Snipped in the Bud Read Free Page B

her own. I wasn’t even sure she’d ever married, although photographs of her with a man named Zed taken on various backpacking adventures were arranged on her desk. Seeing her now, I remembered the last time she’d come to my aid—when I’d learned that I’d been booted out of law school. She’d held me when I cried, wiped my tears, bundled me into her car, and shuffled me to a coffee shop, where I’d drowned my sorrows in her favorite remedy—hot, spiced soy chai tea.
    It was Bea who’d urged me to forget the law and search my soul for what I truly wanted out of life. She’d encouraged me to explore the idea of buying the foundering Bloomers, where I’d worked during the summers of my college years. It had been the best advice of my life and I’d thanked her many times over for her guidance.
    Unaware of my approach, she took a woven leather drawstring purse out of a file cabinet drawer and rose, a distracted look on her normally serene face. When she saw me she gave a little gasp, then covered it with a forced laugh. “Abby! You gave me a start.”
    “Sorry. Guess what I have? A delivery for Professor Puffer.” I held up the wrapped rose and scrunched my nose to show my displeasure.
    “He’s not in,” she said, backing toward the stairs. “Just set it on his desk and leave the bill beside it. I wish I had time to chat, but I have an appointment.”
    “Sure, thanks. I’ll catch you later.” I watched her hurry off, hoping everything was all right—it wasn’t like her to be so agitated. Then I remembered my reason for coming and turned to gaze anxiously at Puffer’s closed office door. Why was I so nervous when he wasn’t even there?
    Holding the package in front of me like a shield, I walked toward the Dragon’s lair, trying to ignore the knot in my gut. As I passed Professor Reed’s office I could hear him talking in a sharp, but hushed voice. No one answered him, so I figured he was on the phone, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t a happy camper.
    I stopped at Puffer’s door, knocked, waited a few moments, then took a deep breath and stepped inside, extremely relieved to find that Bea was right. The Dragon was gone.
    His office was just as I remembered it, even down to the smell of pine disinfectant. There was a wall of shelves with the books arranged not only by color, but also by size; another wall of awards, photos, and mementos from his JAG days; a small table that held a battlefield map covered with tiny soldiers and cannons; a desk with metal legs; a high-backed swivel chair; a door at the back that led to the elevator vestibule; and, finally, the small, wooden chair upon which I had sat many times, fighting back tears while he ridiculed my papers.
    The memory brought an angry flush to my face, which, on a redhead’s fair skin, was bright enough to look feverish. I plunked the flower on the desk, next to his computer monitor, propped the bill beside it, and was ready to leave—when I spotted the can of glossy black pencils on the far side of his desk and couldn’t resist the temptation. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was there, then snatched one of the sleek tools and held it as if I were going to snap it in two, imagining the satisfaction of hurling the eraser end at Puffer’s head.
    Suddenly, the rear door opened and in charged the Dragon in all his intimidating glory—head up, shoulders back, spine stiff, and nostrils flaring, as if he were a general in the military embarking on a war campaign.
    And there I stood like an enemy soldier within firing range, holding his pencil.

CHAPTER TWO
    P rofessor Puffer was a medium-sized, stocky man in his midforties, with brown hair clipped close on the sides, and small, even teeth. He had on a military-style, tan poplin shirt, brown slacks, and well-shined leather shoes, and at first glance he appeared distinguished, but he banished that notion as soon as he opened his mouth. He either barked commands or snarled them,