Trouble rode shotgun. The big dog balked as I led him into my office. His upper lip began a slow, sinuous ripple. Fangs appeared. I shivered, then breathed in deeply. Survival instinct took over. I visualized myself in a classroom: Never let them smell fear. I assumed the scowl and bark of a hardened teacher. “Trouble. Come! Sit! Stay!” He came, sat, and stayed. I breathed again. I closed Trouble in behind the door.***As I passed the president’s office on my way to the session in Emerson Hall, Avery Mitchell called me in. He wore grey wool pants and a starched blue broadcloth shirt open at the collar. He must have dressed in a hurry; his belt had missed one of the belt loops. “Aiiee, Karen,” he groaned theatrically, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. “Who would have thought it? Another murder on this peaceful little campus.”“There’s been another murder? When? Who?” I stared around, as if he might have a corpse concealed behind the maroon leather furniture.“I mean that guy in the library.
What do You think about Joanne Dobson - Karen Pelletier 05 - The Maltese Manuscript?
