“I’ll relay that message,” she said, and then, suddenly, “Oh, excuse me, Dr. Brockton, my other line is ringing. Can I put you on hold for just a moment?” Before I had a chance to ask if I had a choice, she had already done it. I remained in limbo for several minutes, and when she came back on the line, she said, nice as pie, “Dr. Brockton? The provost has just gotten out of his meeting. He can speak with you now, if you like.”
I considered saying, No, I’ve changed my mind—it really wasn’t important, but I decided she probably wouldn’t see the humor in it, so I played it straight. “Excellent. Thank you.”
“Bill,” the provost said in his warmest voice. “Sorry to be so slow getting back to you. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve been having.”
“Probably not,” I replied, matching his tone as best I could. “Listen, I’ve given a lot of thought to what you said, and I certainly don’t want to deny UT a chance to shine. I wouldn’t have won this award without all the support I’ve gotten from the university over the years, so I’d really like to be part of a big Homecoming celebration after all.” Suddenly I had another idea. A simple, brilliant idea. I tacked on three more words: “If I can.”
“Of course you can!” He paused. “What do you mean, ‘If I can’?”
“I might be away,” I said slowly, as if reluctantly deciding to reveal a secret. “On a job interview.”
He made a brief barking sound, which might have been either laughing or choking. “You can’t be serious.”
“Sounds crazy,” I said, “but the thing is, I really like working with my assistant, Miranda. So if I can’t convince her to stay here, the only thing to do is go with her. To the FBI lab. They have a supervisory position—senior scientist—that just came open, and the interview schedule is . . . challenging. It might conflict with Homecoming.”
“Have you lost your mind? You would actually consider leaving UT to follow your assistant? Christ, Bill, don’t tell me you’re sleeping with her?”
“No! God no. It’s just that she’s one of a kind. Truly . . . exceptional.”
I heard a grunt. “So that’s what you’re after—you’re still angling for an exception to the damn hiring policy. Blackmailing me so you can offer her a tenure-track job.”
“Blackmail? I would never stoop to blackmail,” I said cheerfully. “This is extortion. A far kinder, gentler tactic.”
I could practically see him glaring as he said, “And this really means that much to you.”
“It does,” I said.
After a pause and a sigh, he said, “All right. The Faculty Senate will have my hide, but I’ll do it. Oh, and Bill?” His voice lost all its prior warmth. “Don’t ask me for anything else. Ever.”
“I won’t,” I said. In my mind, I added, Especially if I’m dead. Aloud, I added, “Thank you. I can’t wait for Homecoming.” And before he could change his mind or question me more closely about my FBI job interview—an interview that existed only in my imagination—I hung up.
I PRACTICALLY LEAPED DOWN THE TWO FLIGHTS OF steps to the bone lab, and when I opened the door, I gave it such a push, it rebounded off the wall and nearly hit me in the face. “Impressive,” said Miranda, looking up from a notepad. “You must’ve eaten your spinach this morning.”
“I have good news,” I told her.
“We could all use some good news.” Miranda had taken Waylon’s death hard—I knew she had been fond of the deputy, but the depth of her grief had surprised me. “And this good news is? You’ve decided that my dissertation is so brilliant, I don’t have to defend it?”
“Better than that.”
“You don’t mean—you can’t mean—that you’ve sworn off terrible puns forever?”
“Even better.”
“What could possibly be better than that?”
“I talked some sense into the provost,” I said. “He’s agreed to make an exception to the hiring policy. Tenure track—yours for the taking!”
“How the hell did you manage that? You’ve got pictures of him boffing a freshman on the president’s desk?”
“Ewww. No, I do not. I just explained what a devastating blow it would be if UT lost you. The point—the good news—is that now you can stay here after all.” I beamed, waiting for her response—a hug, a Happy Dance, a face-splitting smile.
Instead, she furrowed her brow. Then, remarkably, she frowned. “But . . . Dr. B . . . I’ve already accepted the FBI job.”