…A Dangerous Thing (21 page)

The phone rang again, echoing down the deserted hallway behind Burns.

Well, Burns told himself, there was one sure way to find out who was calling.
 
He went back into the office and picked up the phone.

"Carl Burns," he said.

"Burns.
 
I'm glad I caught you in your office.
 
I was somehow under the impression that the faculty didn't hang around the campus on Friday afternoon."

It was Franklin Miller, HGC's president.
 
Burns had no idea what he could want.

"Some of us dedicated professionals do," Burns said, glad that he'd stayed around for once.

"Excellent," Miller said.
 
"Excellent."

Burns didn't know how to respond to that, so he just waited.

"As I was saying," Miller went on, "I'm glad I caught you in your office.
 
There's something I wanted to discuss with you."

Burns's
day, which he had begun in such a good mood, was going downhill rapidly.
 
It was never good news when the president wanted to have a talk with you, especially late on a Friday afternoon.

"Do you want me to come to your office?" Burns asked.

"No.
 
No, I don't think so.
 
I think I'll come over there."

That would be a first.
 
As far as Burns knew, no HGC president had ever climbed up to the third floor of Main.
 
Miller must have something really serious on his mind.

"Do you know where my office is?" Burns asked, just to be sure Miller knew what he was getting into.

"I think I can find it.
 
It's on the third floor of Main, isn't it?"

Burns said that it was.

"Excellent.
 
I can find it, then.
 
I suppose that there's hardly anyone else around?"

It was a question, so Burns said, "Just Eric Holt.
 
Unless he's gone home."

"Why don't you check on that?"

Burns said that he would.

"Excellent," Miller said.
 
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Burns told him that he'd be waiting.

N
ot quite fifteen minutes had passed when Miller appeared at
Burns's
door.
 
He must have been in better shape that Burns would have guessed; he was panting only slightly.

"Those stairs are quite steep, aren't they?" he said.
 
He was wearing a dark blue suit and a subdued maroon tie.

"They are," Burns agreed.
 
"You can see why Dean Partridge is talking about an elevator."

The thought of an elevator, and its cost, made Miller frown.
 
Burns asked him to come in and sit down.

"I hate to intrude on your Friday," Miller said as he settled himself into the chair.
 
"Did you look in on Eric Holt, by the way?"

Burns had, but Holt had already left.

Miller thought that was excellent.
 
"Ordinarily I wouldn't have asked about that.
 
It's just that I needed to speak to you privately."
 
He glanced around.
 
"So there's no one else around, then?"

"No.
 
Eric's always the last to leave."

"Excellent."
 
Miller relaxed fractionally.
 
"There are several things I want to go over with you."

"All right," Burns said, wondering what they could be and knowing with a grim certainty that they weren't going to make him happy.

"One is this '
lookism
' business.
 
I suppose you've heard about it."

Burns admitted that he had.

"Of course.
 
Everyone on campus has.
 
And a few people in town, as well.
 
That young woman who brought the accusation.
 
Bunni
.
 
She's your student secretary, isn't she?"

"Yes.
 
And a very good one."

"I'm sure she is.
 
But this
lookism
business, Burns, isn't good at all.
 
It's going to cause trouble, and it's going to be a black eye for the college if it's not handled correctly.
 
You can see that, can't you?"

Burns could see it, all right.
 
He'd already thought about it when talking to George.
 
"But there's not really much we can do about it, is there?"

Miller shook his head.
 
"I'm afraid not.
 
I just don't know what got into Dean Partridge when she sent all those memos.
 
I tried to explain to her that we're a small school, a conservative school, maybe even an old-fashioned school."

No maybe to it, Burns thought.
 
HGC was definitely all of those things.

"But she had all these new ideas," Miller continued.
 
"And I thought that was good, in its own way.
 
I thought that maybe we had become complacent, set in our ways, afraid of change.
 
I thought it might be to the school's benefit to have someone new coming in, someone with new ideas and fresh approaches to the old problems."

It was true that the school and most of the people who worked there didn't like the idea of change, Burns thought.
 
But why change when you were doing a good job?
 
Well, Eric Holt could no doubt tell anyone why, but Burns wasn't sure that he would agree.

"Dr. Holt has certainly brought some new ideas into my department," he said.

"I've heard a little about that.
 
Does he really talk about comic books?"

"Sometimes," Burns said.

Miller shook his head.
 
"I'm not sure I understand everything that's going on in education these days, Burns."

"I'm not sure that I do, either, if that's any comfort."

"It's good to know I'm not alone," Miller said, not sounding convinced.
 
"But what I wanted to ask was whether there was anything you could do to help out in this
lookism
business."

"I'm not sure there is.
 
I did agree to speak for George
Kaspar
at the hearing of the Student Court."

"Excellent.
 
Excellent.
 
I can't think of anyone I'd rather have on my side.
 
