Come Unto These Yellow Sands (9 page)

Swift had adored his father, but they’d had their disagreements. Fierce and, occasionally, bitter disagreements. That was one of the things that he would have fixed if he could go back in time. He wanted every single one of them back, the minutes wasted on arguing over things he no longer even remembered. “Sometimes.”

“Not in my experience. I know the police want to build something out of Tad’s last quarrel with Mario, but they fought all the time. They fought constantly. It meant nothing. Two hot-blooded Italian men under the same roof.” She shook her head. “I’d have been worried if they
hadn’t
argued.”

“I understood that Tad had substance-abuse problems.”

She was silent. “That’s true,” she admitted at last.

“Do you think he was using again?”

She sighed. “I think it’s possible. Tad’s a bright boy—well, you know that—but he has issues.” She glanced away as someone waved their way. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a million things to attend to.”

Swift nodded.

Nerine started to walk away but she stopped. “Even if Tad
is
doing drugs again, I don’t believe he killed Mario. The man to look at is Bill McNeill.”

Chapter Seven

You are a poor young farmer in seventh-century China. Day after day you toil with your humble parents in the fields. One day a horde of barbarians descend upon your village and take you captive.

And at this point that would be a big relief because if one more kid stops by to ask whether he missed anything “important” when he skipped class this morning, you’re probably going to commit some rape and pillage of your own.

Swift recognized the irritability born of too much caffeine and missed lunch. Tonight he needed to make sure he ate properly and got a good night’s rest. But first he had the rest of the day to get through and the usual mountain of papers.

One thing he did not plan on doing was take Nerine Corelli’s advice to seek out Bill McNeill. McNeill would have no idea where Tad was, and finding Tad was Swift’s only concern. Solving Corelli’s murder was for the police.

Someone tapped on the frame of his office door. Swift looked up.

A slim brown-haired girl in a pink parka and Ugg boots regarded him uncertainly. “Professor Swift?”

Swift nodded.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Did I?”

“I’m Ariel Rhoem.”

“Oh. I did. You’re right.” Swift rose, and Ariel looked uneasy at what probably appeared to be abnormal eagerness. “Come in, please. You can close the door.”

She closed the door. “What’s this about? I’m not a lit major.”

“Please. Sit down.”

She obeyed slowly, lowering her satchel and taking the chair across from him. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and eyed him warily.

“I’m trying to get in touch with Tad.”

Sometimes Swift’s unconventional social skills served him surprisingly well. Ariel’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t speak although her lips moved. She didn’t ask who Tad was, she didn’t deny knowing him.

The unexpected triumph spurred Swift on. “He’s in big trouble, Ariel. I think I can help him, but to do that I need to talk to him.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

Swift didn’t believe that feeble protest for one moment. “You must have some idea. Even if you don’t know for sure.”

Ariel gave a little stubborn shake of her head as though she didn’t trust words. She watched Swift with worried green eyes.

“Did Tad tell you he came to see me? Why didn’t he go to the island?”

Her head moved, but she stilled before she gave herself away with an actual nod. Swift was now certain she knew where Tad was. The important thing was to avoid scaring her lest she alarm Tad into running further.

“I don’t know where he is,” she repeated stubbornly.

“I haven’t told the police about you.”

Her eyes went wider still. “Everyone knows you and Chief Prescott are…”

Swift shook his head. “I wouldn’t betray a confidence.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t know where he is.”

“Ariel. Please.”

Ariel bit her lip. She burst out, “But Tad didn’t do it.”

“Then he has to come forward and say so.”

“No one will believe him.
You
don’t believe him.”

“I don’t know if he did it or not. To be honest…I don’t care.”

She looked almost comically shocked. Kids were so endearingly conservative—despite what they believed.

“Anyway, I don’t think he killed his father,” Swift said mostly to reassure her.

“That’s not what the police think.”

“Partly that’s because of the way Tad is handling this. He’s doing the worst possible thing by running away.”

“You don’t have all the facts.” She did sound like a science major then.

“No one has all the facts. How can we when Tad hasn’t told his side of the story?”

