Murder by the Numbers

By Robert Brigham

Pomp, circumstance, and murder mark the graduation ceremony at Marcus Rome State University. Famed philanthropist and commencement speaker, Douglas Norwood, lies dead. There is no apparent motive. A cryptic message to a local television station provides many questions but few answers. Sergeant Tom Warren and the campus police are faced with the grim task of untangling the mess.

University President Norman Mulholland wants a solution fast, and appoints mathematics professor Jim Albright to serve as liaison between him and the police. In an unconventional move, Warren and Albright enlist a group of amateur sleuths composed of Albrights sexy psychologist wife, Donna; eccentric mathematical genius Elmo Sherwin and his wife, Michelle; and Mulholland himself to work with Warren. With the exception of the president, this is the same group that pinpointed another campus murderer three years earlier (see Math Is Murder).

The team soon learns the crime is more complicated than it first appeared, and watches with growing anxiety as the universitys situation deteriorates. Will they be able to solve this mystery in time to prevent more carnage?

The clues in this whodunit are everywhere. Its up to the investigative team and the reader to find them. The problem is recognizing them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491741696

Robert Brigham

Robert Brigham is a Professor Emeritus of mathematics. He has been a runner for four decades and has completed several half marathons. Previously published books are When Your Lover Dies, Math Is Murder (with James Reed), and Murder by the Numbers. He lives in Florida with wife Patricia and greyhound Callie.

Book preview

MURDER BY THE NUMBERS

Copyright © 2014 Robert Brigham.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-4168-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-4169-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014913005

iUniverse rev. date:    08/27/2014

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

FRIDAY

SEPTEMBER 20

Chapter 1

FRIDAY

MAY 2

Chapter 2

SATURDAY

MAY 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

SUNDAY

MAY 4

Chapter 15

MONDAY

MAY 5

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

TUESDAY

MAY 6

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

WEDNESDAY

MAY 7

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

THURSDAY

MAY 8

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

FRIDAY MAY 9

TO

MONDAY MAY 12

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

TUESDAY

MAY 13

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

WEDNESDAY

MAY 14

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

THURSDAY—MAY 15

TO

TUESDAY—MAY 20

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

WEDNESDAY

MAY 21

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

THURSDAY—MAY 22

TO

MONDAY — JUNE 2

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

TUESDAY

JUNE 3

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

EPILOGUE

SATURDAY DECEMBER 6

Chapter 59

For

Geoffrey and Rosalind

Acknowledgments

I wish to express my appreciation to several who have contributed to this story.

James Reed; a former police officer, Crime Scene Investigator and coauthor; suggested portions of the plot and attempted to keep me honest as far as forensics and police procedures are concerned. Unfortunately, I wasn’t always a good student and took liberties when needed. Any deviation from actual methodologies must be laid solely at my doorstep.

Chen-Shue Yun, an excellent student in one of my advanced classes, assumed the role of instructor and taught me the proper interpretation of Chinese names.

Karen Verity is a public high school English teacher who with imagination and hard work truly makes a difference every single day with her students. As in the past, she graciously agreed to read the manuscript and her insightful suggestions greatly improved the story.

I also want to thank the dozens of teachers I have had in my life and the thousands of students I have been privileged to teach. From them I have had a myriad of experiences, many of which have reached the pages of this and earlier efforts. Never, though, have any of them involved murder.

With one exception, the people and places in this tale are figments of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual individuals and locales are purely coincidental. The exception is Miss Elsie Greer who taught algebra and geometry to the author and was the best high school teacher he had.

Prologue

The speaker gazes at the audience of thousands as his lips form the longed for words, And in conclusion, I would like to remind you …

A sequence of near simultaneous events trumps any potential wisdom.

Six small explosions occur near the ceiling.

Dying embers fall on the seated audience.

Dozens scream and rush to exits.

Someone mutters, Damn pranksters!

Several on the stage gasp.

One of them issues a piercing shriek.

FRIDAY

SEPTEMBER 20

Chapter 1

From: [e-mail]

Subject: Forwarded message from President Mulholland

Date: September 19, 2014 5:48 pm

To: facultylist

President Mulholland has asked the following be sent to you.

Ethel Rheingarten

Administrative Assistant

Office of the President

Colleagues:

As you know, MRSU has not awarded honorary doctorates since I assumed this office. I do not consider them to be an important role of a major university and, to be frank, I have not been impressed with those given prior to my arrival. On the other hand, when done properly I believe such designations can reflect well on both the university and the recipients.

