She’d had to make up her mind and act quickly. During the two days following Beth’s outlandish suggestion, Lillian had managed to apply for admittance, interview, and get accepted at a local private college. It was a crazy, impulsive move on her part, but she wanted to be more than a Naval widow. She didn’t want to set aside her old life, just enhance it. With what, she had no idea.
But college seemed like the perfect place to start.
“When I finish first grade, I’ll be in the second grade. What grade comes after Freshmen?”
“Sophomore.” Anticipating the next question, Lillian continued. “Then Junior and after that, Senior. College is just the four years.” She decided not to try explaining graduate school.
“Jen, quit bothering your grandmother and come set the table for me. Your father will be home any minute now.”
“But I want to know more about Grandma’s new school.”
“Later,” her mother said, pointing to the dining room table.
Jennifer’s lower lip pressed outward from her mouth in a perfectly executed pout. She wiggled off Lillian’s lap, then set the book they had been reading on the coffee table.
“Is there something I can do, Amanda?” Lillian asked, watching her granddaughter saunter reluctantly from the living room.
“You can remind your granddaughter to call you Grandmother instead of Grandma,” Amanda whispered harshly.
“I rather like being called Grandma.”
“Well, I don’t, and I’d like to break her of the habit.”
Lillian merely smiled, her sigh audible only to her own ears. Amanda had embraced her father’s regimental life, adapting his formal ways as her own without questioning them. Sadly, such propriety had encouraged her to grow arrogant and stuck-up, and now having reached the lofty age of twenty-eight, she was not going to change. Lillian braced herself for the next salvo, though the sharp tone in her daughter’s voice came as a surprise.
“Why on earth are you going back to college?”
Lillian was going to remain calm, even if it killed her. “Because I want to.”
“But won’t you feel foolish, being on the campus among all those young students at your age?”
“I’ll be a student, too.”
“You’re going to be fifty in two months, Mother. Think how it will look.”
How it will look? Lillian should have guessed that Amanda would be embarrassed rather than supportive of her mother’s new adventure. “I imagine it will look like I’m there for the same reason as the other students—to learn something.”
“You already know everything you need to know.” Amanda scowled at her. “Besides, Daddy would not have approved.”
“I don’t really care if your father would have approved or not.” Lillian ignored Amanda’s gasp of outrage. “I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing it for me.”
“But why? You have a full life. You don’t need to do this.”
“How would you know what I need or don’t need?”
Before Amanda could offer a retort, Lillian held up her hand, then rose from the couch. Jennifer stood in the doorway between the two rooms, listening intently, and on the verge of tears. Though she and Amanda often argued, they tried not to do so within Jennifer’s hearing.
“You won’t need me to stay with Jen now that she’s going to school, and I want to do something… I don’t know… different with the rest of my life.” Lillian held her arms open as Jennifer ran to her. Gathering the little girl close, she bent down to push several stray hairs out of her face. “We’re both going to school, and we’re going to have such fun. Aren’t we Jen?”
“You bet,” Jennifer said, raising her hand for a high five.
Lillian returned the gesture with a smile just as the front door opened.
“Daddy!” Jennifer squealed, then ran to her father who scooped her up into his arms. “Grandma and I are going to school, and we’re going to have lots of fun, aren’t we, Grandma?”
“We certainly are,” Lillian said, ignoring Amanda’s angry sigh.
“Gregg, would you please talk some sense into my mother while your daughter and I finish preparing dinner?” Having said that, she waited while Gregg set Jennifer on her feet, then took her daughter’s hand and marched her from the room, explaining the difference between grandma and grandmother.
Lillian could only describe the look on Gregg’s face as one of bewilderment. He placed a small, plastic bag on the table next to the stairs and turned to face her, his grin showing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. Not surprising since Lillian’s handsome sandy-haired, freckle-faced son-in-law was a dentist. An orthodontist to be exact. And every once in awhile, Lillian wondered, with just a modicum of guilt, what it was that had drawn this easy-going, fun-loving man to her stuffy, rather boring snob of a daughter. She loved Amanda, but she was still a snob.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Samples.” He kicked off his loafers and sank into the leather recliner. “So, Mom, what have you done now to antagonize your daughter?”
It was so nice to hear herself called Mom instead of the more formal term Amanda had begun using these last few years to address her. Of course, Amanda did not now, nor had she ever, referred to her father in any other way than Daddy. From the moment she could say her first words until his untimely death four years ago, Russell Moore, Captain in the United States Navy had been, without exception, her DADDY.
“I’ve decided to go back to college. Sherman Dodd to be exact.”
Eyebrows that matched the color of his hair lifted above his rimless glasses. “No kidding?”
“I start Tuesday, right after the Labor Day holiday.”
“Well, Sherman Dodd is a fine school. Are you going to study nursing or education?” He pushed on the arms of the chair to recline it, then with a sharp intake of breath, leaned forward. “Good lord, you’re not going to become a mad scientist, are you?”
