"Begley?"

"He's a big man with a short graybeard. He visited her at the Surf House the day she left her husband. There'ssome possibility that he's her father."

She wet her seamed lips with the purpletip of her tongue. "She didn't mention him to me. I don't encourage thegirls to unburden themselves to me. Perhaps I should."

"What kind of a mood has Dolly been inlately?"

"It's hard to say. She's always the same. Quiet.She thinks her own thoughts."

Alex appeared, walking rapidly around the bend in thedriveway. His face was bright.

"It's her definitely. I found her things in thecloset."

"You weren't authorized to go in there,"Mrs. Bradshaw said.

"It's her house, isn't it?"

"It happens to be mine."

"But she has the use of it, hasn't she?"

"She does. You don't."

A quarrel with Dolly's employer was thelast thing Alex needed. I stepped between them, turned him around, and walkedhim away from trouble for the second time.

"Get lost," I said when he was in his car."You're in my way."

"But I have to see her."

"You'll see her. Go and check in atthe Mariner's Rest Motel for both of us. It's on the strip between here and theSurf House—"

"I know where it is. But what aboutDolly?"

"I'm going over to the college totalk to her. I'll bring her back with me, if she's willing."

"Why can't I go along to thecollege?" he said like a spoiled child.

"Because I don't want you to. Dollyhas a separate life of her own. You may not like it, but you have no right tojump in and wreck it for her. I'll see you at the motel."

He drove away rapidly and angrily,spinning the wheels of his car. Mrs. Bradshaw was back among her roses. I askedher very politely for permission to examine Dolly's things. She said that wouldhave to be up to Dolly.

chapter 5

The campus was an oasis of vivid greenunder the brown September foothills. Most of the buildings were new and verymodern, ornamented with pierced concrete screens and semi-tropical plantings. Abarefoot boy sitting under a roadside palm took time out from his Salinger toshow me where the Administration Building was.

I parked in the lot behind it, among ascattering of transportation clunks with faculty stickers. A new blackThunderbird stood out among them. It was late Friday afternoon by now, and thelong collegiate weekend was setting in. The glass information booth oppositethe entrance of the building was empty. The corridors were practicallydeserted.

I found the Dean's office without muchtrouble. The paneled anteroom was furnished with convertible Danish pieces, andwith a blonde secretary who sat at a typewriter guarding the closed inner door.She had a pale thin face, strained blue eyes that had worked too long underfluorescent light, and a suspicious voice:

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I'd like to see the Dean."

"Dean Bradshaw is very busy, I'm afraid. PerhapsI can assist you?"

"Perhaps. I'm trying to get in touch with one ofyour girl students. Her name is Dolly McGee, or Dolly Kincaid."

"Which?" she said with a little gasp ofirritation.

"Her maiden name is McGee, her married name isKincaid. I don't know which she's using."

"Are you a parent?" she said delicately.

"No. I'm not her father. But I have good reasonfor wanting to see her."

She looked at me as if I was aself-confessed kingpin in the white slave traffic. "We have a policy ofnot giving out information about students, except to parents."

"What about husbands?"

"You're her husband?"

"I represent her husband. I think you'd betterlet me talk to the Dean about her."

"I can't do that," she said in afinal tone. "Dean Bradshaw is in conference with the department heads.About what do you wish to see Miss McGee?"

"It's a private matter."

"I see."

We had reached an impasse. I said in the hope ofmaking her smile: "We have a policy of not giving out information."

She looked insulted, and went back to hertypewriter. I stood and waited. Voices rose and fell behind the door of theinner office. "Budget" was the word I caught most frequently. After awhile the secretary said:

"I suppose you could try DeanSutherland, if she's in. Dean Sutherland is Dean of Women. Her office is justacross the hail."

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009