I squint at it, frowning slightly. It's full of...notes?
"Made it," he said.
"Mister Sinclair, you can get here on time. You live fifty yards away. Don't test my patience."
"I wasn't aware you had any to test."
I scowl at him, clenching my jaw tight until it quivers. Let the others read that as anger, not fighting laughter. I never found that kind of dumb comeback funny before. Hell, he might be taking it too far, maybe I should—
"Professor?" one of the other boys says.
I blink. Yes. Right.
This is going well.
I draw a deep breath.
"Yes, quite. Let's get started, shall we? Fortunately, thanks to the seminar schedule, we've only missed one class session and it's easily made up. I trust everyone took the ample time you've been given to laze about and read the assigned text?"
"It's a book about salt," Tyler cuts in.
"Yes. Salt: A World History by Mark Kurlansky. It's a pop history, but it's an excellent one." I lean on the podium, arms folded. "You—"
"It's fascinating," Tyler says, leaning back in his seat. He slouches with the debonair air of a master gambler or a puckish rogue.
"Excuse me?"
He hefts his copy of the book, with its clearly creased spine. "It's a different perspective on history. It's crazy how much stuff in the past was shaped by food and resources and we don't even think about it. Everything in the other classes is that general this and this senator that."
I lean forward on the little podium. "So what did you find most interesting?"
"I never knew that Salzburg is named for salt," he chuckles, "or how big a role it played in colonizing the northern part of America."
I smile thinly, trying to look unimpressed.
"I see. Someone else, tell me what you took away from this book."
After the discussion goes around a bit, I take a drink of bottled water and wave the book away before moving on to the next one. I assigned the next book, a fairly hefty tome, in halves and remind them that they're responsible for knowing it and suggest that I am a little displeased at how much I had to lead the conversation.
"Did everyone prepare five proposed topics for your senior paper?" I ask, looking around. "You have a great deal of freedom in choosing them. Hopefully everyone read the syllabus."
I glance at Tyler coolly. He doesn't seem to notice.
"I have mine,” the other girl, Alyssa, says.
"I have another announcement to make," I say as I collect them. "As you know, the history department funds a student trip twice each spring. I've just been informed that the trip before Spring Break will be to New York City, and the second trip, the weekend before finals, will be to several Civil War battlefields, culminating in Gettysburg. If anyone is interested, you should see," I sigh, "Me."
When I wave them away at the end of our allotted time, I might as well be invisible to Tyler, who walks out more worried about his phone than me. It stings a little, but I remind myself it's an act.
I pull out my own and start to type him an email and realize how stupid I'm being. Do u like me? y/n
Alyssa taps my shoulder.
Tall and slim, she has a boyish look to her that's probably charming to a lot of the young men on campus, in that awkward way.
"I was wondering if I can go on the New York trip," she says. "I've never been."
"What if I told you I'm looking for senior volunteers to help me coordinate it?"
"That would be great!" she beams.
"You like work," I say, smiling a predatory smile. "Good. See me during my office hours when you can. Not now, I have to prepare for my next lecture."
"Oh, of course, I'd be glad to. It's an honor."
I blink. Wait, what?
"It is?"
"Oh yes. You don't remember me, but I was in your freshman class. It was so refreshing to see how you deal with jerks like that Tyler."
"I see."
"You just brush him off like it's nothing. All the other professors, the women I mean, either flirt with guys like him or act like he's their firstborn son, and they expect more from us. I mean, from me."
"They don't always, but some do," I tell her. "Are you planning to go into academia, or teach? Or something else?"
"I was thinking maybe law school."
"Then you need a tough skin. Any idea what kind of law?"
"Maritime. Salvage and stuff. I'm a big history buff for ships and stuff." Excited, she brushes her hair behind her ear in a nearly flirtatious gesture. "I love the age of sail. I was hoping to do a paper for you related to that—"
"Ah, yes," I say, flipping to then skimming her proposals. "I can see that. I'll think them over, let you know what I think. I ask what you plan to do because part of my goal here is to give you a worthwhile piece of academic writing you can use to find your way in the next steps of your career. It sounds like you're not ready to start graduate school in the fall?"
"No, I'm taking a couple of years to decide. I work on my parents' farm. It's a dairy farm. If I work, they'll help me get my loans down and I'll have time to decide where to take things from there."
"Smart to keep the loans under control. Very well, Alyssa. Here, I dub the New York Trip Coordinator."
I boop her on each shoulder with a folded paper.
"Away with you now," I say. "I'm busy."
She rushes off, and I return to my office, lock the door, and disregard my own posted hours. I can't deal with Tyler or anyone else right now, and I have that gut feeling he'd show up. I have actual work to do. We'll start with the factory email.
Tim DeSalle from the geography department (when I say from the geography department, I mean he is the geography department—it's just him) is complaining about the chair in his office. It seems that during the snow day, his chair was switched for another chair and my eyes roll up into my head so I close that one.
