Shakespeare Under Cover

by Erin Wade

  “I . . . uh, um . . . Thank you, Chancellor O’Brien, for taking the time to visit with us tonight.”

  ##

  The local news manager rushed to Katherine. “I apologize for his rudeness,” she exclaimed. “Those New Yorkers are embarrassing sometimes.”

  “No apology necessary,” Katherine said. “I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to state our position on national TV.”

  “Our driver is off work now, but I’d be delighted to return you to your home,” the station manager declared, walking Katherine to the front door of the station.

  “That won’t be necessary,” said a tall blonde who strode toward them. “I’ll drive Chancellor O’Brien home, if that’s alright with her.”

  ##

  Brandy turned off the TV. She’d lost interest in the game. “This isn’t good,” she said. “I gave Robin a pretty good beating when I caught her trying to—”

  “She was alive when we walked away.” Regan caught Brandy’s hand. “And you certainly didn’t throw her into the bonfire. You never left my side. I doubt anyone will think you’re guilty of murder.”

  “How did she get into that bonfire?” Brandy pondered. “I’m certain we will hear from Agent King tomorrow. I’d better get to my dorm. Kiki will be worried sick.”

  “You can call Kiki,” Regan suggested. “I’d feel safer if you stayed with me tonight.”

  The look that crossed Brandy’s face made Regan add, “You can sleep in the guestroom.”

  Brandy snickered. “I knew that was what you meant.”

  Chapter 14

  “You did an outstanding job with that interview,” Peyton said as she walked Katherine to the car. “You always say just the right thing.”

  “Um, yes, but I must admit I was thrilled that the news media hasn’t gotten the information that a gorgeous blonde FBI agent shot my assistant head coach. I would have had trouble fielding that one.”

  Peyton chuckled as she opened the door for Katherine. “The truth would have been unpleasant.”

  Peyton started her car and turned to the chancellor. “You’re beautiful. I love that dress. You’re too stunning to take home. Let me take you to dinner?”

  Katherine gazed into eyes so blue she felt she could swim in them. “I’d enjoy that.”

  Peyton drove to a quaint Chinese restaurant outside Austin. It was expensive, which guaranteed it wouldn’t be overrun with UT students. “Chief Sawyer is going to have her hands full tonight,” she mused. “Texas won the homecoming game, and every frat and sorority on campus will have a drunken celebration that will eventually spill onto the streets.”

  Katherine nodded. “Maybe we should initiate a campaign encouraging sobriety. Next year we could bring in several popular bands and hold dances without alcohol. I will begin with my own administration. A zero tolerance for public consumption of alcohol. We need to set an example for our students, especially in the athletic department.

  “Tucker was a big guy. Sober, I doubt anyone could have overpowered him. Do you have any more news on the cause of Robin Chase’s death?”

  Peyton smiled and took the chancellor’s hand, pulling it into her lap. She knew Katherine’s rapid-fire barrage of ideas and questions was her way of dealing with difficult situations.

  “She was dead when she was put into the fire.” Katherine’s hand tightened on Peyton’s. “Her neck was broken,” Peyton continued. “Someone had to put her in the Mule, drive it into the fire, and jump out in time to avoid burning themselves. My job is to figure out how they did it without being seen.”

  “Do you think the two deaths are connected?” Katherine asked.

  “I’m not certain, but there is one common denominator in both deaths.”

  “What?”

  “Not a what,” Peyton said, “a who. Both victims made an assault attempt on Professor Regan Shaw.”

  “You think Professor Shaw is involved?” Katherine gasped.

  “No, but I think someone who cares about Regan Shaw might be a wee bit overprotective.”

  “I love this place.” Katherine looked around the Chinese restaurant. “I’m glad you selected it.”

  Peyton smiled. “It’s quiet and intimate. I thought we could talk without interruption. I found Chief Sawyer’s files on the athletic department.”

  “From the dark clouds I see in your blue eyes,” Katherine said, frowning, “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.”

