LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Three

      Rising, Morgan gathered his things and walked through the building to his department suite. His administrative assistant, Vicki Marble, sat at her desk downloading online syllabi to see who had completed the week’s reading and first assignment, due by midnight. They did everything electronically these days, which cut paperwork in half and quadrupled computer time.

      “Hey, Morg.”

      “Vic. What are the girls doing this weekend?”

      “Shopping for prom dresses.”

      “All three of them?”

      “All three of them.”

      “Give my condolences to Dwight. He’s a better man than me. Three teenaged daughters.” He gave a shudder just to see Vicki laugh. Redheaded, freckle-faced and as plain as a mud fence, she seemed to have been born good-natured and laughing, as well as efficient and organized. Her husband and astonishingly beautiful daughters adored her. “Speaking of Dwight,” he said, “I need a favor.”

      “Name it.”

      Dwight Marble worked in the provost’s office, handling admissions. Morgan explained what he needed then went into his office, closed the door and sat down at his desktop computer. Quickly, he brought up Simone’s complete file.

      She was older than he’d assumed—twenty-six as of the twentieth of this past August. She had completed her undergraduate work—all but his class—in Colorado and via remote study in Baton Rouge. Her next of kin was listed as Laverne Davenport Worth, whose address was in Fort Worth. The name Worth struck a chord with him, given that Hilda and Chester Worth comprised two-thirds of the staff at Chatam House. The name was fairly common in the area, however, and he’d never heard any mention of a Laverne, so he discounted any connection, especially when he read that the Guilland family, of Baton Rouge, had paid Simone’s tuition in full, for the entire course of her graduate degree, via an unusual trust account.

      Morgan sat back in his chair with a thump. He had seen scholarships and endowments of every variety, but he’d never seen anything like this. What on earth was going on here? He decided that he’d be eating breakfast at the Campus Gate Coffee House, where Simone worked, bright and early the next morning, and at some point he was going to have a frank discussion with Simone Guilland.

      How much he looked forward to that breakfast at the Campus Gate Coffee House troubled Morgan all that evening. He told himself that he was just doing his duty by pigeonholing Simone Guilland, but he couldn’t quite convince himself. He’d gone to greater lengths for other students. Why, he’d driven one young man all the way to California and enjoyed a delightful summer respite with his aunt Dorinda Latimer and her family while he was at it. Still, he’d never lain awake in the night picturing another student’s face or remembering how his heart had quivered with the flutter of her eyelashes as she’d regained consciousness after he’d carried her limp body in his arms.

      He was quite put out with himself by the time he tucked his newspaper under his arm and slid into the Beemer around nine the next morning. He’d meant to be up and about earlier, but his restlessness had made for a late night. Besides, by his estimation, the coffee shop shouldn’t be too busy on a Saturday morning.

      Wrong. The place was popping when he arrived, so much so that he had to park around the corner and walk nearly a block. All of the al fresco tables were taken, he noted as he pushed his way inside and caught the eye of the owner and manager, Frank Upton. He’d hoped to have a quiet word with the fellow. Instead, he got a nod and a point in the direction of a tiny table at the end of the bakery counter where Frank usually did his paperwork.

      “Be glad to visit if you have a minute.”

      “Sure. If I have a minute.”

      Shaking his head, Morgan walked over to the table. A cup of steaming-hot black coffee and a small cruet of cold cream laced with cinnamon appeared almost as soon as he sat down. He smiled at the waitress, Frank’s wife, Loretta.

      “Simone will be over to take your order in a moment.”

      “She’s here, then?”

      “Simone? Yes. You know her?”

      “She’s one of my students. Tell me, is she all right?”

      Loretta shrugged her ample shoulders. “I assume so. She’s a quiet one, never complains. Gets right to work. Stays busy. She’s awfully tired at the end of her shift, but that’s not surprising, a little thing like her.”

      “I hope that’s all it is,” Morgan muttered, opening his newspaper.

      Loretta went off to manage the coffee counter, and presently Simone showed up, clad in blue jeans, a bright orange T-shirt and a yellow apron.

      “Professor Chatam.” She produced an order pad from an apron pocket. “What can I get you?”

      “I’ll have one of those crusty cinnamon muffins and a couple hard-boiled eggs.”

      “Coming right up.”

      She swept off, returning moments later with a gargantuan muffin and two peeled eggs in a bowl.

      “Loretta says the coffee is on the house,” she said, slapping down the ticket.

      “It always is,” he told her with a smile, hoping to engage her in a moment’s conversation, but she was off again before he could explain that he and Frank had been friends since high

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