Chapter 14

Even though Nan drove me to the office in her white Mercedes, I was a few minutes late. No matter. Alice wasn't there anyway. She soon appeared, in a pale yellow dress that made me think of Delilah as a galleon under full sail. (I'd always wondered whether that meant that Delilah was lithe or buxom. Alice Singleton, scudding down the corridor, made me more inclined to the latter.)

"Sorry I'm late," she puffed, opening the door. "I never lock it. Nothing inside worth stealing. And all the girls know I keep supplies in my desk for emergency use."

"I never thought of trying it."

"Most people don't. Anyway, that policeman, Billings?, called and said that I could have access to Cyrus' office, but that you should look at the stuff on the desk first. He said that you'd know what he meant."

"I guess so. There were a lot of papers on his desk we didn't go through. Everything else looked more-or-less academic. Have you decided what do do with the stuff in the house?"

"Yes. I spoke to Brendan, my husband, and to Nick. They both thought that your idea was a good one. So I'll put the OED and the DNB in the main office here, for departmental use, and let your friend take everything else. Where the office is concerned, everything that looks like university business -- exams and papers -- gets packed for storage. And I'll let your friend pick through the books ... what he leaves, I'll put in the office for anyone who wants them. And lots of students will want those texts." She paused for breath. There was a student at the door.

"Yes, Aggie?"

"Professor Singleton, could I see my paper from 317?"

"Didn't I post a grade?"

"Yes. I got a B+. But I wanted to see your comments."

"Oh. OK. But not right now. Tomorrow at this time? I'm very busy this afternoon."

"I've got a Tuesday/Thursday. Will you be here on Friday?"

"Sure."

"OK. I'll come by then." She disappeared. A waif passing in the night. I wondered what 317 was.

Alice looked at me. "I don't return papers. That way I don't get them for someone else the next year. I hate it. Some of the frats must have 15 years' worth of papers and exams for some courses."

"You can buy a paper on nearly any topic, if you want to."

She sighed. I looked at my watch. It was just 1:30 and I could hear footsteps. As expected, it was Mike, the second-hand book dealer from Lakeside. He was a good-looking, bearded guy around his mid-thirties with a slight limp -- he'd been wounded in Vietnam.

"Hi, Mike. Mike Crawford, this is Professor Alice Singleton. Alice, this is Mike Crawford."

"They shook hands. "Look," I said, "You don't need me at the house. Why don't I go through the stuff in the office and after Mike's loaded up, you can come back here -- that way he'll only have to make one trip."

We agreed and Alice told me that Billings still had the key, but that Mrs. Finegold, the departmental administrative assistant, should have one. Apparently, she had duplicates to all the keys in the department -- possibly all the keys in San Diego. I went off and got the key (neatly labeled "Professor Gillespie's Office" on a white tag). When I returned to Alice's office, she and Mike were gone. I went around the corner and unlocked Gillespie's door. Unsurprisingly, it didn't look as though anyone had been there since my last visit. I went over to the metal bookcase and took the three volumes of Evelina, the six pamphlets, and the Sheridan plays, placing them on top of the filing cabinet. The was a small volume visible where the pamphlets had been. It proved to be a copy of The Female Husband, Fielding's anonymous novel of a transvestite who marries another woman. It was dated "London, 1746." I put it with the other pelf, wondering whether this was scholarship or porn to Gillespie. I guessed scholarship; porn belonged in his bedroom. I also took two critical works: Day's Told in Letters and Richetti's Popular Fiction before Richardson. Then I sat down and began on the desk litter.

After about ten seconds I got up and moved the wastebasket from the door to beside my right foot. Less than half an hour later the basket was full, the desk had three stacks on it, and I was bored with the unidentifiable jottings and loose sheets of paper with a few meaningless lines on them. "Hoggers and lumpers," one read. Meant nothing to me.

The stacks consisted of students' papers and exam booklets. I'd give those to Mrs. Finegold. The second pile was correspondence: interoffice mail, letters from people at other universities, a couple of book bills, a renewal notice for a journal I'd never heard of. The last pile was made up of pink "While You Were Out" slips. About two dozen of them. They were in several different handwritings and many bore no date. I tried to put them in order, but gave up.

They were a strange group. "Mr. Thompson of Bobbs-Merrill," read the beginning of one, followed by a number. "You're [sic!] dentist called to remind you of your appointment," read another. Gillespie had circled the error in red. Had he confronted the woman? At the bottom of the slip was what looked like a "B." In a different handwriting: "Prof. Singleton says she can't meet you today. How about tomorrow?" This one bore a clear "K." at its foot. And on, and on.

I looked at my watch. 2:45! I opened desk drawers until I found a manila envelope and put the pink slips in it. I took an old inter-office envelope and carefully put my new acquisitions into it. I left the other two stacks. I took the two envelopes, relocked the door, and returned the key, with thanks, to Mrs. Finegold.