  “It looks like Sawyer devoted most of her time to cleaning up the messes made by the athletic department. She made DWIs go away and dropped theft charges on athletes daily. The thing she was losing control of was the sexual assault complaints.

  “There are hundreds of complaints filed by coeds against the members of UT’s athletic department. I have a dozen complaints about your athletic director. They range from rape to assault with his fist.”

  “Go after him hard,” Katherine insisted. “I want to be rid of him. His attitude has poisoned the entire coaching staff and the players.”

  “Do you have anyone in mind to replace him?”

  “I’d love to have someone with the morals of Peyton Manning.” Katherine laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a coup?”

  “Why not go for Manning?” Peyton giggled as she emptied her wine glass. She refilled it and Katherine’s before proposing a toast. “Here’s to getting Peyton Manning as the UT athletic director.”

  “Could you bring your files to my home tomorrow, so we can see if I have enough cause to fire Bob Radford?”

  “I’d be willing to work on that tonight.” Peyton smiled devilishly. “I have the files in my apartment, if you’d like to go over them there.”

  “Are you inviting me to see your etchings?” Katherine laughed. “I’d like that.” She lost herself in the blue ocean of Peyton’s eyes.

  Chapter 15

  Campus Police Chief Pat Sawyer panicked when she realized Agent King had the files she had hidden. She knew it was just a matter of time before Chancellor O’Brien requested her presence. O’Brien had been reasonable with Pat so far, but the police chief had seen the chancellor almost dismember those who displeased her. Pat was certain O’Brien would be livid over her collusion in the cover-up of criminal activities within the athletic department.

  Pat chose two o’clock Sunday morning to search Athletic Director Bob Radford’s office. She had to find the photos and any copies of the video of her wild night with Sadie. She pulled on her gloves and conducted a three-hour search that turned up nothing.

  “Dammit, where did he hide them?” She searched Radford’s laptop but found no traces of the video. She wondered if Agent King had taken Danny Tucker’s laptop. Tucker had always done Radford’s dirty work. The evidence she wanted was probably in Tucker’s office, which was sealed off with FBI tape.

  Throwing caution to the wind, Pat made another of her epic bad decisions. She carefully left Radford’s office as she’d found it and headed for Danny Tucker’s office.

  Pat slipped under the FBI tape and used her master key to open Tucker’s office. It looked like a Texas cyclone had ripped through it. Desk drawers were hanging open, and files were dumped in a heap on the floor. Every file drawer had been pulled from its cabinet and emptied. Tucker’s laptop was gone.

  Pat knew that Peyton King’s team had left no stone unturned. I’m so screwed, she thought as she relocked Tucker’s office and slipped from the athletics building.

  The first rays of the sun were turning the campus buildings into glorious shades of gold, pink, and yellow as Pat entered her own office.

  “I wondered what hours you kept.”

  Peyton’s voice stabbed Pat’s heart, and she turned to face the FBI agent. “I was just—”

  “I know what you were just doing,” Peyton scoffed. “You were looking for this.” She held up the video. “I see the coaches put an appropriate label on it—Sadie Does the Police Department.”

  Pat choked back the bile that rose in her throat. “The police dep
artment?” she croaked.

  Peyton pulled a dozen more video CDs from her pocket. “At least a baker’s dozen. Twelve here, plus yours. That makes thirteen.”

  “Are you going to turn those over to Chancellor O’Brien?” Perspiration was popping out on Pat’s brow.

  “I answer to a higher power than Chancellor O’Brien,” Peyton huffed. “O’Brien would just fire you and hope you’d slink away, but you’ve committed federal crimes. You do know that intercepting the chancellor’s mail is a crime? And then there’s the matter of framing an innocent homeless guy for murder when you knew the culprits were football players and coaches.”

  Pat gulped. She could feel the noose tightening around her neck. “Look, Peyton, I was being blackmailed. I had no choice. I had to do those things.”

  “Who, specifically, was blackmailing you?”

  Pat hesitated. If Peyton didn’t know, maybe she hadn’t found all the files, she thought.

  “Was it Bob Radford?”

