Read Online Murder is an Art by Bill Crider - Free Book Online Page B

something. The administration at Hughes believed that sound minds and sound bodies went together.
    So did Sally, sort of. At any rate, she believed it enough to put in an enthusiastic eighty minutes or so twice a week, working out to sterile instrumental versions of old rock songs. She liked to think that the occasional Hershey bars were just melting right out of her system with every step she took, and whether or not this was true, it made her feel good to think so. She seldom missed a class.
    After changing, she pulled her office door shut and stepped into the hall, practically bumping into Jack Neville.
    â€œAh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I, ah, didn’t see you coming out of your office. I guess I was thinking about these exams.”
    He held up the sheaf of papers that he was carrying in his right hand.
    Sally smiled. “That’s all right. I didn’t see you, either. I’m on my way to aerobics class.”
    â€œI, ah, see that you are. Those are nice, ah, leotards.”
    Jack was blushing, but Sally didn’t mind. It was nice to know that she could still have that effect on a man. She found herself wondering how Jorge would react in the same situation. Not like Jack, she decided.
    Jack walked down the hall beside her. “Don’t stop in the lounge,” he warned. “I saw Dr. Menton go in there earlier.”
    â€œI’ve already seen him,” Sally said. “He’s got transmission problems.”
    â€œHow did you escape?”
    â€œI lied.”
    â€œGood idea.”
    They walked in silence after that until they got outside. The sun was getting low, but there was never much of a sunset in Hughes. Or if there was, it couldn’t be seen. The land was too flat, and there were too many houses in the way. But the sky was darkening, and the warmth of the day was beginning to give way to the comparative chill of the evening.
    â€œI’m going over to the Art and Music Building,” Sally said.
    â€œI know,” Jack said. “I mean, I know that’s where the aerobics classes are held. Not that I’ve ever been by there. It’s printed in the schedule.”
    He was talking too fast, and Sally stopped to look at him. “Why, Jack,” she said. “You’re getting red.”
    â€œIt’s this evening air,” he said. “I’ve got to get on my way now. Lots of papers to grade.”
    He brandished the stack of papers again and fled the scene. Sally smiled as he trotted away.
    *   *   *
    Jack tossed the exams onto the seat of his three-year-old Corolla, got in, and closed the door. He certainly had handled that well, he told himself. About as well as the average fourteen-year-old, probably, if the fourteen-year-old was particularly socially inept.
    He decided that he needed a drink, so instead of going home, he drove to the Seahorse Club. There were no bars as such in Hughes. Some places sold beer, but hard liquor was available only in “private clubs.” There were several clubs, and all of them had extremely low membership fees. The one preferred by most of the Hughes faculty was the Seahorse, mainly because it was near the campus.
    When Jack went inside, he blinked his eyes to let them adjust to the dim light. After a second or so, he thought he saw Jorge Rodriguez and Vera Vaughn in a semiprivate booth in the back, but while Jack was still blinking, Troy Beauchamp beckoned from a nearby table where he was sitting with Samuel Winston.
    Winston had an owl-like stare and a bad attitude. Jack wasn’t sure what caused the stare, but the attitude was the result of the fact that Winston was teaching at a backwater community college in Texas rather than at Harvard, which was where he’d thought he’d wind up after his distinguished academic career. Harvard hadn’t been hiring, however, and neither had most of the other four-year institutions in the country. Or maybe Winston’s