I'm sure you'll represent him well and at the same time do whatever is best for HGC."

"I'll try," Burns said.
 
He lacked Miller's confidence.
 
"It's not easy to predict how something like that might turn out."

"I'm not as worried about that as I was, now that I know you're on the case.
 
That's very good news."
 
Miller rubbed his hands together.
 
"Now.
 
There's one other thing that's been worrying me."

Here it comes, Burns thought.
 
I've been buttered up sufficiently for him to get to the real heart of the matter.

"It's about Tom Henderson," Miller said.

"Oh," Burns said.

"Yes.
 
A bad business, and it's not going to look good for Hartley Gorman College.
 
Not good at all, what with Dean Elmore's death and then Street getting killed when we invited him here for the seminar.
 
But you were very helpful in those unfortunate events, Burns.
 
Very helpful."

"I didn't really do anything," Burns protested.
 
Now he knew where the conversation was leading.

"You certainly did do something.
 
Of course I wasn't here for the Elmore business, thank goodness, but I know what you did about the Street matter.
 
If it hadn't been for you, the police would most likely have botched it."

That wasn't strictly true, but Miller had made up his mind, and Burns wasn't going to bother trying to convince him otherwise.

"And so," Miller said, "I'd like to think that you were working with Chief Napier on this case as well.
 
Then I'd know that matters were well in hand."

"I saw Bo—Chief Napier on campus the other day," Burns said.
 
"We talked, and I've been trying to do what I could, but I wouldn't say that I've accomplished much."

"Nonsense.
 
I'm sure you've accomplished a great deal.
 
Yes, indeed.
 
That's the best news I've heard all day.
 
I don't have to tell you, Burns, that I'm worried about this.
 
It affects us all when someone dies under mysterious circumstances like Tom did.
 
But I'm sure you'll have everything solved before the weekend's over."

Burns felt a momentary stab of panic.
 
"That might be rushing things a little."

Miller reached out and tapped Burns on the knee.
 
"Modesty.
 
That's a quality that I've always admired in men of accomplishment, Burns.
 
You're much better at this sort of thing than you want to admit."

Miller stood up.
 
"Remember, I'm counting on you.
 
And don't hesitate to call on me if I can do anything at all to assist you."

"I'll do that," Burns said.

Miller walked to the door.
 
"And Burns?"

"Yes?"

"It's good to see you here so late on a Friday.
 
Most of the faculty don't take their responsibilities as seriously as you do."

"I wouldn't say that, sir," Burns told him.

"Modesty," Miller said, and laughed.
 
He gave Burns a salute and walked away.

Burns started to get up and leave, but he didn't.
 
The conversation with Miller had left him too depressed.
 
So he sank back in his chair and brooded.

A
t seven-thirty that evening,
Burns's
doorbell rang.
 
He wondered who it could be.
 
He didn't often have callers at home.

He reluctantly put down the copy of
You'll Die Next!
, the Harry Whittington classic that he was reading, then went to the door and opened it.
 
Boss Napier stood on the mat outside.
 
If George
Kaspar
had looked unhappy, Napier looked furious.

"Hello, Burns," he said.
 
"It's good to see that you're having a nice quiet evening at home."

"I'm only here because I couldn't get a date," Burns said.
 
He had spoken to Elaine on Thursday evening about going out on Friday, but she had told him she would be busy.
 
Probably with Napier, Burns had surmised, though she hadn't said that.
 
Anyway, if Napier had gone out with her, things clearly hadn't turned out very well.

"You going to make me stand out here all night?" Napier asked.

Burns stepped back from the door, holding it open.
 
"Not at all.
 
Come on in."

Napier walked into the house.
 
He didn't wait for an invitation to sit down.
 
He dropped into the first chair he came to.

"Can I get you a Pepsi?" Burns asked, trying to be a good host.

Napier wasn't impressed.
 
"Don't try to cozy up to me, Burns.
 
I know what's going on."

"Well I don't," Burns said, though he was afraid that he probably did.
 
"Why don't you tell me."

Napier settled back in his chair.
 
"All right.
 
I will.
 
But first why don't you define
lookism
for me."

"So that's it."

"That's it, all right, and don't tell me you didn't know something about it."
 
Napier stood up.
 
"If I had my bullwhip here, Burns—"

So the bullwhip rumor was true.
 
Or maybe it wasn't.
 
Maybe it was just something Napier liked to talk about to scare people.
 
Well, he wasn't going to scare Burns.

"You can't blame me for this," Burns said.
 
"I didn't have a thing to do with it.
 
In fact, I don't even know what you're talking about."

Napier wasn't going to be put off that easily.
 
"You teach at that school, don't you?
 
And that's where all this Looney Tunes business started, isn't it?
 
You can't weasel out of it, Burns.
 
You know exactly what I'm talking about."