  “No. The buck stops with Clint Wayne . . . slimy little prick.”

  “I’ll need you to testify against everyone involved in this mess,” Peyton said. “I need detailed information from you that will put them all behind bars. Did Radford have any knowledge of what was going on?”

  Pat’s hesitation let Peyton know she was about to hold back important information.

  “Don’t lie to me now, Sawyer. This is the only chance you’ll get to make a deal. If you hold out anything, I’ll personally see that you go to jail with your buddies in the athletic department.”

  “Yeah, Radford knew,” Pat mumbled.

  “Did he participate in the team’s little orgies?”

  “Sometimes.” Pat hung her head.

  “Did you ever try to stop them?”

  “Of course! That’s why they slipped Sadie in on me.” Pat avoided Peyton’s gaze. “They wanted something to hold over me.”

  “And you gave it to them?” Peyton huffed.

  “Yeah!”

  Peyton pushed a lined yellow pad toward Pat and pulled a pen from the holder on her desk. “Write down what you know,” she instructed the police chief. “This needs to sound like a sincere apology. If you help me prosecute Radford and Wayne, I’ll get you into the witness protection program. You can go somewhere else and start over.”

  Pat scowled and picked up the pen. “How should I start it?”

  “If you’re truly sorry, start with that,” Peyton scoffed. “I’ll help you. Write, ‘It is with a heavy heart that I must put on paper the evil deeds I’ve been a party to.’”

  Pat began writing and committed to paper the things she had been involved in over the years. Two hours passed, and her hand began to cramp. “I can’t write anymore,” she grumbled.

  Peyton encourage her to continue. “I need information on Radford and Wayne. Write that your hand is cramping, and you will continue on video. Then you can record the rest on your phone.”

  “Works for me.” Pat shrugged. “I’ll be glad to get this off my chest. You’re doing me a favor, Peyton. I appreciate it.”

  “I just want to get this mess cleared up,” Peyton replied. “Where were you when Robin Chase was murdered? Did you see anyone suspicious?”

  Pat stiffened. “I was with you and Professor Shaw.”

  “No, I called you to pick up Robin,” Peyton said, furrowing her brow. “I asked you to arrest her. You joined us about thirty minutes later, saying you never found Robin.”

  Pat glowered at Peyton. “I haven’t murdered anyone,” she rasped. “Don’t try to pin this mess on me, King.”

  “I’m not,” Peyton said. “I just can’t figure out who did it. Professor Shaw and Brandy were with me. Joey was passed out in the motor coach. Maybe Radford and Wayne are killing off anyone who could incriminate them.”

  “They’d have to kill off the entire football team . . . and me,” Pat said.

  Peyton thought about it for a moment. “I should put you in protective custody. You’re my star witness. I can’t afford to lose you.”

  “I can’t see those two killing anyone,” Pat said.

  “You may be right. Clint Wayne was in his skivvies when we reached the motor coach. I think he was with another male.”

  “Yeah,” Pat muttered, shaking her head. “He does like the younger boys. He always calls dibs on the freshmen.”

  “Do you have any thoughts on who might be killing your coaching staff?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Pat snorted. “Do you want me to record on your phone or mine?”

  “Yours would be more appropriate.” Peyton looked over the written confession Pat had made and then shoved it back to her. “You need to sign the last page and initial all the others.”

  Pat signed and initialed the sheets of paper. She couldn’t believe she’d been sucked into such a mess.

  Chapter 16

  Killing Robin Chase had been easier than expected. Grace Brandywine had kicked the hell out of her, and she was still dazed when the Mule pulled up beside her and a figure dressed in a Batman costume leaped from the 4X4 and helped her stand. “Can you walk?”

  Robin leaned heavily against Batman. “Let me sit in the back of the Mule in case I pass out,” Robin whimpered. “That little bitch. I’ll make her pay for this in ways she’d never imagine.”

  Batman helped her into the bed of the Mule and slid her as close to the driver’s seat as possible before closing the tailgate.

