A Death Most Cold Read online

  Myron again noted a palatable crackle of intense dislike between them. “And so you should,” she said tightly. “Tell me, were you a willing party to Oliver’s dismissal, or did Vanessa bully you?”

  “Now, that’s not fair, Sheila,” Charles responded with a controlled smile that did not extend to the wrinkles around his eyes.

  “Fair? What would you know about fairness?”

  “In Oliver’s case, are you sure you’re being totally objective?” he countered.

  Sheila blanched. He’d hit a nerve. “What do you mean by that?”

  Charles shrugged. “Nothing untoward, I’m sure.” He smiled in a mean, contrite way — almost lewdly.

  Myron and others listened to this exchange with stunned, albeit avaricious interest, not exactly sure what to make of it.

  After that exchange, both Sheila and Charles pulled back and the conversation drifted to other matters that seemed less contentious, including the “regrettable loss” of Vanessa Dworking. The last word came from Gordon Prybiewski, who, although not noted for his wit, unwittingly remarked something about the chilling nature of the president’s death putting the presidency “on ice.”

  Further comments were cut short when Sarah Libalsmith and Cecil Mackay made their appearance, followed by Dorothy Whitford, the board secretary, which meant that the meeting could now commence with all accounted for. Libalsmith, an earnest local graphics designer, had just been appointed to the board, while Mackay, a wily, leather-faced grain grower, had the distinction of being the longest-serving board member, with reportedly the least to say.

  Everyone took their seats, and Blythe called the meeting to order, announcing that both the student and employee reps had given their notices of absence. After a moment of silence in tribute to Dworking, Blythe got down to business. “I remind everyone that the meeting is strictly in camera. The press has been excluded. Afterward, as a result of our deliberations, I will make a suitable public statement. Now, the first item on the agenda is, of course, the presidency. We not only need but are obligated by legislation to have a CEO in place as soon as possible.” He paused, studying some scribbled notes in front of him. “Since at this stage the board cannot engage in a full, expensive, and time-consuming national search for Ms. Dworking’s replacement, I propose, and the vice-chair has agreed,” he nodded toward Hoar, “that a temporary in-house person be selected for the remainder of the term.”

  There were nods of agreement around the table. Myron certainly had no objections; he had heard about the long, drawn-out process involving the whole college community in selecting Dworking.

  “The Personnel Committee had a little huddle before this meeting,” Blythe continued, “to discuss and lay the groundwork of how to go about doing this. As I mentioned, the college is under an obligation to appoint an acting president as expeditiously as possible. As you are aware, our administrative structure is a flat one. We have no vice-president per se and no obvious appointee but our deans. The legislation stipulates an individual needs to hold the top position, not a committee of deans. We do, I’m sure, want to be judicious and scrupulous in our decisions, which invites no suggestion of bias — whether justified or not — so the Personnel Committee proposes what amounts to an internal competition of very short duration that would allow individuals here at the institution to put their name forward for consideration.”

  “How short a time frame?” asked Sheila.

  “A week, we thought,” answered Blythe. “A document could be prepared and posted internally as early as tomorrow afternoon, inviting potential candidates to apply with the cut-off date, say, Monday, end of the working day. The Personnel Committee would then meet, review the CVs, and make a recommendation for the full board’s ratification meeting next Wednesday.”

  “Still seems a very short digestion period for those interested in making such a significant career move,” said Sarah Libalsmith, not so much a question as a comment.

  “I daresay,” interjected Norman Bowell, “we have two qualified candidates in the room — what do they say?”

  Heads swivelled to Sheila and Charles. Myron silently concurred; they were not only qualified but most likely candidates, given their respective positions in senior management. Oliver would have certainly been in the running, but his status was in doubt, to say the least. And the only other individual who had almost the same ranking was Reginald Mercur, the current dean of Student Affairs, but he was a withdrawn, low-profile personality almost invisible to the college community as a whole. There were a number of quite competent departmental chairs who might be tempted to apply, but that seemed a stretch to be catapulted from departmental chair to the presidency, if only as an acting one.

  Blythe filled in the awkward pause that followed. “The short timelines cannot be helped. An acting president is required, and normally we would appoint one. But as I said, our administrative structure flattens out below the president, and we don’t want to be capricious or arbitrary in our selection. This process, while not ideal, is about as transparent and judicious as we can make it… Should I ask for a formal vote?”

  A general consensus was reached without a show of hands. All agreed that it was paramount that an acting president be in place “tout de suite” and that it had to be a selection rather than strictly an appointive process.

  There was still to be clarified who exactly decided from the presumed list of candidates. “That should be left to the Board Personnel Committee,” Blythe reiterated, “consisting of Mr. Hoar, Mr. MacKay, and myself. We would review the submissions, undertake what other enquiries we deemed required, and make our recommendation to the full board for approval.”

  There was some discussion in terms of the ranking order of those who applied. Blythe pointed out that not everyone would necessarily wish the college community to know that they had applied, so there had to be some discretion in that regard, and that they would go to the next suitable candidate if for some reason the first had changed her/his mind or the board by a formal vote rejected the Personnel Committee’s recommendation.