Accordingly, I have decided to consider up to two such degrees to be granted during the spring graduation ceremony in May. This is to request nominations of those you feel would be worthy of such an honor.

Nominations will be considered only for those with outstanding academic credentials whose contributions to their field have been seminal.

Information provided about a candidate can include anything you deem important, but I would expect it at a minimum to list past and continuing efforts, standing in the academic community, and contributions to educational goals. A committee will be formed in the near future to evaluate nominations. Final approval will come from Provost Whitfield and myself.

Cordially,

Norman Mulholland

Hey, mate.

Reggie Simpson’s at my office door. He’s our newest faculty member, hired a year ago. From Australia. An incredibly nice guy, a good teacher, and an excellent mathematician. I was chair of the search committee that recommended him after plowing through more than 200 applications. On paper he had everything we were looking for, including a Ph.D. from Cal Tech in partial differential equations. So far this skinny as a noodle six-footer with plastered brown hair and scraggly beard has more than lived up to promise. Hi, Reggie, what’s up?

I’m applying for an NSF grant, first one I’ve tried, and was wondering if you’d give a read to the application before I send it off. Could use any guidance.

You may wonder why he’s coming to me. I’m not exactly senior faculty. But I’m not junior either. My name’s Jim Albright and I’ve been in the math department at Marcus Rome State University for more than 10 years. No genius, that’s for sure, but I’ve been pretty successful at publishing research and obtaining grants, necessities if one wants tenure and promotion. I’m an associate professor. That’s the middle rank in academia. New faculty start as assistant professors. After five or six years, tenure and promotion to associate are granted. If you’ve published and gotten those elusive grants. All you’ve heard about Publish or Perish is absolutely true. The next step is full professor and I’m hoping for that in the next year or two. Sure, Reggie, I’ll be glad to. When’s it due?

End of next week. If I got it to you by Tuesday, would that be time enough?

That should be fine.

Thanks, Jim, and he’s off, only to be replaced by Edward Gupta. It’s like Grand Central Station, a consequence of an office near the math department headquarters.

What did you think of Mulholland’s memo, Jim? He looks Indian and that’s his heritage, but he was born in this country and his parents even gave him an Anglo name. He joined our faculty the same year I did.

I just saw it. You’ve probably guessed, but honorary doctorates are special degrees given in recognition of significant contributions by the recipients. The contributions can take many forms. It has nothing to do with the degrees already held. It’s not uncommon for an individual to hold an earned doctorate and then several honorary ones. U.S. presidents often leave office with a host of these advanced degrees. Bill Clinton has over a dozen.

Going to nominate someone?

You know, Ed, I did think about suggesting Elmo Sherwin.

Jim, that’s a great idea! Certainly no question about meeting all the criteria. I’ll never forget his exposition on the Collins Conjecture. So clear on a really tough subject. Ed’s referring to a proof of a long unsolved problem that our former chairman developed. Elmo was one of the few who understood it and explained it to our faculty during a campus visit. Didn’t I hear he was spending some time with you this summer?

That’s the plan. I’m hoping we can collaborate on some ideas we’ve been discussing, and maybe I’ll get at least a couple of papers out of it. And you’re right about him meeting the criteria. You know, he has over 100 papers in refereed international journals, seven or eight books, a long-time interest in improving math education in K to 12, and a history of consulting with several national agencies.

So he’s a shoo-in, right? Whoa, what’s that look? Is there a problem?

I’m quiet for a full minute, not wanting to admit what’s troubling me. Well, er, you know, Ed, he’s an incredible klutz. Who knows what he’ll do?

Ed laughs outright. And you’re concerned it’ll reflect on you! Ouch, doesn’t pull punches does he? Don’t worry, Jim. Just do what’s right.

Sound advice. He’s a good friend. You’re right, of course, on all accounts. I’ll work on it today.

Were you surprised by the criteria?

You mean the doctorates will go only to those with significant academic achievements, not significant money?

Yeah. We both smile, recalling some of the recipients prior to Mulholland’s tenure. Definitely a feeling among the faculty that honoraries can be bought. Wasn’t the last one the guy who gave money for the new arena?

Sure was, in the final year Blake was here. Gerald Blake was Mulholland’s predecessor. Five million dollars as I recall.

