Poison Ivy by Cynthia Riggs Page A

last meeting, that female member, Dr. Wieler, took me aside and shed some light on the personal animosities.” Thackery returned to his seat.
    â€œWhat did she have to say?”
    â€œShe explained why Bigelow is making it so difficult for us to appoint Dr. Wellborn Price.”
    â€œCape Cod University ought to be delighted to have Dr. Price listed among adjunct professors who teach at Ivy Green.” Victoria smoothed her hair. “They didn’t seem to have a problem approving me.”
    â€œOf course not,” said Thackery.
    â€œEven I, who know nothing about economics, am familiar with the name Wellborn Price. Wasn’t he a consultant to the White House economics policy group?”
    â€œHe was on Bigelow’s tenure committee,” said Thackery.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œHe was responsible for denying Bigelow tenure.”
    â€œWas there justification?” asked Victoria.
    â€œThe only justification was personal vindictiveness,” said Thackery. “Years before, Bigelow’s father had served on Wellborn’s tenure committee and blackballed Wellborn.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Thackery shrugged. “For personal reasons.”
    â€œAnd that’s the reason Wellborn blackballed his son, our Professor Bigelow? That’s as archaic as the Hatfield and McCoy feud,” said Victoria. “Did our Professor Bigelow, appeal?”
    â€œHe did. But lost the appeal.”
    â€œAnd ended up teaching at Cape Cod University instead of at Stanford.”
    â€œExactly. Tenure denial is a kiss of death for an academician with aspirations for teaching at a major university.”
    â€œIt must be discouraging to put in five or more years at the beginning of one’s career only to be fired. That’s what it amounts to, doesn’t it?”
    *   *   *
    Joel Killdeer, the forensics boss, was standing near the lush poison ivy vine that hid the shingles of Woodbine Hall when Walter let Brownie off his clothesline leash.
    Brownie turned around in a circle, squatted down, scratched his ear with a hind leg, and yawned.
    Killdeer nodded at the vine. “Stuff’s pretty.”
    â€œGo on, Brownie,” said Walter, nudging his dog with his toe. “Sic’um!”
    Brownie turned his head to look at his master with sad eyes, and lay all the way down. He dropped his head on his front paws.
    Killdeer was chewing gum. His sunglasses covered his eyes, his arms were folded over his chest. He leaned back against the side of the building. “Pretty lively mutt, you got there, Walter.”
    Walter bent down and lifted Brownie to his feet. “Go on, sic’um!”
    At that point, Thackery and Victoria emerged from the building.
    â€œThat’s poison ivy, Dr. Killdeer,” said Victoria. “I hope you’re not sensitive to it.”
    â€œOh, shit!” Killdeer straightened up and stared at the vine. “Last case I got damned near killed me.”
    â€œWoodbine Hall has an upstairs shower,” said Thackery.
    â€œCool water,” said Victoria. “Be careful not to touch your clothes where they’ve come in contact with the vine.”
    Killdeer left to clean up. Brownie staggered to his feet and looked reproachfully at Walter. He then put his nose to the ground and started circling, making wider and wider circles, moving away from the administration building. He stopped suddenly and began to dig, almost tripping up Walter, who’d been following closely behind his dog. Thackery and Victoria gathered around.
    â€œSmart dog,” said Walter, preening himself.
    Thackery scowled.
    â€œI hope he hasn’t found yet another body,” said Victoria.
    Brownie dug furiously with his front paws. Dirt shot out between his hind legs. After a few minutes he stopped, looked up at Walter, and yelped.
    Walter bent down to look into the foot-deep hole. “Can’t see nothin’.”
    Thackery turned his head