She stared unhappily down at her satchel. “When he tells his side of the story, it’s just going to make it worse.”

Swift thought that over. “I’m not sure what that means. If Tad didn’t kill his father—”

She raised her head. “Mario used to slap him around. Everyone knows that. Everyone knows Tad said he’d kill him if he ever did it again.”

“
Did
Mario hit him again?”

She shook her head, but Swift wasn’t sure if that indicated refusal to answer or an actual negative. “Okay, but if Tad
didn’t
—”

“Motive, means, opportunity…” She ticked each word off on her fingers like a detective on one of those horrible shows where half the story was a grisly autopsy.

“Did he kill his father or not?”

She blinked at the sharpness of Swift’s tone. “
No
.”

“Then he has to come forward and deal with this. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Unless Tad’s planning to spend the rest of his life on the run, and he’s obviously not since he’s still hanging around here.” Swift overrode her instinctive denial. “Of course he’s still hanging around. He’s still in contact with you. He asked me not to drop him from class. I don’t know where he is, but he’s not far away.”

She gave another one of those stubborn shakes of her head.

“Listen to me. Tad
has
to talk to someone. He might as well start by talking to me.”

“Why should he?”

“Because I’m on his side. He ought to know that by now.” Swift slid forward a slip of paper with his cell phone number on it.

“He won’t call you.”

“I think he’s smarter than that.”

Ariel’s throat moved.

“At least let him decide for himself. You must have some way of getting in touch with him.”

“No.”

“Yes. He wrote a poem to you. I don’t mean dedicated. I mean he wrote a poem to and
about
you. Unless things have changed a lot since I was Tad’s age, he’s got feelings for you. If he’s in contact with anyone, he’s in contact with you.”

“I keep telling you he’s n—”

Swift rode right over her. “Tell him that I want to help. Tell him I’ll do everything possible for him, but he’s got to get in touch with me.”

She shook her head.

Swift sat back and regarded her. Ariel gazed at him with defiance. Swift said coolly, “Tell him I’ll give him until noon tomorrow, but after that I’ll tell Chief Prescott about you.”

Ariel flushed angrily. “I knew it. You’re just like everyone else.”

Swift gave a short laugh. “No, I’m really not.”

No sooner did Ariel’s angry footsteps disappear down the hallway than Dottie rapped on the half-open door.

Swift looked up inquiringly.

Dottie said curtly, “Doctor Koltz wants to see you as soon as possible.”

“
Me
?” Swift sounded as guilty as one of his own students. Dr. Koltz was the college president. He was a large, cordial man, but Swift always had the impression that he made Koltz uncomfortable. If so, the feeling was mutual.

“Immediately.” Dottie’s satisfaction heightened Swift’s instinctive unease.

“All right. I’m on my way.” Swift rose. Dottie continued to stand in the doorway watching him as though he was liable to slip out the window. “Was there something else?”

“No.” Dottie smiled tightly and withdrew.

Swift glanced uncertainly around his office, grabbed his coat and headed off to the administration offices.

The rain had stopped and the sun was out. All the world looked dazzlingly bright and newly minted. Green grass, red brick, white stone, blue skies. Primary and intense. The light was different in autumn. Vibrant and alive in a way unique to the fall. Swift used to spend a lot of time and words trying to describe that particular luminosity. There were such good words: lambency, incandescence, effulgence—although effulgence had always sounded like an illness. Yet all those wonderful, clever words couldn’t capture the shimmer of golden light on red leaves and white birch.

Maybe that was why Swift had stopped writing.

What was the use when you couldn’t capture…well, whatever it was he’d hoped to capture.

Maybe it would be different if he were to try now. But to try now would be almost like starting from scratch. He couldn’t imagine it. In fact, the very idea of trying again made sweat break out over his back in a kind of emotional heat rash.

No. It was too late. That bridge lay in ashes behind him. Better to keep moving and never look back. Safer.

Swift reached the administration offices and went inside. As always he was struck by the hush in these buildings. The administration offices were the quietest on campus. That was a mandate sent down from on high. Dr. Koltz liked quiet and order.

