The Cereal Murders by Diane Mott Davidson Page A
Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Romance, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Cooking, Large Type Books, Colorado, Caterers and Catering, Cookery, Bear; Goldy (Fictitious Character), Women in the Food Industry
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over at SAE, and you should be glad that I didn't ruin all that nice Indiana limestone outside my window but instead hauled ass down to the bathroom.
" 'After I hurled I felt better. I wanted to go right back to sleep so I could be on time for my interview the next morning and tell you how I helped bring Elk Park Prep to the state finals in basketball with my three-point shots, and not have to listen to you ask me a bunch of questions about Soviet foreign policy. Okay, I told you in my letter that I did a paper on it my junior year, but who cares now? I mean, the world has changed.
" 'Anyway, at three A.M. I was in the bathroom ready to go back to bed. Here's an honest question: Why do you put the exit to go back outside right next to the bathroom door? So there I was again, outside, and not smelling too good this time, knocking again on that guy's window to be let in, and this time he was pissed.
" 'You know really, now that I look back on it, he didn't have to get that ticked off. It was Friday night! He didn't have classes the next day! But as I told you...' "
Macguire looked hopefully at Miss Ferrell. "You see, I'm not one of those guys who use bad grammar and say, Like I told you. That ought to count for something."
"Macguire! Read!"
Macguire cleared his throat and found his place. " 'I am sorry,' " he read. " 'I'm sorry to the guy in the underwear, I'm sorry for drinking when I was a minor, I'm sorry that when you asked me about Soviet foreign policy I said, Who gives a shit? and I'm sorry to my campus host, can't remember his name. You can tell him that if he wants to come out to Colorado, I'll show him a good time. Promise.' "
The applause from the students was immediate and deafening. The parents sat in stunned silence. Macguire, flushed with pleasure, gave the class a broad smile. I began to clap too, until I saw Miss Ferrell's frown. My hands froze in mid-clap. She rapped on her desk until she had quiet. "Can I go back to my desk?" implored Macguire.
"You may not. I will talk to you later about that... essay. Meanwhile, I want you and Greer Dawson to sit down and role-play an interview. Greer will be the director of admissions at... hmm... Vassar. Macguire, you will be the applicant."
Macguire slumped unhappily into a chair while Greer Dawson walked primly to the front of the room. Today she was dressed like an L.L. Bean ad: impeccable white turtleneck, navy cardigan, Weejuns, and a tartan skirt. Being paired with Macguire Perkins obviously annoyed her. Miss Ferrell directed her to the desk at the front, then crossed her arms. Macguire gave Greer a goofy look. Greer closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. It seemed to me that Macguire would be better off auditioning with Bar- num and Bailey than trying to go to I.U., but I was not in the college advisement business.
Thank God.
"Gee," said Macguire in a deep voice. He tilted his head and eyed Greer lovingly. "I'd really like to go to Vassar now that it's coed. I want to watch the Knicks play in New York and I can't get into Columbia." Laughter erupted from the gallery.
"Miss Ferrell!" protested Greer with a shake of her straight, perfectly cut blond hair. "He's not taking this seriously!"
"I am too!" said Macguire. "I really, really want to go to your school, Hammer, uh" - he opened his eyes wide at Greer and she tsked - "Miss Dawson."
Miss Ferrell gestured to Greer to continue.
Greer's sigh was worthy of any martyr. "I understand you are interested in basketball, Macguire, and foreign relations. We have a year-abroad program, as you know. Does that interest you?"
"Not that much," drawled Macguire, his mouth sloped downward. "I really hate Spanish, and German is too hard. What interests me is your coed dorms. I did my senior thesis on sexual liberation."
"Macguire, please!" cried Miss Ferrell over the squeals of amusement. "I told you
" 'After I hurled I felt better. I wanted to go right back to sleep so I could be on time for my interview the next morning and tell you how I helped bring Elk Park Prep to the state finals in basketball with my three-point shots, and not have to listen to you ask me a bunch of questions about Soviet foreign policy. Okay, I told you in my letter that I did a paper on it my junior year, but who cares now? I mean, the world has changed.
" 'Anyway, at three A.M. I was in the bathroom ready to go back to bed. Here's an honest question: Why do you put the exit to go back outside right next to the bathroom door? So there I was again, outside, and not smelling too good this time, knocking again on that guy's window to be let in, and this time he was pissed.
" 'You know really, now that I look back on it, he didn't have to get that ticked off. It was Friday night! He didn't have classes the next day! But as I told you...' "
Macguire looked hopefully at Miss Ferrell. "You see, I'm not one of those guys who use bad grammar and say, Like I told you. That ought to count for something."
"Macguire! Read!"
Macguire cleared his throat and found his place. " 'I am sorry,' " he read. " 'I'm sorry to the guy in the underwear, I'm sorry for drinking when I was a minor, I'm sorry that when you asked me about Soviet foreign policy I said, Who gives a shit? and I'm sorry to my campus host, can't remember his name. You can tell him that if he wants to come out to Colorado, I'll show him a good time. Promise.' "
The applause from the students was immediate and deafening. The parents sat in stunned silence. Macguire, flushed with pleasure, gave the class a broad smile. I began to clap too, until I saw Miss Ferrell's frown. My hands froze in mid-clap. She rapped on her desk until she had quiet. "Can I go back to my desk?" implored Macguire.
"You may not. I will talk to you later about that... essay. Meanwhile, I want you and Greer Dawson to sit down and role-play an interview. Greer will be the director of admissions at... hmm... Vassar. Macguire, you will be the applicant."
Macguire slumped unhappily into a chair while Greer Dawson walked primly to the front of the room. Today she was dressed like an L.L. Bean ad: impeccable white turtleneck, navy cardigan, Weejuns, and a tartan skirt. Being paired with Macguire Perkins obviously annoyed her. Miss Ferrell directed her to the desk at the front, then crossed her arms. Macguire gave Greer a goofy look. Greer closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. It seemed to me that Macguire would be better off auditioning with Bar- num and Bailey than trying to go to I.U., but I was not in the college advisement business.
Thank God.
"Gee," said Macguire in a deep voice. He tilted his head and eyed Greer lovingly. "I'd really like to go to Vassar now that it's coed. I want to watch the Knicks play in New York and I can't get into Columbia." Laughter erupted from the gallery.
"Miss Ferrell!" protested Greer with a shake of her straight, perfectly cut blond hair. "He's not taking this seriously!"
"I am too!" said Macguire. "I really, really want to go to your school, Hammer, uh" - he opened his eyes wide at Greer and she tsked - "Miss Dawson."
Miss Ferrell gestured to Greer to continue.
Greer's sigh was worthy of any martyr. "I understand you are interested in basketball, Macguire, and foreign relations. We have a year-abroad program, as you know. Does that interest you?"
"Not that much," drawled Macguire, his mouth sloped downward. "I really hate Spanish, and German is too hard. What interests me is your coed dorms. I did my senior thesis on sexual liberation."
"Macguire, please!" cried Miss Ferrell over the squeals of amusement. "I told you
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