Murder 101 Read Free

trying to decide how it had happened exactly, but her best guess was that she had fallen against something. My car was now evidence in a murder investigation and I would never see it again. When I started to black out again, he stopped his story and held my head as I vomited all over his shoes for a second time that day. As they say, “no good deed goes unpunished.”
    My office still smelled slightly of vomit, but the only thing that got my attention when I entered was a note marked URGENT sitting on top of my desk. I picked up the lined piece of pink paper and studied it, my heart sinking when I saw that I had been called to the president’s office for a meeting. I had only been in the president’s office once—when I had been granted tenure—and was thankful that I had never been summoned back. There were about three layers of bureaucracy between me and Dr. Etheridge and that’s the way I liked it; I hated Mark Etheridge and his snotty attitude. The farther away I could stay from the cantankerous bastard, the better.
    Maybe I wanted to remember St. Thomas as it used to be—small, private, and personal—but Mark’s style rubbed me the wrong way. And the fact that I was a good six inches taller than he was probably rubbed him and his Napoleon complex the wrong way.
    I felt like I was walking the plank as I trudged up to the fifth floor and across the marbled hallways to the president’s office, located at the far end of the building from my office. I entered the darkly paneled office of the anteroom, where Mark’s secretary and my old friend, Fran Voight, sat.
    “Good morning, Fran,” I said. She had been the president’s secretary since I had gone to school here and we knew each other well.
    Fran didn’t respond, but looked at me over her bifocals and motioned with her head toward Etheridge’s office, her frosted helmet of hair not moving. The grim set of her mouth told me that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant meeting. The triple strand of long pearls on her chest made a clicking noise as she swung around in her chair and put her back to the door of Etheridge’s office. I heard her whisper “good luck” as I entered the office and closed the door behind me.
    Etheridge was sitting behind his grand desk, Sister Mary in front of him. There was an empty chair for me. He stayed behind his desk and motioned to me to sit down. “Good morning, Alison.”
    “Dr. Etheridge,” I said, smiling nervously. “Good morning, Sister.”
    Sister Mary avoided my eyes, and mumbled “good morning” back.
    Etheridge folded his hands in front of him and stared at me. “So, this is a terrible situation,” he started. “Before the police get involved with you, I’m going to give you a chance to explain yourself.” He took his round, rimless glasses off and put them back on after checking them for spots. “How did a dead body end up in the trunk of your car, Alison?” He seemed genuinely curious rather than suspicious.
    I took a deep breath. “First of all, the police are already involved with me,” I said, my hands gripping the sides of the chair. “I was questioned on Friday.” I stared at him, and he stared back. “And I’m not in jail, so I’m assuming that they’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t have anything to do with this.” I gave him an idiotic half smile; perhaps if he thought I was a complete moron, he wouldn’t suspect me of anything more than having bad luck. “And I have no idea how a dead body ended up in my trunk.” I wanted to add, “So now that we’ve cleared that up, can I go now?” but I could see that this meeting was far from over.
    He raised an eyebrow questioningly.
    “My car was stolen a week ago. I reported it to the campus police and the police from the Fiftieth Precinct who came to take the report. I explained all of this to the two detectives who came to my office.” I crossed my legs and then uncrossed them.
    He took his glasses off again and leaned back in his