 CHAPTER 8 (section 4) copyright © 2001, S. Y. Affolee Down in the lecture pit, Professor Fitzgerald was gathering her transparencies when Simone spotted a lanky dark character with a shiny silver buckle leave through a nearby doorway with several students in tow. She nudged Adrian. “I think I see Sykes. I think I should go after him before I lose him.” “I’m going to stick around to ask the prof some questions.” She looked back over her shoulder as she headed out. “You’d better behave.” Mockingly, he placed a hand over his heart. “I promise,” he grinned. Simone only shook her head and disappeared through the doorway. As the remaining students scurried out of the lecture hall, Adrian strolled over to where the woman was busily buckling her suitcase. “Professor Fitzgerald?” She looked up. “Yes?” Her glance lingered, traveling down his body. Suddenly the room seemed a bit warmer than usual. “I’m Adrian Dubois, investigator.” He held out his hand. She seemed to examine his hand for a moment before shaking it. Her fingernails grazed over his skin. He hastily retrieved his hand. “Olivia Fitzgerald. You’re not a student then.” The edge of her mouth tilted upward, revealing white teeth. “I’m doing some research for a case and was told that you may have some information on cults.” The woman laughed. “Cults? I don’t know anything about them.” “Well the ones you were talking about, the Free Masons or Templars or whatever.” “Those, you mean. Well, if you come with me to my office, I might just be able to scrounge up some reference materials for you.” He decided to ignore her suggestive tone. “That sounds great. Actually I was looking for information about one particular group.” He followed her out of the lecture hall and out of the building, heading to the next building over which looked more like an office building. A sign just outside the main doors proclaimed that it was the Greenville Humanities Complex. He wondered if it had been Robert Greenville, now Marcus Thomson, who had donated the money to have it built. “And which group would this be?” she said, heading briskly to one of the rooms in the first floor. She opened the door that had the plaque, Olivia Fitzgerald, PhD, emblazoned beside it. She motioned for him to enter first. “If you’re looking for the Templars or the Free Masons, there’s plenty of information on them in the university humanities libraries. They’re really not that secret of a society since they’re no longer really operational, at least not around here.” “No, I’m not looking for the Templars or the Free Masons.” “The Order of Rhodes, then?” She took off her suit jacket and draped it over a nearby chair, revealing a blouse with a plunging vee line. Against his will, he discretely stared at the exposed cleavage. “The Knights of the Golden Fleece? The Carbonari? The Illuminati?” He shook his head. “The Sons of Temperance? The Knights of Pythias?” “No.” “Well, what is it? I don’t like playing guessing games.” “The Black Vipers.” “The Black Vipers?” She grinned and shook her head. “Never heard of them.” She took a step toward him. “I noticed you when I walked into the lecture hall. You were sitting in the back.” “So then you’ve never seen their seal?” he asked, desperately trying to bring the conversation back. He took a step backward. “A snake in a bed of black roses.” Her eyes briefly flashed with something. Recognition? Fear? Determination? “Nope,” she finally said taking another quick step toward him. “Would have remembered if I saw it. Sounds unique.” “You’re a history professor. You must know where I could find the information for myself then.” He backed up again. “The library,” she said resolutely. “If they don’t have it, then I don’t know what to tell you.” She suddenly pushed him and he found himself landing hard in the chair. He caught a glimpse of the sleeve of her jacket, a dull thing except for gleaming cuff links that interwove in a familiar design before she landed on top of him, tearing at the hair holder at his hair and kissing him, hard. He managed to wrench his lips away and shove her away from him. “No.” She gave him a feigned pout. “Isn’t that what you wanted? It’s what I’ve wanted when I first saw you. I couldn’t wait until class was over.” “No,” he repeated when she made to grab him again. He swiftly got back on his feet, dumping her back into the chair. “I only wanted information.” “Too bad.” She smiled again, revealing teeth. She undid a button on her blouse. “Well, you know where to find me. I usually work late in my office.” He moved quickly toward the door. “Good day, professor.” Making a hasty retreat, he made his way out of the building, finally breathing a sigh of relief mixed with guilt that he had been aroused by her blantant ploys. Simone lingered in the background while Sykes looked over the students’ papers to correct a misgraded homework problem. As the last student packed up, ready to leave, Sykes made some comment, evidently a come on as the she made a disgusted face and ignored him, brushing past Simone as she made her way out. “You are Randy Sykes?” He seemed to notice her for the first time. He immediately leered as he surveyed her. “Yeah?” “You have some information regarding the Black Vipers, particularly The Rose?” A shadow passed over his face. “Who are you. A cop?” “Private investigator,” she replied. “I was told that you may know something regarding the Black Vipers, especially since you’re a history student.” “Oh? What does my having to study history have anything to do with it?” “The Black Vipers is a group founded several hundred years ago in Europe.” “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know anything about it.” He sat down at his desk to shuffle a couple papers. “You should ask Professor Fitzgerald. She’s the expert.” “What do you know about the Rose?” “Direct, aren’t you?” He crossed his arms, apparently thinking. “Fitzgerald tells me that the Black Vipers were originally a group of artists. As time went by, their teachings got preverted by a bunch of wannabe cultists. The Rose was supposed to be a painting about three by three feet of what else, a rose.” “Then the painting must be in some museum or private collection somewhere.” “Ha ha. That’s very funny. No, I don’t think it’s a painting anyway. I think it may be a sculpture. Still, as you’ve said, it could be in a museum or private collection. But I’ve been too busy lately to check up on any of my hunches you know. I have a thesis to work on. I have a social life. I need sleep. But if you’re really trying to look for it, you could probably ask a curator nicely and they’ll probably give you an inventory.” “I didn’t know curators did that sort of thing.” “Well, they don’t do it just for your average Joe, that’s for sure.” He leaned back. “And if you find it, give me a call. I have this girl in mind I’m planning to woo.” “Why on earth do you want a sculpture to woo a woman?” asked Simone momentarily perplexed by his audacity. “The principle of the thing. Girls are suckers for art. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be free Friday night huh? We could catch...” “No thanks,” Simone said firmly. “I’m not available.” “Hey, can’t say I tried. But if you’re talking about that guy you were with, I’ll have to tell you, Fitzgerald will make short work of him in no time.” Disgruntled, Simone left his office, pondering the new information she was given. She looked up to see that Adrian was standing outside one of the humanities buildings, raking a hand through his hair that had somehow gotten free from its usual que in frustration. She started to wave and call out his name to get his attention when from the corner of her eye, she saw two large black figures lunging toward her partner. |