A good start, replies Ed. But it’s taken this long to raise the rest of the money and get the construction done. And he adds wryly, And to get the guy’s name inserted on the front facade.

Sort of ironic, don’t you think?

How so?

Well, he essentially bribed the university to get his doctorate. Now ‘his’ arena will be the site of the next awards. And money isn’t playing any role. He probably would never understand it.

Ed smiles, enjoying the incongruity. He’s still on memory lane. And the year before that one of our alumna gave a donation to help fund a woman’s dorm.

A measly million and a half, I smile.

We go on like this, reminiscing on various wealthy individuals who have helped the university with their money. I don’t mean to mock this. I think it’s wonderful and certainly we can use all the financial help available. But I, like our president I guess, feel riches shouldn’t buy you academic titles. Most of us have worked hard for them. On the other hand, few of us are rolling in riches, so maybe I’m being too harsh.

Ed’s not ready to turn it loose. I heard a rumor that, before I was hired, a prostitute won 50 million dollars in the lottery and wanted to give half of it to the university if it would give her a doctorate and name the sociology department after her. True?

Now, Ed, you know I arrived the same day you did so I don’t know any more than you. I bet, if it was true, Blake had trouble turning it down.

Well, I guess even he had standards of some sort.

I’m sure you can detect our opinion of the former president. A far cry from Mulholland. He’s been here five years, a period during which most university presidents have alienated one or more of the schools constituents: faculty, staff, students, athletic boosters, local politicians. That hasn’t happened with Mulholland. That doesn’t mean he’s playing it cautious. He’s taken strong stands. But when he does, he explains his reasoning, and before making decisions he listens to all sides. And like all true leaders, he makes mistakes — which he makes no attempt to hide. Politicians could take lessons. Instead, he admits them publicly and takes immediate action to rectify them. It’s hard for an anti-administration knee-jerker like me to admit it, but I respect the guy and that’s the feeling I get from other campus entities.

Well, if I’m going to make a nomination, I’d better get to work. I open Firefox which brings up Google. I type Elmo Sherwin.

FRIDAY

MAY 2

Chapter 2

Ah, the end of the semester! Opportunity for a brief respite from the demands of academic life. I posted my grades online Tuesday for the course I taught during the spring. What’s that I hear you saying? The course! Only one? I talk of the demands of academia and that’s all I’m teaching? I bet you’re thinking about some devoted public school educator you know who carries six or more. And right you’d be to honor these overworked and underpaid angels. I’ve run across several when I’ve spoken to classes in both elementary and high schools. Uniformly they have been dedicated and competent. And quite frankly, I couldn’t do their job, dealing with 120 or more students daily, interminable grading, and the inevitable discipline problems. I’m grateful for the love they show their discipline and, despite the ranting of politicians, the effectiveness of their teaching. I couldn’t do my job if my students didn’t come to me prepared.

So how do I defend my single course? Perhaps it’s a losing battle, but hear me out. At the university we’re training students at the highest level, incorporating the latest developments. We’re expected to keep up with our discipline, and even extend it. It’s generally accepted we have to be pushing the frontier of our field, which requires time. That’s why I and most of the faculty are on what’s called a half-time research load that generally translates into two courses. However, if you get a grant that will cover your pay for one course, you can buy out of it. This past semester I had a contract with ONR, oh, that’s the Office of Naval Research, and that’s why I had the reduced load. And it’s why I’m in my office now, writing up the final report for the navy and outlining a paper about the work I was able to accomplish.

I’ve made good progress, but it’s getting late, almost five, and I have to head home. Elmo Sherwin is arriving this evening and staying the night. Graduation is tomorrow and Elmo is receiving one of the two honorary doctorates to be awarded. That’s right, my nomination did the trick. There were 14 considered, all excellent candidates, but two stood out.

I’m looking forward to seeing Elmo. Donna, my wife, has reservations. She’s a knockout, by the way. Five feet four inches of perfectly proportioned features: hazel eyes, a chin that juts ever so slightly, and blond hair with some gray appearing that falls to her shoulders. I don’t think the gray has a chance. She was speaking to her hairdresser this morning. But she’s not just another pretty face. She has a Ph.D. in psychology and a thriving private practice of adoring clients. She also has consulted with various law-enforcement agencies around the state.

Donna doesn’t know Elmo as well as I, but she likes him. She also likes the frail antiques that form part of our furniture collection. She’s worried that Elmo, who’s completely unaware of such concerns, will plop his large somewhat obese frame into a delicate chair that won’t be able to stand the stress. I’m under strict orders to guide him to our more substantial pieces.