  On the whole, what Blythe proposed seemed quite reasonable, given the circumstances. Myron felt a little uneasy about the top-heavy makeup of the Personnel Committee — excluding Cecil Mackay, who in all likelihood would support any decision Blythe and Hoar reached. Also, he wasn’t sure how the faculty would react to being excluded directly from the selection process. But then again, this was the board’s prerogative, and to question the Personnel Committee might imply a challenge to its integrity, and certainly he had no basis for that. Sheila, Myron noted, didn’t look thrilled about the process but evidently couldn’t muster any sound arguments against Blythe’s proposal.

  “It’s settled then,” Blythe said with a tone of finality. “The committee will draft an advertisement for internal distribution by tomorrow afternoon.”

  The second and last item on the agenda proved just as contentious as the first, if not more so. This was the matter of Oliver Spinner, or rather, more precisely his status. Blythe recounted the meeting he had with Dworking and Spinner following the board’s decision to terminate their dean of Financial and Administrative Services. He stated that Spinner was given the opportunity to resign but that the letter of resignation had to be submitted forthwith.

  “Nothing like sticking a knife into someone and giving it a twist!” grumbled Sheila.

  Blythe gave the dean a pained look. “That’s an unworthy comment, Sheila. The fact is that Oliver was not willing to sign—”

  “I should say not!” exclaimed Sheila.

  “Sheila, please. You will have an opportunity to fully say your piece on the affair in due course. I just want to bring the board up to speed on what transpired.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, clearly anything but. Myron thought that while not necessarily totally out of bounds, she was, a bit uncharacteristically, skirting near the edge and in all probably not endearing herself to Blythe or the Personnel Committee.

  The board c
hair gave her a small smile and a slight nod to indicate that sincere or not, her apology of sorts was accepted. He continued, “Oliver then asked for additional time to more carefully consider his options. At this point, I was willing to use my prerogative as the board chair to allow time to defer the decision of what options were best for him until a board meeting could be arranged. This special meeting was called for that purpose. Of course, no one could have anticipated the tragic event of that evening… And here the matter stands. Oliver and his legal counsel are waiting outside to meet with us now.”

  Hoar cleared his throat. “That puts us in a rather awkward position… He is no longer employed by the college?”

  “No, he is not,” replied Blythe. “That has been emphatically underlined. The purpose of the meeting is simply to consider what option he chose or wishes to pursue.”

  “Then we should at this point stick to that,” said Hoar, “hear what Mr. Spinner and his counsel have to say.”

  “Why not just reinstate Oliver,” said Sheila. “May I remind everyone that the college is without a financial director, as well as a president!”

  “Wouldn’t we look rather silly firing the dean one day and rehiring him two days later?” Bowell asked.

  “Quite…I agree with Jack and Norman,” offered Chorney, twiddling his pen. “Any reconsideration of Mr. Spinner’s status should be dealt with after we have selected an acting president, who, after all, should have input.”

  There were nods from others around the table. Leaper, perhaps prudently, stayed silent; Sheila too bit her tongue and stared stonily somewhere beyond Blythe’s left shoulder. The decision to refrain from taking further action was palatable because it relieved board members from having to make a decision.

  Minutes later, Oliver was ushered in by Ms. Whitford. A distinguished-looking man with bushy greying hair and heavy-rimmed glasses, he nodded gravely to everyone in the room and took the seat indicated. His lawyer sat beside him. Oliver had retained the services of Brian Conkle, a well-respected local who, in fact, had been one of the college’s charter students. After terse pleasantries, Conkle cited the pertinent clauses in Spinner’s contract and proceeded to present his client’s case.

  Myron only half listened to Conkle’s legal language regarding the dismissal clause in the contract and the concomitant severance package provisions; he was more interested in the silent interplay between Sheila and Oliver as their eyes locked and then quickly disengaged to less meaningful objects, in Oliver’s case the grain on the oak table. There was something there, Myron decided, something intrinsically intimate. And Charles had shrewdly touched on it…

  “Now, in my reading of the contract, the term ‘dismissal,’” Conkle punctuated in a sombre voice, “is defined as the ‘cancellation of an appointment for cause. On behalf of my client, I would request the board to elaborate on the cause or causes for which Mr. Spinner was let go. According to the relevant clauses in the contract, you have not established, as far as I can tell, the basis of Mr. Spinner’s dismissal.”

  Blythe stole a quick glance at Hoar, the city’s most prominent corporate lawyer, before responding. “Mr. Spinner is fully aware of the discussion that took place between himself, myself, and the late president when his termination notice was given. On that I will comment no further. This meeting was called to discuss only the options and compensation which are available for Mr. Spinner, including resignation, and that is all the board is prepared to discuss tonight.”

  “On that score,” Conkle retorted, “let me say that my client has no intention of resigning, precisely because no valid cause for dismissal has been provided. The ‘loss of confidence,’ which apparently both President Dworking and the board cited, is not cause for dismissal — not without documented evidence. Indeed, Mr. Spinner is seeking reinstatement as dean of Financial and Administrative Services; failing that, he wants to return to the teaching staff in a full-time, tenured capacity.”

