G & T into C.J.’s coffee cup and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek and a stolen glimpse down her blouse.
“Thanks , darling. The drink was worth the price,” she said.
C.J. settled into a seat on the right side of the horseshoe, towards the middle, took a satisfied swallow from the Styrofoam cup, and placed her long legs up on the desk in front of her, causing several of her colleagues to re-adjust uncomfortably in their seats. “Thanks for leaving that info about the position at UT Austin in my mailbox, Walt. But, you know, I love you more than a hog loves mud. So I guess I’ll just have to stay here.”
Professor Walter Scovill closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He wasn’t picky. These were modern times. She didn’t have to marry anyone. He’d settle for the respite of maternity leave. Walter opened his eyes and gave his most ingratiating smile to the faculty. “Thank you for coming. I realize that your time is valuable,” he lied. Given the departmental publication rate for the last two years, Walter thought the time of about one-quarter of the people in front of him was valuable-ish, and the rest were disposable goods, but this wasn’t the time to get into that.
Walter knew the only thing these people were interested in was Edmund’s murder. Heck, that’s the only reason why half of them were here. He knew they had off-loaded their first week of teaching on to their graduate students. “Just hand out the syllabus and show the kids the website.” Which didn’t actually worry Walter that much. Most of the students didn’t start class on the first day either, finding their flights “unavoidably delayed” in Belize or St Lucia or Tahiti. But, intrigued by the death of Edmund, it appeared his faculty had hurried, even rushed, back from their exotic vacations or “conferences,” a.k.a. university paid speed dating sessions. But Walter wasn’t going to pander to such weakness. He didn’t want to start by talking about Edmund. He was sick of talking about Edmund. Walter had an agenda, and he was going to stick to it. “The first item on today’s agenda is the hiring committee. They are going to give a report on their preliminary progress.”
The room fell completely and uncomfortably silent. There wasn’t even the clicking of a keyboard. No one looked at Stephen. Everyone knew they were talking about hiring his replacement. Then the murmurings began.
C.J. just cut her eyes at Walter. Jerk. This matter could, and should, be handled at a meeting of the tenured faculty, out of Stephen’s hearing.
Walter tried to regain control. Condescension to his colleagues was his favored method, though he was never above yelling. “Jefferson, I couldn’t hear you. Did you say something you wished to share?”
“I was just saying that I was glad that I wasn’t on the hiring committee, as their workload has doubled. I assume we are going to hire a replacement for Edmund’s position.”
Chatter broke out among the room again.
“Do you think the killer will strike again?”
“Are we all at risk?”
“Do you think we could get that guy from Harvard, if we got him a bodyguard as well?”
“I think there is an up and coming grad student at Stanford we should look at.”
C.J. said a silent thank-you to Jefferson for drawing the attention away from Stephen.
Peter Johansson stood up and finally quieted the room with a series of restrained coughs. Peter Johansson was a graying man in his early fifties, with a disconcerting habit of rubbing his balding head as if searching for his lost follicles. His befuddled demeanor often gave the impression of a kindly soul. However, like most economists, Peter Johansson viewed kindness as an input, a means of achieving his own agenda.
“Umm. So, for tho se of you who don’t know, I am Chair of the Hiring Committee. Despite having met several times over the summer, we have only just begun the process of the search for the new junior faculty member. It
“Thanks , darling. The drink was worth the price,” she said.
C.J. settled into a seat on the right side of the horseshoe, towards the middle, took a satisfied swallow from the Styrofoam cup, and placed her long legs up on the desk in front of her, causing several of her colleagues to re-adjust uncomfortably in their seats. “Thanks for leaving that info about the position at UT Austin in my mailbox, Walt. But, you know, I love you more than a hog loves mud. So I guess I’ll just have to stay here.”
Professor Walter Scovill closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He wasn’t picky. These were modern times. She didn’t have to marry anyone. He’d settle for the respite of maternity leave. Walter opened his eyes and gave his most ingratiating smile to the faculty. “Thank you for coming. I realize that your time is valuable,” he lied. Given the departmental publication rate for the last two years, Walter thought the time of about one-quarter of the people in front of him was valuable-ish, and the rest were disposable goods, but this wasn’t the time to get into that.
Walter knew the only thing these people were interested in was Edmund’s murder. Heck, that’s the only reason why half of them were here. He knew they had off-loaded their first week of teaching on to their graduate students. “Just hand out the syllabus and show the kids the website.” Which didn’t actually worry Walter that much. Most of the students didn’t start class on the first day either, finding their flights “unavoidably delayed” in Belize or St Lucia or Tahiti. But, intrigued by the death of Edmund, it appeared his faculty had hurried, even rushed, back from their exotic vacations or “conferences,” a.k.a. university paid speed dating sessions. But Walter wasn’t going to pander to such weakness. He didn’t want to start by talking about Edmund. He was sick of talking about Edmund. Walter had an agenda, and he was going to stick to it. “The first item on today’s agenda is the hiring committee. They are going to give a report on their preliminary progress.”
The room fell completely and uncomfortably silent. There wasn’t even the clicking of a keyboard. No one looked at Stephen. Everyone knew they were talking about hiring his replacement. Then the murmurings began.
C.J. just cut her eyes at Walter. Jerk. This matter could, and should, be handled at a meeting of the tenured faculty, out of Stephen’s hearing.
Walter tried to regain control. Condescension to his colleagues was his favored method, though he was never above yelling. “Jefferson, I couldn’t hear you. Did you say something you wished to share?”
“I was just saying that I was glad that I wasn’t on the hiring committee, as their workload has doubled. I assume we are going to hire a replacement for Edmund’s position.”
Chatter broke out among the room again.
“Do you think the killer will strike again?”
“Are we all at risk?”
“Do you think we could get that guy from Harvard, if we got him a bodyguard as well?”
“I think there is an up and coming grad student at Stanford we should look at.”
C.J. said a silent thank-you to Jefferson for drawing the attention away from Stephen.
Peter Johansson stood up and finally quieted the room with a series of restrained coughs. Peter Johansson was a graying man in his early fifties, with a disconcerting habit of rubbing his balding head as if searching for his lost follicles. His befuddled demeanor often gave the impression of a kindly soul. However, like most economists, Peter Johansson viewed kindness as an input, a means of achieving his own agenda.
“Umm. So, for tho se of you who don’t know, I am Chair of the Hiring Committee. Despite having met several times over the summer, we have only just begun the process of the search for the new junior faculty member. It
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