I can’t wait to get home, perhaps to spend some time with Donna before our guest arrives. I see her unlocking our front door as I pull into the driveway. She turns and gives me the most welcoming smile, with the slightest suggestion of … well, I hope I’m right. I catch up with her in the living room and take her in my arms. Do we have time? I ask, being affected by her tight blouse and billowing multicolored skirt.

I think so, but let’s check messages first.

You have one new message. Message one. Three fifty-seven p.m.

Then Elmo’s voice. Confound these things. Michelle tells me shouldn’t be hard to leave a message. Just talk, she says. But wait for a beep, she says. Just heard a beep so, er, guess I’d better try. So, Jim and Donna, are you there? Oh, I guess not or you would have answered. Well, let’s see. Wanted to let you know I’m starting out. Should be there about six — if I don’t get lost. Tend to do that a lot. I remember one time … The rest of this informative message is lost since the time allowed for recording has elapsed.

Donna’s laughing. Sure reminds me of what he’s like. At least the key information made it.

You mean the arrival time?

Yes, and I guess you know what that means?

I’m not pleased. Yeah, not enough time.

Later, she promises and smiles.

I give her my pout she finds so cute, and the doorbell rings. He’s early.

We both go to the door and I pull it open, revealing Elmo. Donna takes a look, stifles a giggle, and moves into a hug offered by a massive bear.

Great to see you again, Donna, says the bear. Look wonderful as ever. No wonder Albright goes on and on about you. Remember you very well from before. Michelle, too. Liked you a lot, she did. Me too, of course. Mean I liked you, not Michelle liked me. But she does, though, now I think of it. Likes me, that is. Remember your home too. Beautiful! Haven’t gotten a dog since I was here last, have you? Cause me to sneeze, they do. Makes me mad ‘cause I love the little blighters. Don’t guess you have — don’t seem to be sneezing. Can I take you to dinner?

Donna, grinning still, says, Thanks for the invite, Elmo, but I think we’ll pass. I have a vegetarian meal planned. Both Elmo and Donna gave up meat several years ago. So how does he stay so big? Well, he does have a penchant for non-meaty Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts. And, no, we don’t have a dog. I’m delighted you’ll be staying with us, but I’m sorry Michelle isn’t here.

Me too. Miss her terribly when we’re apart. Keeps me out of trouble, she does. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a bit clumsy at times.

Silence. What can you say? Donna rolls her eyes, and then saves the day, er, evening. Is Michelle coming tomorrow?

Yep. Will meet us here at 7:00 tomorrow morning. Wants to see me get my hood. Lookin’ forward to that myself. Then she’s back home ’til we move. Just a day or two stay for me. Jim and I are going out tomorrow afternoon to look for an apartment. Shouldn’t take too long. Don’t require much. Just a table to work on, couple of chairs — and of course a bed. Really essential, the bed, if you know what I mean. Heh, heh. What you say, Jim?

I wink at Donna and reply with all the sincerity I can muster, Why, yes, Elmo. I do think a bed is pivotal.

Let me show you to your room, and then we’ll have some dinner.

Thankee, Donna. Sure do make a guy feel welcome. Be right out; just want to freshen up a bit.

No hurry, Elmo.

When he’s out of earshot Donna continues the giggles so bravely checked earlier.

What’s gotten into you? I ask.

Jim, did you see him? He’s so, so, …, oh, I don’t know, so the eccentric mathematician.

So is that what you see whenever you look at me?

"Oh, Jim, you never look that strange. Seems to be implying I look some level of strange. I’ve always had a vision of the weird scientist, and there he was standing in our doorway."

Sure, Elmo’s a little odd, but I didn’t think he looked so bad. What do you mean?

Oh, come on, Jim. Did you look at him at all? Those jeans, not so bad really except for the food stains and the fact they were two inches too short. And that orange and green striped short-sleeve shirt! He’s got less fashion sense than you.

Ouch. Anything else you’d like to mention? Just a small amount of sarcasm in my voice.

I suppose you didn’t even notice his pocket protector? I sigh. All those multi-colored pens, there must have been five or six of them.

He does amazing things with those pens, I defend, thinking of the results that have shaken the mathematical community.

