Owls Well That Ends Well(107)

He eyed me warily, as if not sure where I was going.

“But now, you have a chance to make a fresh start!” I exclaimed. “You can disarm suspicion by being the one to reveal to the world the discovery of these new primary sources.”

“Of course before I can do that I need to find these exciting new primary sources,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll give them to you.”

“And just where am I officially supposed to have gotten the damned things?” he asked.

“From me,” I said. “I found them in Mrs. Sprocket’s attic. Or possibly her barn.”

“Where did she get them?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “You’d be amazed what I found in her clutter collection, and I have no idea where she got any of it. Who cares? I found this box of books, and when I saw Mrs. Pruitt’s bookplates in them, I contacted you immediately, because I knew you were the world’s leading authority on her work, and I thought you would like to have them. Little did I know that these books would revolutionize Pruitt scholarship. You will analyze them, in a series of articles in all the usual scholarly journals, and show the world that you’re humble and honest enough to reverse your opinion when new facts come to light. It’ll probably breathe new life into your career.”

I could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. And also a lot of suspicion.

“What possible reason could you have for helping me?” he asked.

“No reason whatsoever,” I admitted. “But I’m very keen on helping Michael.”

He frowned, puzzled.

“I’m sure if he knew, Michael would share my belief that you deserve a chance to make this right,” I said. “Just as I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll come to share my belief that Michael deserves tenure.”

“Ah,” he said.

“So provided you snag the soon-to-be-vacant slot on Michael’s tenure committee, I see no reason to bore the public with any other version of events.”

He studied me through narrowed eyes.

“Done,” he said.

He strolled away, looking happier than I could ever remember seeing him. I returned to where Michael was standing and put my arm around his waist.

“Professor Schmidt looks disgustingly cheerful,” he said, leaning his head on mine. “Is he already gloating over Giles’s downfall and my future departure?”

“No,” I said. “I think we’ll find that his close brush with murder and the possible notoriety of being a suspect has given Professor Schmidt a change of heart.”

“He has a heart?” Michael said. “Who knew?”

“So if you hear that he’s lobbying to replace Giles on your tenure committee, don’t worry,” I said.

He blinked. Then he smiled.

“You’re up to something,” he said.

“Always,” I said.

“You want to share?”

“You’re better off not knowing,” I said.

“You know,” he said. “I think you’re much better at faculty politics than I am. If you won’t misconstrue this as a sexist remark, or an attempt at pressuring you into something you’re not ready to consider, or anything unfortunate like that, may I say that you have all the makings of an excellent faculty spouse? Assuming that’s a role you might possibly consider performing at some future point.”

I took a deep breath.

“I think it’s a role I might be very interested in performing, on one condition.”

“Name it,” he said, suddenly sounding much more serious.

“Neither of our mothers gets to plan the wedding.”

“Done,” he said.

He leaned over, pulled me behind a pillar, and kissed me. But a couple of titters from the knot of faculty members nearby broke his concentration and he frowned, at them and at the crowd milling about in the street. Including the reporters.

“My car’s down there,” he said, gesturing toward the street. “Why don’t we leave Chief Burke to wrap up his loose ends, and go home to discuss this more privately?”

“Home’s a bad idea,” I said. “By now, we’ll probably have at least fifty friends and relatives there, waiting to hear all about what happened.”

“Oh,” he said, his face falling. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“On the other hand,” I said, starting down the steps. “I have it on good authority that Caerphilly Creek is lovely by starlight.”