Laughing, Lillian sat down on the couch next to his chair. “I don’t know that I’m going to become anything. I’m just taking some liberal studies courses. All of my previous credits are too old, so I’m starting from scratch, and frankly, Gregg, I’m scared to death.”
“What are you afraid of?”
That’s what she liked best about Gregg. He went straight to the heart of the matter.
“Failure.”
Chapter Three
Lillian crept through the throng of students hurrying to their next class, offering the occasional apology when she bumped an arm or stepped on a foot. She was lost. Again. Her original plan had been to walk the campus yesterday and map a route to each of her classes, but a last minute call from the hospital had trashed that idea. So, today she was struggling to keep herself oriented amid the hustle and bustle of activity. Had she not needed to be a part of it, this first day of school would have been exciting to watch. But she was a part of it, and if she couldn’t figure out where she was and where she needed to be quickly enough, she was going to be late to her Math 50 class.
Stopping beneath a large oak tree, she consulted her map of the campus. Why did they have to print everything using such a small font? Probably because younger eyes didn’t need reading glasses. They didn’t seem to need much material in their clothes, either. She wasn’t dressed totally out of sync with the other students, just mostly. Simple peach colored slacks, silk blouse, matching jacket, and what she had originally thought were comfortable shoes that now pinched her toes. Certainly not the casual, layered look of today’s students.
Maybe Amanda was right. Maybe she was too old to go back to school.
Thinking of Amanda and age brought back memories of last Friday night’s dinner. The final minutes had been tense, especially since Amanda had ended the evening insisting that she give her mother a special birthday party at the country club. The more Lillian had protested, the more her daughter had pushed, until finally she had agreed to the party just to keep the peace. Though the last thing she wanted to do was c
all more attention to her age than what already appeared in the lines around her eyes. Not to mention the gray hairs filtering in among the ash blonde ones. But when Amanda had made up her mind to do something, not even an act of Congress could change it. Lillian supposed that was a legacy from Rusty.
Or at least one of them.
Oh, well, it was just one day eight weeks into the future. She had another, more immediate, problem facing her. Where was the Math and Sciences building? Her stomach rumbled. She glanced at her watch. 9:55. With her History and English classes already over, she had one more class before lunch, then she could grab a quick bite to eat before her Anthropology class at 12:30. Another grumble from her mid-section. It had obviously not been a good idea to run off without eating something for breakfast, she thought, adjusting the pile of heavy books in her arms. She would need lots of sustenance to carry these around all day.
Having finally decided that the building up ahead and to the left was her final destination, she started toward it, caught in the middle of increased foot traffic now moving at a brisk pace through the courtyard. Class would begin at 10:00. That was just two minutes away, and she still had three floors to climb. Perhaps going back to school would also help her lose that extra ten pounds that had been plaguing her all summer.
Lillian was half way up the stairs leading into the building when her purse strap slid from her shoulder and down her arm to dangle precariously from her wrist. In her haste to steady her load of books, her foot caught on the edge of the step. She let go of the books. Grabbed for the railing. Missed.
Suddenly a strong male arm slid around her waist, blocking her fall with his body and saving her from serious humiliation. Possibly a trip to the emergency ward, too. For several seconds she just stood there, leaning against his sturdy frame, unable to move. If he hadn’t caught her…
“Are you all right?” the man asked, his voice deep and resonating in her ear.
When Lillian simply nodded, he released her. Turning around to face him, she gazed into dark brown eyes brimming with concern, his eyebrows the color of charcoal drawn together in a frown above them, his age somewhere between thirty and forty. She glanced downward to the textbook he held casually in his hand. Apparently she was not the only student over the age of twenty something attending Sherman Dodd College. That should make Amanda feel better.
Lillian took a steadying breath and finally found her voice. “That was certainly a close call. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“My name is Lillian.” She held out her hand, but he had already squatted down to gather her books.
“You might want to get a book bag or a backpack if you’re going to carry all your books at once.” Rising effortlessly, he handed them to her.
“All my classes are one right after the other,” she explained, feeling a bit foolish as she observed the other students who indeed used a hands-free solution to carry their books. She sighed softly. “When I first went to college many years ago, no one would’ve been caught dead with a backpack.”
He laughed. A rich purr that deepened the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. “Are you new to Sherman Dodd?”
“I would think that was obvious.”
“There are lockers in the basement of the Student Union.” He pointed toward the gray slump block building in the center of the courtyard. “You can rent them for the semester.” He hurried ahead of her up the stairs to open the door. Waited there while his gaze drifted nonchalantly downward to her shoes, then back to her face. “Lot easier on your body.”
It had been a long time since a man’s look, however blasé, had sent such a sudden dose of adrenalin racing through her veins. “Thank you. I’ll do that,” she said, slipping quickly through the door ahead of him.
While he walked silently up the stairs beside her, Lillian found herself assessing him from the corner of her eye. His handsome, tan face sported the obligatory three-day growth of beard currently popular with men trying to produce the appearance of casual disinterest. Instead, the stubble, along with his tousled dark hair, merely made it look like he’d just gotten out of bed. He wore gray cargo pants, a deep green polo shirt, and a dark blue corduroy sport coat with light gray suede patches on the elbows reminiscent of a bygone era. The textbook he carried was the same as hers, and when they continued on to the third floor together, she wondered if they were going to be in the same class.
