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friends: Type in a phrase and it searched for similar wordings in any online library. The resulting metrics didn’t do all the work, but they did provide a short cut. ‘But that’s just a start, Tris. You know that. And she’s going to publish. First.’ There was no response to that, and the friends sat in companionable silence as ZZ Top filled the room.
    â€˜Chris doesn’t get it,’ Dulcie said finally. ‘He wants to help, really. But he doesn’t understand.’
    Trista nodded. ‘If only we could keep her out of the Mildon.’ She seemed to be thinking out loud. ‘Do you think that clerk, Griddlehaus, would help you?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’ Dulcie had to admit, she’d thought about it. ‘He’s pretty law abiding. Especially after, you know, what happened last spring.’ The scandal that had brought down the Mildon’s director had come close to ruining the collection’s reputation. ‘He’s been specifically instructed to give her access – and to help her.’ Dulcie almost choked on the word. ‘The letter came with a personal note from that new associate dean, what’s his name – Roger Haitner?’
    â€˜Robert Haitner? That whey-faced prig?’ Trista’s specialty – Victorian literature – tended to creep into her slang. ‘He’s been trouble ever since he was appointed. You know, that little bugbear and his rug were behind the elimination of Luther’s position.’
    â€˜I didn’t.’ Rather pale herself, as well as diminutive in height, Dulcie winced a bit at Trista’s insults. It was true that the dean’s hair, suspiciously dark and thick, appeared fake, part of what seemed to be an attempt to look – and act – younger than his age. The rest, however, was news. Dulcie had heard that the documents restoration department had lost some of its funding. She’d come back from summer vacation to find Griddlehaus as upset as she’d ever seen him, but she hadn’t known the cause. ‘You’d think, if he wants this woman here, he’d have been more careful about cutting jobs and alienating people.’
    â€˜Maybe it’s something special about her.’ Trista started to smile, a tight, mean smile. Even Dulcie had heard about the dean’s reputation as a Lothario. Everyone had. ‘But maybe there’s something we can do about it on the other end. We may be stuck with him, but we can trip her up a little. Let her know she’s not welcome in Cambridge.’
    â€˜No.’ Dulcie shook her head again, sadly. ‘I don’t know what’s going on – I mean, with the dean and all. I do know she’s got pull. That letter was like an all-access pass. And even if she didn’t, I can’t stand in her way. I mean, it’s not her fault that I’ve been slow.’ Trista’s brow furrowed, rousing Dulcie. ‘Maybe I can talk to her.’ She affected a cheer she didn’t really feel. ‘See what she’s looking for. Maybe I can find some part of the
Ravages
she isn’t interested in. Some little fact she doesn’t care about.’
    â€˜Dulcie, are you serious?’ Trista looked up and accepted a fresh mug from Jerry. Chris sat one chair over, his feeling of helplessness showing on his face. ‘You want to make peace with this, this—’
    â€˜I don’t
want
to, Tris.’ The anger was surfacing again. ‘I don’t
want
to talk to her or try to get along with her. I don’t want to have anything to do with this . . . this Sloane Harquist person. But I think I have to. I think it’s the only way to get through this, the only way to see if I may still have something to say in my own thesis.’
    In an uncharacteristic move, she picked up her own mug and took a long pull of beer. Choking a little, she wiped her mouth, her lips set in a new determination.