Murder 101 Read Free Page A

chair, folding his hands across his vested belly. “This is a terrible situation.” He looked at me, and I could see his face soften a bit. “I’ve spent the weekend dealing with this. And thinking about what to do—what’s best for the students’ protection, and how to keep the media away from them and you. And from here,” he stressed, “I think the best course of action would be to suspend you until this blows over.”
    I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach, but somehow, I managed to remain impassive.
    He held a hand up to ward off any potential emotional outbursts, putting it down when he saw the look on my face. “But Sister Mary has talked me out of it.” He leaned forward again. “So, teach your classes and grade your papers. Do not talk to the press, to your colleagues, or to anyone but the police about this.” The phone on his desk buzzed and he picked it up. “Yes? Tell him I need one minute.” He hung the phone up. “A Detective Crawford is here, and I need to see him. Are we clear?”
    I should have gotten up and left, but I opened my mouth to speak instead. “Crystal.” Sister Mary gave me a look and put her hand on top of mine, silencing me before I could say anything else. I nodded and stood.
    He continued, even though I thought the conversation was over. “Alison, let’s be clear . . .”
    I held up a hand to silence him. “I get it, Mark.” I stood for a minute more, and when he didn’t say anything, I asked, “Are we done?”
    He nodded, and I left the office. Detective Crawford was standing in front of one of the bookshelves, perusing the titles that Etheridge kept there. He turned when he heard me exit the president’s office. “Hello.”
    My face went red when I thought back to the Friday before and our conversation in my office. Then, I flashed back on my trip to the hospital and the part where I threw up on his shoes. My stomach got a little sick. “Hello,” I mumbled, and strode past him and into the hallway, going too fast and misjudging the space between where the carpet of the president’s office ended and the marble in the hallway began. I skidded onto the marble floor, my ankle twisting in my high heels. Just before I crumpled to a heap on the floor, I grabbed on to the door handle and righted myself. I saw Crawford start toward me and then stop, one of the books from the bookshelves in his hands. I looked at his shoes and from their high gloss could tell that they were new.
    “Are you all right?” he asked from inside the office. Fran leaned over her desk to see what had happened, her ample bosom grazing the top of a stack of files.
    “I’m fine,” I choked out. I managed to not lose it completely until I had put a great deal of distance between the two of us, and I raced down the hallway, cursing the janitor who had buffed the floor to such a dangerous gloss. I kept going until I reached the stairwell, thinking, My work here is done; I was completely humiliated.
    I made it back to my office without injuring myself further and closed the door. Classes had been canceled and grief counselors called in, so I had no reason to stay at school other than to get out of my empty house. I swept a pile of papers off my desk and into my briefcase, which was right where I’d left it on the floor. A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts, and I called to the person to come in.
    Sister Mary poked her head around the doorjamb tentatively and asked if she could come in. Mary isn’t usually timid; on the contrary, she’s officious and starchy. But being as she had to sit through Etheridge’s reprimands and had probably witnessed my skid across the floor in front of Fran and Detective Crawford, she probably felt just a little bit sorry for me. She came in and sat in the chair across from my desk where Detective Crawford had sat a few days before.
    “I’m not sure what to say, Alison,” she said, probably the first time she had ever uttered that