College-Cut Kill

He finished it and put it carefully aside. “I shall not tell you who wrote that. I read it because you should all find it interesting. I do not care to be laughed at. That story had complete professional competence. No doubt of that. And it is a devilishly clever parody of the other stories that were turned in. It is a tongue-in-cheek attempt to cover the entire scope of the errors that beginners make.

“Yet the perpetrator of this — this fraud, could not conceal his ability, his very deft turn of phrase and control of emotion. I am mystified as to why he or she should be taking my course. I suggest to this unnamed person that he or she give me credit, next time, for a bit more intelligence.”

I shot a wary look to either side. No one was watching me. I forced myself to relax. Another dumb stunt like that and I would destroy my purpose, if I hadn’t done so already...

At noon I elbowed my way through the mob and went down the steps behind Tilly Owen. I fell into step beside her and said, “My name is Rod Arlin, Miss Owen.” I gave her the very best smile. “I offer lunch, an afternoon on the beach, early dinner in Tampa, and a few wagers on the canines at Derby Lane.”

She quickened her pace. “Please, no.”

“I come well-recommended. Arthur Marris will vouch for me.”

“I have a date.”

I caught her arm above the elbow and turned her around. Anger flashed clear in her gray eyes.

“And a Mr. Flynn in New York considers me to be a bright kid, if that means anything.”

The anger faded abruptly and her eyes narrowed. “If this is some sort of a—”

“Come on. My car’s parked over in the lot behind Administration.” I gestured.

She sat demurely beside me in the car. I parked in front of her sorority house. She dropped off her books, changed to a pale green nylon dress beautifully fitted at the waist and across the lyre-shaped flare of her hips, and came back out to the car with swim suit and beach case in an astonishing twenty minutes. She even smiled at me as I held the door for her.

At lunch she said, “Now don’t you think you ought to tell me why...”

“Not yet. Let’s just get acquainted for now.”

She smiled again, and I wondered how I had managed to think of her as plain. I got her talking about herself. She was twenty-two, orphaned when she was eighteen. A trust fund administered by an uncle was paying for the education. During the summer she had gone north to work at a resort hotel. She adored steaks, detested sea food, kept a diary, lived on a budget, hated the movies, adored walking, wore size eight quad A shoes and thought the fraternity and sorority system to be feudal and foul.

She gave me a surprised look. “I don’t talk like this to strangers! Really, I’m usually very quiet. You have quite a knack, Rod. You’re a listener. I never would have thought so to look at you.”

“What do I look like?”

She cocked her head to the side and put one finger on the cleft in her chin. “Hmmm! Pretty self-satisfied. Someone who’d talk about himself rather than listen. And you’re older than I thought. I never noticed until just now those little wrinkles at the corners of your eyes. Quite cold eyes, really. Surprisingly cold.”

“Warm heart.”

“Silly, that goes with hands not eyes.”

We drove out to the beach. She was neither awed by nor indifferent to my layout. “You should be very comfortable here,” she said.

The sun bounced off the white sand with a hard glare. I spread the blanket, fiddled with the portable radio until I found an afternoon jazz concert. The gulf was glassy. It looked as if it had been quieted with a thick coat of blue oil. Porpoise played lazily against the horizon and two cruisers trolled down the shore line. Down by the public beach the water was dotted with heads.

She came across the little terrace and down across the sand wearing a yellow print two-piece suit. Her body was halfway between the color of honey and toast, fair, smooth and unblemished. I rolled onto my elbows and stared at her. It put a little confusion into her walk, a very pleasing shyness — with the mind saying don’t and the body saying look. That kind of a girl. That very precious kind of a girl.

“Well!” I said. She made a face at me.

She sat on the blanket, poured oil into the palm of her hand and coated herself. We lay back, the radio between us, our eyes shut, letting the frank Florida sun blast and stun and smother us with a glare that burned through closed lids with the redness of a steel mill at night.

“Now,” she said sleepily. “Now tell me.”

I reached over and closed the lid of the radio. “Have you made any guesses?”

“Just one. That was your story he read today, wasn’t it?”

It startled me. “A very good guess indeed. Mind telling me how you made it?”

“Too simple, really. Somebody in the class had to be there on... false pretenses. I’m a senior here, you know. So I happened to know everybody else in the class except you.”

I told her why I had come.

She didn’t answer. When I glanced over I saw that she was sitting up, her forehead against her raised knees. She was weeping.