More minutiae, more crap. I have to submit my tenure application soon, as I have been so helpfully reminded by the administration. It is due two weeks after spring break, so I need to get the students cracking on their internships. I send out an email to all my interns rescheduling the original meeting for tomorrow. I will not be telling them that their outcomes matter as much to me as they do to themselves.
Scrolling down the list, I freeze.
[email protected]
What the hell is it this time?
-no subject-
Keeping warm? is the only text.
The attachment is a picture of Tyler's Bronco in the small parking lot adjacent to my building. My hand jumps back from the mouse as if from a hot stove and I sit there staring. I almost forgot about the first one of those. I thought it was a student screwing with me, but this, this...
My phone buzzes in my purse. Tyler emailed my, ah, alternate account. The one I made just for him.
So how did I do?
You were adequately annoying.
Getting you riled up turns you on.
I'm going to forward you something. Hold on.
I send the message to my home email address, then to the new one, then to him. Can't be too careful.
A moment later he messages me back.
Is this a joke?
No. The same person sent me a message the day after you walked me home from the bar. They took a picture with me and some adjuncts drinking.
They were IN THE BAR WITH YOU?
They must have been.
Cass, we need to talk to somebody. Call the cops. You've been threatened.
I bite my lip.
What if it's just a prank.
Photo outside the house. Photo of you at the bar. They know where you live and they might have followed you. I don't like this.
I'm not talking to the college. I'll call the police. I'm thinking about it.
Don't think, do it. You have a stalker, Cass.
I frown.
He sends another message right after the first one.
Please.
I'll take precautions.
Drumming my fingers on the desk, I consider that. Google brings me the non-emergency line for the city police department and I make the call. After getting put on hold twice and nearly disconnected, I speak with a detective who promises to come to my place tonight and ask me a few questions.
When it's done, I send Tyler a message.
Good, he says, LMK when you leave campus and when you get home.
I bite my lip.
K.
I really do have work to do. I close out the email window and get away from that disturbing message and try to think. I'll tell the detective that it's just a photo of my car, which it is, and make no note of Tyler's Bronco.
Throughout the day, a few students actually approach me, wondering why I seem so rattled. I'm a little baffled and sputter a bit when they ask me, confused. I'm not the most interactive of professors. I've been managing the departmental spring trips since I started, as that's apparently a duty fobbed off on the youngest full professor in the department and without tenure I can't really say no, but I've never been best buddies with my students.
Feeling a little ashamed, I send Tyler a message when I leave and when I get back. The detective is supposed to arrive at five.
They buzz for me ten minutes early, while I'm going over material for tomorrow.
To my surprise, when I buzz her in, my detective turns out to be a woman.
"Veronica Hart," she says in clipped tones.
"Please, come in," I say, after shaking her hands.
"You have a stalker?" she asks.
I sigh and nod. I was expecting her to say, you think you have a stalker?
I start by showing her the photos and the weird email address they keep coming from. I offer her a cup of coffee and she waves it away. I'd rather not have let her see me pour instant grounds into a mug of water and microwave it anyway.
"Well," she says, 'docmillssucks' makes it pretty clear about this person's intent. They're definitely harassing you."
"Is there anything you can do?" I ask.
She drums her fingers on the table.
"First, here's my card with my direct line," she says, handing it to me. "Let's start with that. My email is on there, too. Forward any more messages you get straight to me. I'll see what I can do about seeing who that email address belongs to, but I'm not going to lie to you, ma'am. I probably won't get anywhere, and it'll be difficult to get my superiors to take this seriously. Even if I do, there will be a lot of technical work to be done and I doubt I'll be able to muster up the resources. I don't mean to be negative here, I just want to be honest with you."
"I see."
"One thing you can do is give me a list of anyone who might have cause to harass you, or who you think might have cause to harass you. First things first, do you have any issues with exes?"
"I'm divorced, but it was fairly amicable and we're still in contact. We share custody of my daughter."
"I want to check him out anyway. Sometimes these things tie back to custody cases. Any issues there?"
"None, I was generous with that. My daughter spends most of my time with his family. I only see her on weekends and during the summer."
"Why's that?"
"I'm broke and I live, well, here," I say.
"No judgment," she says, scribbling down some notes on a pad. "Ex is remarried?"
"Yes, he lives with his new wife."
"Any problems with her?"
"She's a bitch."
Detective Hart snorts. "Yes, but any problems?"
"I can't see her doing something like this. We're not friends, though."
"Let me guess, she's the 'younger model' you got traded in for."
"She's his boss's daughter. Forgive me for saying, but you sound like you have, uh, experience."
"Yup," she says. "Moving on. You're a professor. Fail any students lately?"
"No. I'm not best friends with college students, but I try to give out as few failing grades as possible."
"How do you mean?"
