Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
"HEY, GUYS! No class today! The old man died!"
The student who yelled across campus to his classmates was just a blur. But, to me, it stung—a dismissive epitaph for the man who had become like a father to me. Professor Barrington Holmes—the man responsible for enticing me out of a career in the criminal courtroom and into one in the law school classroom.
This was my third jarring brush with Professor Holmes' death that morning. The first was a "breaking news" television report that shocked me so profoundly that I had to replay it to absorb it.
The second brush was a cryptic call ten minutes later from the university president.
"Matthew. My office. Right now."
"This is about?"
"Start driving. Turn on the radio." 'Click'.
Wishful disbelief had descended into unwilling acceptance by the time I reached the president's door. I'd have knocked, but a command beat me to it.
"Get in here, Matthew."
I did. Cecil Connely, phone in hand, cut short his pacing behind his desk to nod at a chair. He mouthed the word, "Sit."
I expected his next word to be "stay!"
I'd given up jumping to orders when I left the intelligence branch of the Air Force eight years earlier. I made an exception. The president was visibly strung tighter than piano wire.
I sat through a series of his one-word responses into the phone. "Yes...when?...No...Never." Then a muffled, "He's here now."
He set down the phone and lowered his rigid frame onto the front half of his chair.
"Hell of a morning, Matthew."
"I heard it on the news. No details."
"Yeah, well, whoever said the devil is in the details was a psychic."
"You mean a 'prophet.'"
He gave me a blank look. "What?"
"Nothing. You summoned. I'm here, Cecil. At seven o'clock in the morning. I'm as shocked about Professor Holmes' death as anyone outside of his family. But why did you..."
"You two were close, weren't you?"
* * *
That question set off more than I was ready for. So many thoughts at once. I'd been one of those college students who casually slid down the prescribed pipes, cruising from summer vacation to fall break, to Christmas break, to spring break, and back to summer.
Then for no good reason I can remember, I took Professor Holmes' basic course in Archeology. It was the only course that fit into my schedule with no early morning classes.
First lecture. About twenty-five students. I was the first one he called on with a question about the preassigned reading. I tried a little dance around a wild guess and struck gold. He smiled, nodded, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Shane." I nearly threw my shoulder out, patting myself on the back.
As we walked out of class, the professor casually walked out beside me. He put his arm on my shoulder and gave me a warm smile. I returned the smile. Clearly my bluffed answer had snowed him.
"Mr. Shane. You're a bright lad."
"Thank you, Professor."
"You've got a good reputation around here."
"How do you...?"
"Nothing personal. I do a little research on all my students. Archeology is not overwhelmingly popular. I like to analyze why my students take the course." He spoke in a quiet, soothing voice.
The smile continued. I followed up on the buddy approach. "The enrollment's full. Maybe it's the reputation of the professor."
The smile broadened, and the arm on my shoulder held me close enough to whisper. "Oh my, Mr. Shane. I believe you and I are going to have to take this from the top next class. Here's the lay of the land. Archeology is not an interest with me. It's not a subject to teach. It's not even a way I make a living."
...
