programs. Anything goes, the nastier the better. And this is a small town. Everybody knows everybody.”
    Like all exaggerations, this one had a kernel of truth.
    Communities have circles of acquaintanceship. Sometimes circles intersect or overlap. Definitely the University was a circle with its own internal groups.
    I came back to the central point. “Which crime do you know about?” I moved back and forth on my feet, trying to keep loose.
    The wind tugged at Angel’s thick blond curls. Her pleasant face was drawn and unhappy. Sheshook her head stubbornly. “Henrie O—” She paused, then asked sharply, “Can you stop Maggie?”
    I suppose my surprise was clear in my face. My surprise—and my immediate displeasure.
    A dull flush crept into Angel’s cheeks. “I know that sounds odd. But this is going to cause trouble, Henrie O. I know it is. And for no good reason, no good reason at all.” She ducked her head and plunged away from me.
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    A smooth-weave navy sports coat. Khakis with a crease sharp enough to slice cheese. A rep tie.
    The sartorially splendid young man beamed at me as I walked up to my office door, key in hand. I’m sure his mother would consider it a lovely smile.
    â€œMrs. Collins?” His pleasant tenor voice was just a shade pleased with itself.
    â€œYes.” I unlocked my door.
    â€œI’m Jeff Berry. From the president’s office.” Another engaging smile. “President Tucker would like to see you this afternoon. At two o’clock.” A considered pause. “If that would be convenient.”
    I smiled in return. “And if it isn’t?” So I have a rebellious nature.
    It didn’t faze him. “Is there another time that would be better for you? Today.”
    My, my. I’d met David Tucker only once—at a reception for new faculty several years ago. He’d greeted each newcomer with a graceful comment that indicated he’d prepped for the occasion. He’d asked about my series that had traced the connections between pharmaceutical companies and doctors in a small Texas town. The series made the Pulitzer short list. And earned me the undying enmity of both the industry and the doctors.
    I’d taken away from that faculty reception a memory of a big man with a booming laugh, a hearty handshake, and ice-blue eyes that glittered with keen intelligence.
    â€œActually, two will be fine,” I told Jeff Berry. “And,” I added, smiling, “please tell President Tucker I’m looking forward to visiting with him.”
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    I had only forty minutes before my appointment with President Tucker. I went straight to The Clarion morgue. It didn’t take long to find what I wanted: three extensive files that would take a great deal of effort to explore thoroughly. I didn’t have time to read all of the materials, of course, but even in a brief overview, names began to take on a reality and pathos that Maggie’s ad had not conveyed.
    I began with the most recent crime, the 1988 murders of Thorndyke students Howard Rosen and Gail Voss in Lovers’ Lane, a secluded road in a wooded area of the campus. They were found shot to death in Rosen’s car. Rosen was twenty-two. Voss was three months shy of twenty-one. Their yearbook pictures were inset in a three-column photograph of the car, doors open, the front end nosed against a flowering dogwood. They both had smiled for the class pictures.
    The second crime had no apparent campus connection. Candace Murdoch was charged with the fatal shooting of her wealthy businessman husband, Curt, on July 23, 1982. Her 1983 trial ended with a directed verdict of acquittal.
    But the third crime—if crime it was—occurred in the heart of the campus. One early evening in 1976, Dean of Students Darryl Nugent disappearedfrom his