instruments. I also thought I might get an enlargement made of Dr. Mooney’s CampusProfs page picture.”
“You’ve thought of everything, Julia. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mary, his wife of thirty years, and their two dogs awaited him at home.
“You have a press conference at eight,” I reminded him as he left to dig his BMW out of the snow. “I expect it will be well attended.”
I heard the sound of voices in the hall, and a moment later Chief Kirkland’s lanky figure appeared in the doorway. I put down the stack of office forms I’d only just picked up again. “Chief Kirkland, any news?”
He shook his head in a curt and unambiguous negative.
“We’ve checked everywhere we could think of. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” I felt my eyes begin to sting with tears. I took off my glasses and gave them a firm wipe with the lens cloth I kept onmy desk. I had known Xavier for the seven years I’d been Lewis Sunder’s assistant; still, we’d only had infrequent contact regarding school business and exchanged small talk at the occasional lab party. I seemed to be overreacting. It was due to one simple fact, I realized. The professor had been a positive force in a complicated world.
On the window cabinet, a folder bulging with conference travel receipts and reimbursement forms suddenly flew open as its rubber band gave out, spewing papers all over the floor. My administrator’s instincts kicked in and I left my glasses on the desk and hurried over to pick up the forms.
“Looks like the snow isn’t letting up anytime soon,” Chief Kirkland said, bending down to help me. Outside, a compact snowplow chugged along under a streetlamp with the familiar grating noise of steel on asphalt; the path behind the snowplow had already acquired a layer of powder. “Are you heading out, Ms. Olsen, or—I’m sorry, is your name still Ms. Olsen now that Quinn has, uh, moved to Arizona?”
“It is. I mean, I never had to change it. Both he and I happened to be Olsens when we met. I thought it was a sign that we were fated to be together.” I snorted at the recollection and went back to my desk for a fresh folder to transfer the papers into.
The lanky figure by the window chose not to remark on that. “If you’re heading out, I’d be happy to escort you to your car to make sure it starts up in the cold—”
What, was he being gentlemanly or was that a dig against my admittedly aged Honda? Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, I reached for my glasses, slid them back on, and said, “Thanks, but I have to finish these forms on my desk tonight. In the spirit of redundancy, Central Accounting wants both hand-filled copies and online ones.” I noticed that his usual shadow was not behind him. “Where’s Officer Van Underberg?”
“At the station typing up his notes. I’ll be heading over there later—I suspect we’re in for a busy evening, with motorists stuck in snow and cars refusing to start. Wanda—my spaniel—will be wanting her dinner and a walk first. I was on my way home, but I noticed that your light was on.” He hesitated, then went on. “Losing a colleague is not—easy.”
From the way he said it, I sensed there was a story there, but did not want to pry. Instead I said, mulling over what he’d said like it was a matter of cold and indifferent semantics, “I don’t know if
colleague
is the right word. Xavier was a teacher and a researcher—there have been rumors that he and Dr. Rojas were up for next year’s Nobel Prize—and I spend most of my time making sure forms are filled out correctly.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Ms. Olsen. Professors Mooney and Rojas would hardly have been able to accomplish Nobel-worthy research without the support of the dean’s office. Though I have wondered why you’re content to be a dean’s assistant,” he added in what was for him an unusual outburst of curiosity. “You could be dean yourself.
“You’ve thought of everything, Julia. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mary, his wife of thirty years, and their two dogs awaited him at home.
“You have a press conference at eight,” I reminded him as he left to dig his BMW out of the snow. “I expect it will be well attended.”
I heard the sound of voices in the hall, and a moment later Chief Kirkland’s lanky figure appeared in the doorway. I put down the stack of office forms I’d only just picked up again. “Chief Kirkland, any news?”
He shook his head in a curt and unambiguous negative.
“We’ve checked everywhere we could think of. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” I felt my eyes begin to sting with tears. I took off my glasses and gave them a firm wipe with the lens cloth I kept onmy desk. I had known Xavier for the seven years I’d been Lewis Sunder’s assistant; still, we’d only had infrequent contact regarding school business and exchanged small talk at the occasional lab party. I seemed to be overreacting. It was due to one simple fact, I realized. The professor had been a positive force in a complicated world.
On the window cabinet, a folder bulging with conference travel receipts and reimbursement forms suddenly flew open as its rubber band gave out, spewing papers all over the floor. My administrator’s instincts kicked in and I left my glasses on the desk and hurried over to pick up the forms.
“Looks like the snow isn’t letting up anytime soon,” Chief Kirkland said, bending down to help me. Outside, a compact snowplow chugged along under a streetlamp with the familiar grating noise of steel on asphalt; the path behind the snowplow had already acquired a layer of powder. “Are you heading out, Ms. Olsen, or—I’m sorry, is your name still Ms. Olsen now that Quinn has, uh, moved to Arizona?”
“It is. I mean, I never had to change it. Both he and I happened to be Olsens when we met. I thought it was a sign that we were fated to be together.” I snorted at the recollection and went back to my desk for a fresh folder to transfer the papers into.
The lanky figure by the window chose not to remark on that. “If you’re heading out, I’d be happy to escort you to your car to make sure it starts up in the cold—”
What, was he being gentlemanly or was that a dig against my admittedly aged Honda? Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, I reached for my glasses, slid them back on, and said, “Thanks, but I have to finish these forms on my desk tonight. In the spirit of redundancy, Central Accounting wants both hand-filled copies and online ones.” I noticed that his usual shadow was not behind him. “Where’s Officer Van Underberg?”
“At the station typing up his notes. I’ll be heading over there later—I suspect we’re in for a busy evening, with motorists stuck in snow and cars refusing to start. Wanda—my spaniel—will be wanting her dinner and a walk first. I was on my way home, but I noticed that your light was on.” He hesitated, then went on. “Losing a colleague is not—easy.”
From the way he said it, I sensed there was a story there, but did not want to pry. Instead I said, mulling over what he’d said like it was a matter of cold and indifferent semantics, “I don’t know if
colleague
is the right word. Xavier was a teacher and a researcher—there have been rumors that he and Dr. Rojas were up for next year’s Nobel Prize—and I spend most of my time making sure forms are filled out correctly.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Ms. Olsen. Professors Mooney and Rojas would hardly have been able to accomplish Nobel-worthy research without the support of the dean’s office. Though I have wondered why you’re content to be a dean’s assistant,” he added in what was for him an unusual outburst of curiosity. “You could be dean yourself.
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