"I push them, and I raise grades if they show genuine effort. Only a handful blow off the chance. I may be a bit rough around the edges, but I don't want anyone to fail."
She nods. "So some have failed, despite that?"
"Yes, but I can't really give you their names. That's confidential. I'm applying for tenure, and I'm under a microscope."
"No, I understand. Let's say after we're done here you give me a list of everyone who might have a beef against you, and I won't ask too many questions. I can figure it out on my own."
I nod. "I suppose that's acceptable."
"I'm discrete. Could anyone else have a problem with you?"
"I don't see how they would. I'm not a very social person. I don't make many friends, but I don't make many enemies."
Hart nods, scribbles another note.
"You go to this bar often?"
"No, that was the first time since the fall semester, and that was before cold weather. It's been a few months."
"So it was a special trip? You're not a regular, somebody that would just be there when that picture happened to be taken?"
"No, I wouldn't say so."
"Did you tell anyone you were going? Facebook status? Twitter?"
"I'm not the kind of person that tweets my dinner plans, detective."
"I figured but doesn't hurt to ask. You have any social media profiles?"
"A professional one and a bio page maintained by the school. I don't use any of the others."
"That narrows things down, good."
"So what do you think?"
"You were followed to the bar," she says. "That's pretty obvious. If you weren't caught there by chance, it means you're being watched. Second photo pretty much proves that. What's bugging me is why it's just a picture of your car. Is there something in this photo you're not being open with me about?"
I frown and chew my lip.
"I can't help you if you don't help me."
"Is this in confidence? Can I trust you not to report me?"
"Well, that depends. If one of these cars belongs to your weed dealer I can't promise nothing will happen, but I'm not that kind of police. If it's some kind of college ethics issue, no worries about that. I'm not going to tattle to the vice principal on you."
"I don't use marijuana," I protest, sniffing.
"You're a college professor," she says, "I figured it's fifty-fifty."
I sigh.
"That's my boyfriend's car. He's a student."
I point to the Bronco.
She nods. "Okay, before we go any further, he's legal, right?"
"Yes," I roll my eyes. "He's twenty-one or twenty-two, something like that. I'm honestly not sure. A senior."
She smirks to herself.
"Nice."
"Excuse me?"
"Hey," she says, shrugging, "if your ex-hubs gets to trade in for a new one, why not you, too?"
"It's not like that."
"I can tell," she says, enigmatically. "I know that was hard, but you're better off telling me. Okay, last questions. Have you seen anyone lurking around here?"
I shake my head. "No, no I haven't."
"Anyone following you?"
"No, no one following me, either. I wasn't looking."
"Start," she says, "and call me right away if you notice anything. If you ever feel unsafe or followed, go straight to the police station down on Loockerman. If you can't get there, go somewhere public with lots of people and call me right away. Use my cell."
"Thank you."
"Ask your boyfriend to keep his eyes open, too. This night at the bar, was he there?"
"Yes. He was tending bar."
She looks up sharply.
"He works there?"
"Yes, why?"
"Regularly?"
"I...think so, yes. Fridays, at least. I wasn't planning to meet him there or anything like that. We've only been seeing each other...a week?" I say, sheepish.<
br />
"I never would have guessed."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You have that glow still. Forgive my impertinence, that's not my business. What kind of interaction did you have with him that night?"
"Well, I was drinking when he came on his shift, I suppose. I got a little sauced."
"A little?"
"Fine, I was drunk as hell. He left his shift early and walked me back here. Ah, carried me, actually."
"Romantic."
"Embarrassing."
"That too," she agrees, "but sweet, nonetheless. That when your relationship began?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"I'm just trying to chase down a theory. I don't need the gory details."
"He spent the night on the couch." I can feel myself blushing. "He didn't stay over until a few days later, after the snowstorm. Last week."
She nods.
"That's when this was taken?" she asks, tapping the Bronco photo.
"It must have been. He parked on the street before."
"Hmmm," she says, drawing it out.
"What?"
"Well," she says, "here. Take another card. Give it to him. Tell him I'll meet him off campus, wherever, no need for the police station. I want to talk to him, too."
"Okay. What's so interesting, though?"
"The two things in common between these photos," she says, "is him."
I blink.
"Wait, so you think this person might be stalking Tyler?"
"That his name? The football player?"
"How do you know that?"
She laughs. "Professor, football games at the college are the only thing to do around here half the year. People are obsessed with it. Friday for high school ball, Saturday for college. You ever go to a game?"
"No, I have no interest."
"Me either, but I've ended up on dates there more than once anyway."
I shrug.
"Anyway," she says, "it's a common thread, worth looking into. If this isn't someone trying to scare you off of him, it might be someone trying to scare you with him. Either way, that's the best lead we've got. You have any enemies among the faculty? People who might not want you to get tenured?"
"None that I know of. I try to stay out of departmental politics."
Stuck With You Page 12