I realize that, darling, and you know I love Elmo, just the way he is, with his shirt tucked in in the front and hanging out in the back and those imitation leather sandals surrounding his gigantic white-socked feet. And his hair, my God, his hair. He could put Einstein to shame.

Alas, the picture painted is accurate and I envision it with affection, as I know my wife does. Well, you certainly enjoyed the way he greeted you.

You’re right. He truly is endearing.

Our dining room table seats six. Three chairs are drawn to it, two antiques and a rather substantial armed one. With a graciousness only my wife can command, Elmo is steered to the latter. He never notices the difference in our accommodations. I observe he’s donned a clean shirt, full-length pants, and no pocket protector. Donna digs containers of previously chopped delicacies from the fridge and creates a delicious stir-fry served over rice. Tofu supplies the protein and a magic oriental sauce creates joy to the palate. Elmo finishes one serving and politely accepts a second. There is a noticeable pause when asked if he’d like a third before saying, No thank you, Donna. Really delicious. Must give recipe to Michelle. She’s a great cook. Tried cooking once myself. Kind of a disaster, although I thought the firemen were quite understanding.

With this thought we repair to the living room where again Donna guides Elmo to a large armchair saying, Try this one, Elmo, I think you’ll find it comfortable.

Why, you’re right, and he settles in. Very thoughtful of you.

Of course, it’s my chair, but I wisely say nothing.

The evening passes quickly and soon Elmo excuses himself. Donna and I rinse the dishes and place them in the washer.

Then something wonderful occurs. Donna looks at me, rolls her tongue across her lips, takes my hand, and says, Come with me, I’ve got something to show you.

SATURDAY

MAY 3

Chapter 3

I swat at the offending chirping instrument, sliding the icon that mutes it. Then I turn to Donna who seems unaffected. No surprise there. Nothing disturbs her sleep, especially at 6:15 in the morning. She’s not big about sin, but rising before eight counts as a huge one.

It’s not my best hour either, but Elmo, his wife Michelle, and I have to be at President Mulholland’s home by 7:30 this morning. He’s hosting a pre-ceremony breakfast for the platform party and spouses of special guests. Unfortunately, not for the spouses of unspecial guests — like me. The only reason I’m to be there at all is I nominated Elmo.

In spite of Donna’s predilection, she too has to rise in order to welcome Michelle and I’m under instruction to assist. What she had to show me last night still is visible since all covers have been kicked off. I take a moment to bask in the beauty that has seen fit to spend her life with me, and realize for not the first time how lucky I am. She claims she’s lucky too, and for that I am forever grateful. I gently shake her shoulder and am rewarded with a half-open eye, a slight groan, and a half smile. She rolls toward me and we engage in a satisfying hug. She looks at the clock and mutters, My God!

Then she lurches up, looks at me, and says, What’s that?

Running water.

A moose reciting a ditty?

Old MacDonald had a farm,

Ee i ee i o,

And on that farm he had a basenji,

With a            here and a            there,

Here a            there a            everywhere a                ,

Old MacDonald had a farm,

Ee i ee i o.

Donna, between giggles, gasps, Elmo’s singing in the shower!

She’s triggered my laughter. I know the song. But something happened to the tune.

I know. He’s trying to make it operatic. I realize, Jim, he’s an amazing mathematician, but he has the worst voice I’ve ever heard.

What’s with all those spaces where the animal sound should be? All I could hear was the running water.

Donna’s in tears, Jim, you know … The attempt is valiant, but she can’t stop laughing.

What?

The animal in the song. It’s a … Another breakdown, then a renewed attempt. It’s a …, it’s a basenji!

O-kaaay. A kind of dog, isn’t it? So can’t he say, ‘arf, arf’ or ‘bowwow’ or something?

But it doesn’t …

Doesn’t what? Donna, you’re driving me crazy.

She finally spits it out. That kind of dog, it … it doesn’t bark!

I get it! So if it doesn’t bark, the sound it makes in the song is — nothing!

Right! Just like he sang it. And now we both are rocking with laughter. Not so much that I don’t notice how nice it is to be rocking with laughter next to Donna’s naked body.

Only Elmo, I say.

Next, I’m sorry to report, Donna removes my hands from appropriate places and announces, Time to get up.

I can’t believe she’s initiating this early rising, but a glance at the clock indicates Michelle will be arriving soon and I’m forced to recognize the wisdom of Donna’s proclamation.

