Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead by Janice Kay Johnson Page B
Authors: Janice Kay Johnson
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what he’d been thinking. Or
maybe she’d be okay with it as long as he kept his mouth shut, which he fully
intended to do.
It was damn tempting, though, to reopen that cold case when
there were actually some potential witnesses gathered right here rather than
spread across the country. Even better, though, when there was a full reunion of
King’s classmates.
Of course, college/town relations were always a little
delicate, and that might sour them here in Frenchman Lake for the next quarter
century or so. No, Troy wouldn’t get anywhere suggesting any such thing unless
he found an interesting end of a string to pull.
Forget it, he told himself.
He automatically sought Madison. She stood with her back to
him, but he found plenty to admire, anyway. With her hair piled on top of her
head, he had a fine view of her slim neck and the delicate string of vertebrae
that disappeared beneath the plunging back of the dress. Her shoulder blades
were beautifully constructed, too, he decided. And, while the dress didn’t cling
quite as well as the red suit she’d worn that first day, it still suggested an
ass as lush as the breasts Senator Haywood had leered at.
She was a lot more interesting than a murder that had happened
thirty-five years ago.
She glanced over her shoulder right then, those warm brown eyes
rolling with just a hint of desperation, and he obeyed the summons. He was
getting to spend more time with her this evening than he’d expected.
It had been a while since he’d been able to think smugly, life is good .
CHAPTER FOUR
T HE CROWD WATCHED , breathless, as two workmen used crowbars to pry out the
foundation stone that hid the time capsule.
Troy bent his head to place his mouth close to Madison’s ear.
“You know, this could be a big oops. What if somebody stole the capsule
twenty-five years ago?”
She allowed herself a small grin. “You think I’m that
dumb?”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “You checked.”
“You bet.”
She hadn’t been about to set all this up only to find, at the
penultimate moment, that the capsule had disappeared at any time in the past thirty-five years.
With a grinding sound, the block of granite was inched backward
until it hung out of the foundation so far that Madison held her breath. Finally
the two workmen leaped backward and the stone fell, landing with a perceptible
thud. Even she jumped a little.
Troy’s chuckle made her want to stick out her tongue at him. Of
course, his poise never wavered. The two of them had
positioned themselves near the front, but to one side in the shade cast by a
huge, ancient maple tree. Madison felt a little like the wizard of Oz right now,
pulling strings from behind the curtain. The designated front man was the
president of the college, well accustomed to being on stage.
Lars Berglund looked like a college
president should, with his snowy hair cut stylishly, his blue eyes perceptive,
his tall body trim from daily workouts. He had the gift of seemingly focusing
all his attention on the one person who was speaking. What could be more
flattering? He exuded charm, charisma and brains. It went without saying that he
had the requisite background: while a professor of political science and
international relations at a couple of different, prestigious private colleges,
he had published well-reviewed articles and books, including one that was a
standby college text in the area of comparative African politics. He still wrote
and published. His personality made him a natural for administration, however.
Wakefield felt lucky to have lured him from a larger Midwestern university.
Now he stooped to peer into the dark opening. He murmured to
one of the workmen, who handed him a glove. After donning it, Berglund groped
within. He allowed a dramatically elongated moment before triumphantly dragging
out the rather odd capsule. Made of shiny metal, at first sight it had looked to
Madison as if it ought to hold nuclear material or something else
maybe she’d be okay with it as long as he kept his mouth shut, which he fully
intended to do.
It was damn tempting, though, to reopen that cold case when
there were actually some potential witnesses gathered right here rather than
spread across the country. Even better, though, when there was a full reunion of
King’s classmates.
Of course, college/town relations were always a little
delicate, and that might sour them here in Frenchman Lake for the next quarter
century or so. No, Troy wouldn’t get anywhere suggesting any such thing unless
he found an interesting end of a string to pull.
Forget it, he told himself.
He automatically sought Madison. She stood with her back to
him, but he found plenty to admire, anyway. With her hair piled on top of her
head, he had a fine view of her slim neck and the delicate string of vertebrae
that disappeared beneath the plunging back of the dress. Her shoulder blades
were beautifully constructed, too, he decided. And, while the dress didn’t cling
quite as well as the red suit she’d worn that first day, it still suggested an
ass as lush as the breasts Senator Haywood had leered at.
She was a lot more interesting than a murder that had happened
thirty-five years ago.
She glanced over her shoulder right then, those warm brown eyes
rolling with just a hint of desperation, and he obeyed the summons. He was
getting to spend more time with her this evening than he’d expected.
It had been a while since he’d been able to think smugly, life is good .
CHAPTER FOUR
T HE CROWD WATCHED , breathless, as two workmen used crowbars to pry out the
foundation stone that hid the time capsule.
Troy bent his head to place his mouth close to Madison’s ear.
“You know, this could be a big oops. What if somebody stole the capsule
twenty-five years ago?”
She allowed herself a small grin. “You think I’m that
dumb?”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “You checked.”
“You bet.”
She hadn’t been about to set all this up only to find, at the
penultimate moment, that the capsule had disappeared at any time in the past thirty-five years.
With a grinding sound, the block of granite was inched backward
until it hung out of the foundation so far that Madison held her breath. Finally
the two workmen leaped backward and the stone fell, landing with a perceptible
thud. Even she jumped a little.
Troy’s chuckle made her want to stick out her tongue at him. Of
course, his poise never wavered. The two of them had
positioned themselves near the front, but to one side in the shade cast by a
huge, ancient maple tree. Madison felt a little like the wizard of Oz right now,
pulling strings from behind the curtain. The designated front man was the
president of the college, well accustomed to being on stage.
Lars Berglund looked like a college
president should, with his snowy hair cut stylishly, his blue eyes perceptive,
his tall body trim from daily workouts. He had the gift of seemingly focusing
all his attention on the one person who was speaking. What could be more
flattering? He exuded charm, charisma and brains. It went without saying that he
had the requisite background: while a professor of political science and
international relations at a couple of different, prestigious private colleges,
he had published well-reviewed articles and books, including one that was a
standby college text in the area of comparative African politics. He still wrote
and published. His personality made him a natural for administration, however.
Wakefield felt lucky to have lured him from a larger Midwestern university.
Now he stooped to peer into the dark opening. He murmured to
one of the workmen, who handed him a glove. After donning it, Berglund groped
within. He allowed a dramatically elongated moment before triumphantly dragging
out the rather odd capsule. Made of shiny metal, at first sight it had looked to
Madison as if it ought to hold nuclear material or something else
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