Oh, Murderer Mine | Page 2

blond hair that curled in ringlets and a straight, short nose. His eyes were blue, shaded with long, dark lashes. The effect of this collar-ad perfection was tainted a little by the way his mouth twisted down at one corner and the way he was scowling, but even at that he missed being pretty only by a very small margin.
Melissa stepped through the door. "I beg your pardon."
He looked up sideways at her. "What do you want?"
"Well, really," said Melissa. "It so happens that this is my office."
"Not any longer."
"What?" said Melissa blankly.
"It's mine now."
"What?" said Melissa.
The young man scowled. "Are you hard of hearing, or don't you understand English? I'm going to use this office from now on--exclusively."
Melissa swallowed hard. "Well, you can't just move in like this!"
"I already have."
"Well, who gave you the authority to do it?"
"The president of the university."
"Oh," said Melissa.
The young man eyed her coldly. "Was there anything else?"
Melissa's voice was shaky. "But--but all my files and notes are in here."
"Not now, they aren't," said the young man. He pulled one of the desk drawers open to illustrate that it was empty.
"My files!" Melissa shrilled. "My class notes! What have you done--"
"Nothing," the young man said shortly. "I didn't touch them. Some dusty, beefy party who makes noises like a tin mouse took them away."
"Do you mean Professor Sley-Mynick?"
The young man shrugged. He had custom-built shoulders.
Melissa took a deep breath. "Now look here, this is all wrong, and I don't care what the president of the university said. This office is mine. It was assigned to me. You haven't any right to just walk in and take it."
"What's your subject?" the young man asked indifferently. "Anthropology."
"Oh, that silly stuff. You don't need any particular office for that. Go find one somewhere else."
Melissa swallowed again. "What is your subject?"
"Meteorology."
"Hmmph," said Melissa contemptuously. "And just why do you need this particular office for that?"
The young man jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. "It has a trap door. My instruments are on the roof."
"What instruments?" Melissa asked. "I thought you people used crystal balls to predict the weather."
The young man didn't answer. He just curled his lip. He reached down and rattled the weather map. He was waiting very pointedly for Melissa to leave.
Melissa changed her tactics. "Now, listen," she said, smiling. "I really want this office. This particular one. I like it. And I was here first. Let's make a deal."
"Let's not."
Melissa lost her smile. "Well, damn you anyway, you supercilious imitation of a Greek statue. This office is the only one in the building that has a private ladies' powder room. Do you think I'm going to come here and knock on the door and ask your permission every time I--well, every time?"
"I know you're not. I have to make progressive calculations, and it's important that I'm not interrupted in the middle of them when I'm plotting a front. You'll have to make some other arrangements."
Melissa breathed hard through her nose, staring at him. He stared back.
"I've seen you somewhere before!" Melissa stated accusingly.
To her amazement, he cringed. There was no other word for it. Melissa watched him narrowly, sensing her advantage, but not knowing what it was.
"Yes," she said, feeling her way. "I know I've seen you somewhere before. Your face is very familiar."
He was blushing, very painfully. The flush crawled in red waves up from his collar.
"What's your name?" Melissa demanded.
He moistened his lips. "Eric Trent."
It didn't mean a thing to Melissa. She was baffled.
Eric Trent knew it, and he sighed lengthily. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get on with my work. Good day."
Melissa scrambled around frantically in her mind looking for an inspiration. She didn't find one. "Oh, all right." She shot her hand out suddenly, forefinger pointed rigidly. "But I'll remember where I've seen you! And then, you'll find out!"
She stepped back into the hall and slammed the door violently, and then she marched down the stairs and back along the lower hall to the office door opposite the largest of the chemistry labs. She hammered on the dark, scarred panels vigorously. There was no answer. Impatiently Melissa tried the latch. It clicked, and she pushed the door open and looked in the office. It was larger and considerably more cluttered than hers, and dust motes stirred and glinted uneasily in the sun beams that pried their way through the narrow windows. There was no one in sight.
Melissa shut the door, and then she had a sudden hunch and opened it again very quickly. She caught Professor Sley-Mynick in the act of crawling cautiously out from under his desk. He froze there on his hands and knees and made wordless little pip pipping noises.
Also, he seemed to be stuck, for he was by no means a small man and the