We rush through our morning rituals and arrive in the living room to find Elmo ensconced in the same chair used the previous evening. I can sense Donna’s relief. Five minutes later the doorbell rings and I admit Elmo’s wife. Where Elmo is large and somewhat overweight, Michelle is short and trim, with the body of a runner. I understand she’s completed several marathons. Today she’s wearing a cream blouse with a navy blue skirt. A blue necklace of Native American origin, matching earrings, and sensible low healed dark shoes complete her ensemble. Her short black hair comes to her ears. She and Donna share an interest in the mind/body connection and in the past have spent many an hour in animated discussion. I expect to witness more of that this summer.

Donna bestows a hug and says, It’s so good to see you. Are you going to help Elmo find an apartment this afternoon?

No, I’m going back right after the ceremony. I expect we’ll be moving here towards the end of the week and I’ve got a lot of preparation.

Donna, looking doubtful, So you’re going to let Elmo find you a place on his own?

Michelle’s smile lights the room. Delicately put, Donna. I do know the risks, but I’m counting on Jim to provide some normalcy.

The subject of this discussion consumes it with an equanimity that experience must have taught, along with the knowledge that if left to himself things often do get out of control.

I note the time and say we’d better get going. I drive the Sherwins to Mulholland’s stately home, parking in the large lot to the side. Earlier presidents had to find their own accommodations, but seven years ago private donations, with a modicum of state support, enabled the construction of this major perk of the presidential office. It’s located on the outskirts of the campus and is a charming 4000 square foot mansion, a mansion at least by my standards. It’s two stories tall, white with green shutters surrounding windows sporting flower boxes of brightly colored flora. A columned circular entrance supporting a second-floor balcony beckons visitors up the walkway lined with full blooming annuals dividing the lush green lawn. I bet the grounds crew had a full day yesterday. Few realize that the family living quarters occupies only about a third of the square footage; the rest is designated for official functions.

I’ve been here several times. Every fall the president hosts a party for returning faculty, and occasionally there will be a reception for attendees of a conference being held on campus. The spread in the past has been luxurious although recent cutbacks in state funding have resulted in more ordinary vittles. But it’s food, and it’s free, music to my ears.

We exit the car and stroll toward the entrance. The Dean of the College of Business and his wife join us and I make the introductions. My class this past semester was in the building housing that college. I always wondered at the attire I encountered. Every man wore a coat and tie and looked splendid, as did the women in their version of suits. I always felt I was downgrading their environment as I passed through in short sleeve shirt, jeans, and running shoes. But no one can find fault today. I’m as well turned out as this administrator.

At the front door a student greets us and points the way. I follow the two couples, never realizing I should have warned the dean to get knee pads.

Chapter 4

To reach our goal, you know, the room with the food, we have to traverse a thickly carpeted entrance hall decorated with portraits of MRSU’s first three presidents. I try to locate where Mulholland’s will hang. Tables set along the wall of our destination support various redolent dishes — pineapples, strawberries, assorted breads and muffins, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon — all begging for my attention, which I dutifully provide — leaving Elmo to fend for himself.

When I’ve dished a full plate, it occurs to me there could be perils attached to such abandonment. I’m relieved to find him chatting with the Mulhollands’ seven-year-old daughter, Cheryl. She’s a delightful, precocious kid with long hair the red of her father’s and an impish face. Every time I’ve seen her she’s seemed to enjoy being in adult company. I guess she’s had lots of opportunities with all the social demands on the president and his wife. This morning she’s dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and bunny slippers. Seated on the floor. Perfectly normal for a child that age. What isn’t so normal at this somewhat stodgy academic affair is Elmo joining her, also cross-legged and directly in front of her. I think it’s pretty funny, but most frown as they circle the seated duo. Michelle, I suspect with some forethought, is standing on the other side of the room, as far from Elmo as possible, chatting with President Mulholland.

I stroll to the pair and kibitz. Elmo asks, Do you like school?

I do. And I like math a lot. Mommy says you like math too. What a charmer!

Elmo’s eyes sparkle. Oh, yes indeedy. Done it all my life. What have you learned recently?

Her tiny eyes reflect the sparkle as she answers with pride, Oh, I know how to add and subtract two numbers, even when they have lots of digits. We’re supposed to find out how to multiply numbers next week. I think she goes to the experimental school run by the university.

Well, that’s wonderful. I didn’t learn to multiply until the fourth grade. What grade are you in?

Second.

I love numbers. Did you know that some are special?

She claps