  “Those alternatives are not on the table here,” Blythe reminded Conkle. “And although we appreciate your client’s position, if there is no further discussion on the specific matter for which this meeting was called, then little more can be accomplished tonight.”

  Conkle agreed that nothing further could be gained, in that case and he and his client, who had said nothing throughout the proceedings, picked up their notes and left. Myron couldn’t help but notice Oliver cast one last forlorn glance at Sheila as he made his exit.

  The board meeting carried on for another fifteen minutes or so, in which it was again reaffirmed that Oliver’s future with the college would not be resolved without input from the acting president. In fact, that would be one of the first items of business for the person selected. Sheila did not participate; she seemed traumatized by the events that had transpired.

  Chapter Six

  Every institution has its self-appointed VIPs, and they all don’t come from the Fine Arts and Music Department. The next day, Myron ran into Sidney Sage, PhD (Political Science); Sidney predated Myron in the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, but with each passing year, it seemed, he became more and more isolated from his colleagues. Part of the problem was that he had a foolproof method of antagonizing people through his untiring efforts to manipulate them for his own purposes.

  Myron realized this from first-hand experience. About six months ago, he had been approached by Sidney to write him a letter of reference for admission to a doctoral programme at Pacific Olympus University, somewhere near Los Angeles.

  Myron had never heard of the place, but Sidney assured him it was a reputable institution that gave credit for the candidate’s “life experiences” and allowed him to complete his graduate studies on a part-time basis without the usual residency requirements.

  Myron wrote a “to whom it may concern” letter in good faith based on Sidney’s presumed good teaching and supplied a list of worthwhile academic achievements and community activities he was involved in. Sidney did, after all, appear to frequently get his photo featured in the paper. And indeed, there was no doubt that Sidney was intelligent, articulate, and knowledgeable. That, in retrospect, Myron came to understand, was his character flaw; he knew all those things and sought to further his personal ambitions at the expense of others, whom, he tended to believe, fell short of those qualities.

  At any rate, about a month ago, Sidney had applied to the administration for reclassification on his salary grid because he now had a PhD. Either Sidney was an awesomely brilliant student or there was something fishy about Pacific Olympus U.

  An ad hoc committee of the Faculty Association was struck to check out the credentials of the institution (Dworking insisted that this be done before any salary adjustment could be made). The committee duly discovered that Pacific Olympus, while having a license to operate in the state of California, was not an accredited university; in fact, it came close to being one of those mail-order degree mills that for about $3,000–6,000 US would provide one with a degree in nearly any subject one desired. Pacific Olympus was not quite that bad, since it required that some sort of work had to be submitted before a credential was forthcoming. No one was amused (least of all Dworking), and Sidney did not receive his pay raise.

  Persistent if nothing else, Sidney readjusted the nameplate on his door to read “Sidney Sage, PhD,” and even attempted to get that distinction put beside his name in the next edition of the college calendar. Myron never raised the matter with Sidney but found the whole affair odious. Since it took years of work to earn a PhD, Sidney’s actions were tantamount to intellectual dishonesty, if not outright fraud.

  Sidney’s fox-like face was now in front of Myron, intensely superficial, profoundly vain, making well-rehearsed eye contact. “Just off to class, but I’m glad I bumped into you… There was a board meeting last night?” he asked in his carefully modulated, suspiciously accented voice. Myron was never sure what it was — a cross between English and Irish, perhaps?

  “Yes.”

  �
�Anything decided about Dworking’s replacement?”

  “The meeting was held in camera,” Myron pointed out, but he saw no reason not to tell Sidney about the internal competition, since by the end of the day the position would be advertised on the Personnel Office bulletin board and other strategic areas around the college, as well as the faculty mailboxes. “On the other hand, it will be out of the bag soon — the board will select an acting president from internal candidates.”

  “Ah…any names mentioned?”

  “It will be a competition,” Myron clarified, “so interested individuals actually have to apply. The memo will be out later today.”

  Sidney nodded earnestly. “I should imagine that Charles will be in the running again. He’s been grooming himself for the position for years.”

  Myron agreed, but he wasn’t about to say so or get drawn into a prolonged conversation whereby Sidney would try to ferret out whatever nuggets of information were available. “I really don’t know — anyone could apply, I suppose.”

  “So the field is open?”

  “Well…within the institution… One never knows who will come out of the woodwork.” Myron gave a small, humourless laugh.

  “Was there any further news on what happened to Dworking?” Sidney asked, suddenly changing the subject.

  “None.”

  “The police are still around. Just got interviewed by that lady cop who seems to be in charge. Asking questions about who’s who and what we thought of our dearly departed president. Wonder what they’re after?”

  Myron kept his face deadpan. “Probably routine. Covering all the bases in a case like this.”

  “They believe she died from natural causes, don’t they? I heard talk about foul play…” Sidney’s voice trailed off, but his stare was as intense as ever.

  Myron shrugged. “They have to ask questions.”

  “Well,” Sidney postulated in a conspiratorial tone, “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone bumped her off.”