Swift checked in with Maggie Nalley, the president’s administrative assistant, and he was shown into Dr. Koltz’s office immediately.

His nervousness increased at the sight of Koltz on his feet, hands behind his back as he gazed thoughtfully out at the pristine green lawns of the campus.

Glancing around at Swift’s entrance, Koltz cleared his throat and said with forced heartiness, “Swift. Sit down please.”

Koltz was a big man. Tall and broad shouldered with thick, iron gray hair. He looked like the football player he’d once been. He also looked the distinguished and successful master of academia—a role he enjoyed very much if his frequent appearance in the pages of the
Stone Coast Signal’s
society column was anything to go by.

As Swift complied, Koltz moved to his own throne-sized chair and sat down behind the desk. He smiled like a man determined to put the best face on an unpleasant task.

“I’m afraid some disturbing news has come to my attention.”

“To do with me?” Swift asked, startled. It had to be disturbing news if Koltz was dispensing with the awkward chitchat. Had Max changed his mind and gone to Koltz? It didn’t seem like something Max would do.

“I had a call a little while ago from Nerine Corelli.” Koltz waited. What he was waiting for, Swift wasn’t sure. He seemed faintly disappointed when Swift said nothing.

“Mrs. Corelli said she had reason to believe that you know the whereabouts of her son, Tad, and that you’re misguidedly helping the boy evade justice.”

“
What
?”

Koltz winced at Swift’s yelp. He made a patting gesture with his large, manicured hand as though trying to push the sound of Swift’s voice back into an invisible box. “I don’t have to tell you how serious this situation is.”

“I don’t have to tell you how ludicrous it is.”

Koltz frowned. That wasn’t how instructors were supposed to address His Eminence. “Did you not tell Mrs. Corelli this afternoon that Tad had been in contact with you?”

“Yes, but—”

Koltz shook his head disapprovingly and, with the regretful air of someone about to sign a death warrant, reached for a pen. What the hell was going on?

Swift spoke up. “That was Thursday. Five days ago, and Chief Prescott knows all about it. I have no idea where Tad is now.” Not for lack of trying, but it was a relief to be able to deny culpability with conviction.

Koltz’s curling eyebrows drew together. “Chief Prescott knows about this?”

“Of course,” Swift said staunchly. He was probably presuming a lot on the part of Max, but despite everything that had happened between them he trusted Max to back him up. At least in a skirmish with this blowhard. Max had never been in the Koltz camp. Something to do with campus parking violations.

“You’re saying you have no idea where the boy is?”

“If I did know, I’d be urging Tad to give himself up.”

Koltz made a noncommittal noise. Finally he said, “That isn’t what Mrs. Corelli believes.”

“I can’t help what Mrs. Corelli believes. I don’t know where she came up with her crazy theory. I went to her hoping
she
might know where Tad was.”

That must have been the wrong thing to say because Koltz’s mouth turned down. “You seem to take a great personal interest in the Corelli boy. You insisted that he be included in the Lighthouse program and now this. May I ask exactly what your relationship is?”

“May you—? No, you may not.”

Koltz’s eyebrows beetled. “I beg your pardon?”

And so you should
, Swift thought, but he had enough restraint not to say it. “I’m Corelli’s instructor and his mentor in the Lighthouse program. And I hope to some extent he regards me as a friend, but there’s no relationship there. Not the way you seem to mean.”

“We have a strict non-fraternization policy at CBC as regards to students and their instructors.”

“I should hope so.”

Koltz stared at Swift with grim suspicion, and Swift gathered that Koltz had been all set to pursue a course of action and now that the course appeared closed, he was at a loss as how to proceed. Was disappointed, in fact.

Koltz said uncomfortably, “Your, er, orientation is not a secret.”

“No, it’s not.”

Another stalemate.

Koltz cleared his throat. “And if I phone Chief Prescott, he’s going to confirm that you reported your meeting with the Corelli boy?”

Swift could feel himself losing color. Something was going on here that he didn’t understand. Until this instant he hadn’t realized that Koltz was hoping for a reason to get rid of him. In fact, gazing into Koltz’s hard eyes, Swift realized that Koltz actively disliked him.