Dead Air (Sammy Greene Thriller) by Deborah Shlian, Linda Reid

Campus. At its easternmost edge, EU ended where the city of St. Charlesbury, Vermont began. It was a typical New England small town whose eight thousand inhabitants tolerated Ellsford students in the same cool, dubious manner they suffered “the summah people” — those wealthy East Coast vacationers who summered there. Just like the tourists, the university population supplied substantial revenue to local coffers.
    A bright morning sky reflected an impossible blue with a clarity Sammy had never known or even imagined in the polluted skies above the New York of her childhood. She inhaled deeply of fresh Vermont air.
    Wonderful.
    The sun had just come up, long shadows retreating from streets and walkways, over the trees and rooftops like the outgoing tide. The fact that the temperature was near freezing and that she wore nothing more than her minilength Ellsford U. nightshirt didn’t faze Sammy. She loved this time of day — crisp and new, filled with possibilities. An early riser since childhood, she never understood people who stayed huddled in bed until all hours. Such a waste of opportunities, as Grandma Rose used to say.
    Breakfast with Reed was usually one of those morning treats. This morning, however, she had to make a stop first. She planned to follow up with Conrad. Perhaps if she confronted the professor before breakfast, he’d be too hungover to resist her questions. And, she had to retrieve her purse. She needed her tape recorder for the interviews on the suicide kid she’d be doing this afternoon.
    Fearing an unwelcome reception, she prepared a thermos of fresh coffee as a peace offering and gesture of goodwill. Then, slipping on faded blue jeans, a green turtleneck sweater, and a pair of black leather Doc Martens, she grabbed her peacoat and headed out the door.
    The campus was eerily quiet as she made her way across the quad, the only sound the crackle of tawny autumn leaves beneath her energetic stride. Reaching the law school, she stopped to admire its ivy-colored ribbed vaulting and pointed arches. It was said that Thomas Ellsford, Jr., founded the university just so his son would not have to travel to Boston to study law. Whether apocryphal or not, the law complex was probably the most beautiful spot at EU, nestled in the bosom of a soft meadow spangled with dandelions in the warmer months. It was a favorite place for students, including Sammy herself, to sit and read. Just behind the law library stood the chancellor’s home where today Reginald, a fifth generation Ellsford, resided.
    Farther along, she passed the music building, an unpleasant reminder of yesterday’s suicide and her task to interview a few of that poor kid’s classmates this afternoon. The bell tower from where hefell now scattered the sun’s rays like a yellow daisy on the quad below.
    Flowers on the grave.
    She shuddered at the memory and sped on. It was too beautiful a morning to think about death.
    Within twenty minutes she’d reached South Campus and the walkway that led to Conrad’s home. Just as yesterday, the shutters were drawn, the pale yellow house still. She hesitated for a moment, wondering even as she climbed the front steps whether she really ought to wake him. The front door was locked. Several knocks produced no response. About to retreat, she was surprised to see the side window slightly raised, the shutters open.
    Frowning, she bent down and whispered through the crack, “Professor. It’s Sammy. May I come in?”
    No answer. She tried calling more loudly. Still nothing.
    Now what? She considered leaving, but her purse was in there.
    Repeating his name, she slowly eased the window open and leaned in just enough to peek into the living room. The shutters were drawn, the table lamp turned off. It was difficult to distinguish beyond shapes and shadows, but she recognized Conrad still in his sweat suit, lying supine on the sofa, his head angled slightly to his left. One arm was folded against his chest, the