Read Online FM for Murder by Patricia Rockwell - Free Book Online Page B

rolling chair moved back and forth from the desk. “Hmm. Not good.” She crossed her arms and appeared to ponder the news.
    “Arliss?” questioned Joan.
    “What?”
    “You’re very quiet,” answered Joan. This was an understatement, thought Pamela, as Arliss MacGregor was usually the most outspoken and opinionated friend she had. Joan and Pamela spent a good portion of their time trying to calm Arliss down when she was in one of her frenzies—usually about the state of the Psychology Department’s animal lab, of which Arliss was director.
    “Trying to make a decision,” responded the young instructor, swaying back and forth on the desk chair, her feet planted firmly on the desk top. Pamela always was careful to clear her desk top of important papers before she moved to the couch to eat lunch because she knew Arliss liked to relax in this position and Pamela did not want Arliss’ feet to damage any of her research. Of course, Pamela could have lunched at her own desk, but she far preferred sitting on her couch, which she did most of the time—unless she was working on her computer.
    “All right,” said Pamela, setting down her thermos on her end table by her sofa, “what decision?”
    “What to do about Bob,” answered Arliss. Bob Goodman was the department’s animal psychology director and Arliss’s immediate supervisor. They worked together closely. Just how closely, Pamela discovered last year during her “investigation” of Charlotte Clark’s murder when she overhead Bob and Arliss in a romantic tete-a-tete under the central stairwell. The couple had been involved for quite some time but had kept their relationship secret until that point. Pamela had “outed” them. Ever since, Joan and Pamela had teased Arliss mercilessly about Bob, but Arliss remained discreet. The fact that today she was even mentioning the name of her paramour was a shock to both women.
    “What about Bob?” asked Joan. Both Joan and Pamela leaned towards Arliss, in eager anticipation.
    “He---he—asked me—he asked me,” said Arliss, flinging her feet back on the floor, and attempting to swallow.
    The other women waited for her to complete her sentence.
    “He asked me to….,” said Arliss, kicking her loafers back and forth on the linoleum under the desk and scrunching her brow.
    “For God’s sake,” said Joan, finally, “What?”
    “To marry him,” squeaked Arliss, deflated, staring at her shoes.
    “To marry him?” asked Pamela, “My God, Arliss, you sound as if he asked you to dig ditches with him.”
    “He asked you to marry him?” repeated Joan. “Like—get married, have a wedding, go on a honeymoon, marry him?” With each phrase from Joan’s mouth Arliss’ face fell noticeably and her shoulders drooped.
    “Is there any other kind?” she asked, with a look of complete dejection.
    “Okay,” said Pamela, nodding slowly, “I hear you, but I’m not understanding. I’m sensing that you think marrying Bob is not a good idea. Is that it?”
    “I don’t know,” said Arliss, still sitting with her body crumpled, staring at the ground.
    “Now, wait a minute,” said Joan. “You never discuss this—your relationship with Bob—with us. You always say you don’t want to talk about it. Does this mean, you want our advice, or what?”
    “I don’t know,” repeated Arliss.
    “Joan,” said Pamela, turning to her friend, “whether she wants our advice or not, I think we need to help her. I mean, look at her. Have you ever seen her like this?”
    “No,” said Joan, “she looks like one of her rats—a scared little rat.”
    “My rats are not scared!” piped up Arliss, now in fight mode as the subject turned to one on which she felt more at home.
    “So,” said Pamela, stretching out her left index finger and pressing it with her right index finger, “let me get this straight. Bob proposed to you and you said ‘I don’t know’?”
    “Sort of,” responded Arliss, swishing her feet back