“Are you in Professor Weiss’ Math 50 class, too?” she asked as they approached the classroom door with M320 etched into the window.
His sigh seemed heavily laced with foreboding. “Yes, Lillian, I’m afraid I am.”
Alarm tingled in her stomach, though whether from the way he’d said her name or from the frustration in his voice, she wasn’t sure. “That sounds ominous. Is he not a good teacher?”
He reached for the doorknob. “Oh, he’s good all right. Actually, there’s probably no one better.”
Lillian thought his expression was that of Daniel entering the lion’s den. He opened the door for her, then followed her into the classroom. She took a quick glance around the room to orient herself, wondering if her own discomfort showed, too. The door was at the front of the classroom which actually made sense when one thought about it. A student could hardly slip by the teacher’s desk unnoticed. The third seat in the row nearest the door was empty, and as she headed toward it, she glanced back over her shoulder to see where her savior had gone.
Lillian sat down abruptly. She rarely swore, but as she watched him finish writing the words PROFESSOR SAMUEL WEISS in large, blue, dry-erase letters across the white board behind the teacher’s desk, the words slipped silently from her mouth.
Oh, shit.
He’d seen her say it, too, because he looked directly at her and grinned.
* * *
After purchasing a ticket, Carlos joined a group of ten visitors on a guided tour of the Museo Nacional de Anthropologia. He’d come here only once during his first year studying Archeology at the Jesuit University of Guadalajara. One year of poor performance, and his Uncle Javier had yanked him back to Baja and into the family business. But the subject still interested him.
The tour began in the central patio where “El Paraguas,” a slender umbrella-like concrete structure, rose to open high above a huge pond. The museum grounds covered close to twenty acres. Carlos studied his map of the twenty-three exhibition rooms surrounding the patio as well as the placement of the many guards and cameras. His original plan had been to remain with the group only until they reached the Mayan room, but because he wanted to see the model of the former Aztec capital Tenochtitlάn, now the site of Mexico City proper, he stayed with them, then doubled back to the Mayan display alone.
A good thing, too.
When he arrived, the guard was gone and the room empty except for a very pretty young woman admiring a glass case filled with early Mayan pottery. She glanced at him and smiled. He smiled back. Women were always flirting with him, but he rarely found one who interested him enough to reciprocate. This one did. Her straight, dark hair hung freely past her slim waist. She wore snug fitting jeans and a tank top. Toenails painted chili pepper red peeked from a pair of huarache sandals. Her face contained a mixture of Indian and Spanish ancestry, but it was her black almond eyes with their mysterious, come hither gaze that captured his heart and made his dick throb in his pants.
She wandered slowly toward the next case. “Did you know Mayan books were written on fig-tree bark? They’re called codices, and they date back to the Maya Classical Period. That’s somewhere between 250 and 900 AD.”
“You don’t say?” Carlos caught up with her. “So, how come you know so much about Mayan art?”
“I used to work over at Chichén Itzά in Yucatάn state, guiding the touristas. Now I work here at the museum.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye, her voice soft and sexy. “I’m on a break.”
“Imagine that. So am I, and I bet you could teach me a lot about Mayan art
ifacts.”
Her name was Lenora Diaz, and for the next three hours, she made Carlos forget all about Manuel and the reason he’d been sent to Mexico City.
* * *
“How many of you have had college algebra in high school?” Sam asked, his hand in the air, indicating he wanted a show of hands. Out of the twenty-two students sitting before him, only five raised their hands. It was going to be a long semester. “This course is Math 50. Entry Level Mathematics. It does not, I repeat, not count toward any graduation requirements, and you must pass with a grade of C or better.”
Sam walked around to the front of the desk and leaned casually back against it. “If you have taken the ELM entrance exam and scored forty or better, you should not be in this class. Or, if your test score was below forty, but you have completed a college algebra course in your high school with a minimum grade of C, you should not be in this class.”
While he waited, his gaze touched on each student’s face in turn, then stopped to rest on Lillian. He glanced down at the roster on the desk, searching for her name on the list. “Miss Moore. Did they even offer a course in college algebra when you were in high school?”
The shocked look on her face stopped him cold. He’d meant only to tease her. Instead, his words had sounded ill-tempered to match his foul mood. However, unloading his frustration on Lillian was unfair. She had nothing to do with his being coerced at the last minute to teach this beginner class.
Cheeks reddening, she sat up straight, looked directly at him, and smiled bravely. “Yes, Professor Weiss, it was offered even in the dark ages when I last went to school. However, I chose not to take it. And it’s Mrs. Mrs. Moore.”
Muffled laughter spread around the room. Sam smiled, then simply nodded to her rather than apologize in front of the class and embarrass her further. Much as he would have liked to, it was too late to rescind the words he had spoken.
An Equation For Murder Page 2