Murder Takes a Break by Bill Crider Page A

hoped it wouldn't matter because by the time they found out there had been a misunderstanding, I'd already be inside.   It wouldn't be easy to get me out, not unless Patrick was bigger than Henry J.
    Since my minor fabrication had worked so well with Mrs. Mullen, I was sorry I couldn't try it on the Peavys.   Too bad the kid had dropped out of school.   But then, a representative of the Student Retention Office of Texas Tech University might very well be interested in interviewing a drop-out to discover the reasons he'd decided to leave.
    Sure enough, Mr. Peavy found that a reasonable idea.   He even sounded enthusiastic about it, which made me feel a little guilty, but not much.   He thought my talk with his son might encourage him to return to classes, but I was pretty sure it would do just the opposite.
    After I hung up the phone, I wondered if either Texas Tech or the University of North Texas actually had Student Retention Offices.   If they didn't, they were missing a bet.   Maybe I should consider going straight.   I could call up the universities and talk to someone about it.   If they already had an office dedicated to retaining students, I could go to work for them, tracking down drop-outs and counseling them.
    Sure I could, about the same time that Big Al and Henry J. joined Big Brothers and Sisters.
    I went to the bedroom to look for something to wear.

14
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    C ontrary to what many people believe, I do own a sport coat, some slacks, a white shirt, a tie, and a regular pair of shoes.   Of course the coat is about ten years out of style, and the tie is even older.   As for the shoes, I have no idea whether anyone wears wing-tip loafers with tassels on them these days.
    But no one expects academic types to be fancy dressers.   They're supposed to be intellectuals, concerned with things of the mind, not with material possessions and outward show.   Or at least that's what I hoped people expected.
    What bothered me most was just how the S-10 fit into this scheme of things.   I was pretty sure that even academic types wouldn't be driving to Texas City in a thirteen-year-old pick-up truck.   As a representative of the Student Retention Office, I'd most likely have a school-issued car, some dull-colored four-door sedan.   Since I didn't know anyone who owned a car like that, and since I didn't feel like renting one, I'd just have to take my chances.
    I'd also have to hope that no one thought to ask me for a card.   I didn't have a card of any kind.   I did, however, have something almost as good: a clipboard with a yellow legal pad held down by the silver clamp at the top.   A man carrying a clipboard and a yellow legal pad could hardly seem anything other than completely legitimate, especially if he was wearing a jacket and tie.
    Tying the tie presented a problem, since I was considerably out of practice, but I finally attained something resembling respectability.   The shirt could have used ironing, and the jacket didn't hang exactly like an Armani original, but I'd shined the shoes, and the crease in the slacks was above reproach.
    "So," I said to Nameless, "how do I look?"
    He looked up quizzically.   "Mowr?"
    "Not exactly the overwhelming endorsement I was hoping for, but it'll do."
    "Mowr?"
    "Oh.   You're right.   I forgot the clipboard.   No wonder you thought something was lacking."
    I got the clipboard and tucked it under my arm.   "Well?"
    "Mowr."
    "I think so too.   They'll spill their guts to a sharp-looking guy like me."
    Nameless didn't even bother to respond to that one.   He went off somewhere to sleep, probably in my recliner, which I wouldn't ordinarily allow.   He knew I was leaving, though, and he was going to take advantage of the opportunity to misbehave.   Cats are like that.
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    I drove into Texas City on Highway 146, going past the mile long stretch where the Union Carbide plant sprawled, a labyrinthine