Creep - Jennifer Hillier [98]
Morris minded. But what choice was there?
The elevator doors opened and a small sign with a red arrow pointed the way to the psychology department’s main office. After a few short steps, Morris found himself standing in front of a long counter where three middle-aged women were working. All three heads popped up at his arrival.
The lady on the far right with the short, curly brown hair spoke first. “You must be Morris.” Her voice was girlish and she favored him with a smile. “I recognize you from the pictures in Dr. Tao’s office.”
They shook hands. The other two ladies exchanged a knowing glance, then went back to their computer screens. The office wasn’t busy. Morris would bet ten bucks they were playing FreeCell.
The secretary’s name was Dolores. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Looking down at her from his height of six feet four, Morris could see graying roots and the spot on the top of her head where her hair appeared to be thinning. He managed a smile and followed her out of the office. On her wrist, she wore a bracelet made of keys held together with some kind of stretchy telephone cord. The keys jangled as they made their way back to the elevators.
“I had Maintenance bring by some boxes.” She punched the elevator’s up button with a short, unpolished fingernail. Glasses hung around her neck and rested on top of her embroidered sweater. “We could have packed up her office ourselves, but I thought you might prefer to do it. There are some personal items in her drawers you might want to bring to her. Or to her house, anyway.”
The elevator arrived and Dolores looked up at him. “How is she?”
Morris felt his face flush. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
The small elevator felt tinier than ever. He had no desire to fill it with talk of Sheila or the weather or the hundred other small-talk items that people saved for moments like this. All he wanted to know was where that bastard Ethan Wolfe was, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
They stepped out of the elevator, and he followed Dolores down to the end of the hallway, where she unlocked the last door with her master key.
She turned the knob, then hesitated. “Dean Simmons was wondering if you knew when she’d be back. He was surprised—well, we all were—by her abrupt departure. She said she was ill from stress, but . . . do you know if she’s found another position?”
“I really couldn’t say.” His tone was abrupt. “I know as much as you do.”
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
“Don’t apologize. This is weird for everyone.”
He stepped inside the office and stifled a sigh. Despite her absence, the room was filled with Sheila’s presence. Traces of her perfume, a light floral blend, still lingered in the air. On her desk in a crystal vase was the bouquet of roses he’d given her the night he proposed, dried and preserved to perfection. Her favorite Pottery Barn mug sat near the computer. Its rim still had a lipstick stain—deep red, her color. Flattened boxes and a pile of newspapers were scattered on the floor.
“I’ll leave you then.” Dolores watched him with a sad look on her face. “When you’re done, dial extension two one two on the desk phone and I’ll have someone help you bring the boxes to your car. I believe everything here is hers, except the furniture and the computer.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door behind her. Morris took a moment to compose himself before getting to work. It all seemed so surreal. Sheila loved her job—how could she have walked away from it? She’d said once that the university was the only thing that kept her going after her divorce.
He plucked her diplomas from the wall and wrapped them carefully in newspaper, stopping when a framed photograph caught his eye. He’d been in Sheila’s office only a handful of times, so he couldn’t say how long it had been there. It was a photo of him.
He was smiling, standing beside his giant stainless steel barbecue wearing a red plaid shirt and blue jeans, a soda in one hand and a pair of tongs