  “Let me look at your face.” Batman tilted Robin’s head to get a better look. With a hand on each side of Robin’s head, it had been easy to snap her neck. Her limp body slid down into the bed of the Mule.

  No one noticed them as the bonfire exploded into flames. Batman drove the Mule as close to the fire as possible, got out, weighted down the gas pedal, and pushed the Mule into drive. It shot forward and disappeared into the flames.

  No one paid any attention to the athletic figure dressed as a superhero. It was easy to slip under the bleachers where the clothes were hidden, pull jeans and a sweater over the black unitard, and stuff the Batman mask under the bottom bleacher step for later retrieval. Now to catch up with the others.

  Chapter 17

  Regan dozed, vaguely aware of the mouthwatering aroma of coffee and bacon. For a moment, she was back in New York. Back in the apartment she’d shared with Leslie Winters. Her first two years with Leslie had been pure heaven. The beautiful blonde newscaster had been charming and vivacious and refused to take no for an answer. Regan had fallen hard for her and thought her life was set. Leslie would cover hard news, and Regan would write fiction loosely based on the real-life stories Leslie uncovered.

  It had taken Regan another two years to force herself to admit that the woman she had fallen in love with was a raging alcoholic who wouldn’t admit she had a problem. Even after Leslie was fired for showing up at a live interview stumbling drunk, she had refused to get help.

  As job opportunities dried up for the blonde, she became depressed and turned to the bottle more and more. She became belligerent and finally abusive. It had taken Regan one more year to realize there was no future with Leslie and to muster the courage to pack her things and leave. Finding her in bed with another woman had been the last straw.

  She spent the following year writing her masterpiece and another year coming to terms with the fact that her publisher had rejected the novel.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” Brandy said, easing into her bedroom carrying two steaming mugs. “Want a cup of coffee?”

  “Oh yes!” Regan stretched and pulled herself into a sitting position. She accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip. “Oh, this must be the nectar of the gods, and you must be a goddess.” She smiled at Brandy. An extremely beautiful goddess.

  Brandy giggled at the compliment and blushed profusely. “I thought we’d eat breakfast at home. The restaurants will be filled with puking college students trying to cure hangovers.”

  Regan tamped down her desire to pull Brandy into her bed and
make love with her. She closed her eyes against the vision of Brandy slowly lowering her body to cover hers and Brandy’s lips moving closer to capture Regan’s.

  The shrill ring of Brandy’s phone yanked Regan from her fantasy.

  “Joey, of course I watched you win the game yesterday.” Brandy giggled. “I was most impressed with the last quarter.” She listened as Joey talked.

  “I thought that was what happened. I knew you had refused to run up the score on them and . . . I know. . . . Tonight? . . . Sure, I’ll call you later. . . . Love you too.”

  Brandy slipped her phone into the hip pocket of her jeans. “How do you like your eggs, Professor?”

  ##

  Regan washed her face and dressed as Brandy put the finishing touches on their breakfast. “Love you too” still burned into Regan’s heart. Grace Brandywine was a shameless flirt, Regan decided. One of those women who casually tossed out a glorious smile that stole one’s breath away, only to turn that same smile on someone else as you watched.

  She’s fourteen years younger than you, Regan reminded herself as she entered the kitchen and sat down at the island where Brandy was placing juice and a plate of toast. But damn she’s gorgeous.

  “How are your bruises today?” Brandy inquired as she placed bacon and scrambled eggs in front of Regan.

  “Not nearly as sore as yesterday,” Regan replied. “This looks delicious. You’re a good cook.”

  “Only an idiot could mess up scrambled eggs and bacon,” Brandy said with a laugh. “But I’m afraid that’s the extent of my culinary capabilities. How about you? Are you a one-trick pony?”

  “I don’t understand.” Confusion darkened Regan’s eyes.

  “Is spaghetti the only meal you can cook?”

  “Oh, no, I love to cook,” Regan reassured her. “I have many wonderful recipes.”

  They ate breakfast and discussed foods they liked. “I exaggerated a little,” Brandy confessed. “I’m actually a pretty good cook. What’s your favorite?”