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nodded. “The state police want to interview the committee members today.”
    â€œPlease ask them to get here as soon as possible.” Professor Bigelow darted his small pointed tongue out and in again. “We’d like to leave no later than the three-forty-five ferry. Earlier, if possible.”
    Thackery glanced around to see if there was someone to whom he could delegate the summoning of the police, but Linda was out sick again and the only class that was meeting now was Mrs. Trumbull’s. She was sitting in a green resin lawn chair and her class was gathered around her on that singular patch of green grass. He heard a burst of laughter, then another.
    â€œWe’ll be discussing the appointment of Professor Bliss’s replacement on the committee,” said Professor Bigelow. “You needn’t be present, Thackery. After that, we’ll call on you to give us a full report on the new semester, your faculty, your courses, and your facilities.”
    Thackery flushed at the polite dismissal. He took out his blue-bordered handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “Before I call the police, I’ll go in with you to make sure everything is in order, then I’ll let you have your privacy.”
    He opened the door. A faint unpleasant odor that the cleaners hadn’t been able to eradicate hung in the air. Professor Bigelow wrinkled his nose. “If you don’t mind, Thackery, we’d prefer to meet in a different venue.”
    Thackery led the IGCOC committee to Woodbine Hall where he made his call to the police, fussed around a bit, finding chairs and setting up a card table.
    â€œWalter will bring the luncheon here to Woodbine Hall. Actually, this will be more convenient as this building has kitchen facilities. Is there anything else you need?”
    The group of five stood awkwardly in the middle of the former living room.
    â€œThank you, Thackery, that will be all,” said Professor Bigelow.
    Feeling more like servant than college president, Thackery bowed slightly, marched with dignity to the front door, and closed it gently behind him.

 
    C HAPTER 5
    Hammermill was first to speak. “They call this a college? We’re supposed to waste our time overseeing this?” He waved a hammy hand around the room with its wallpaper of faded pink roses on a pale blue background, the stained ceiling, the cracked windowpane.
    Professor Noah Sutterfield, a tall man with cropped white hair, a white mustache, and ebony-black skin, spoke up. “Many of our leaders were educated in one-room schools, Hammermill. I endorse Dr. Wilson’s efforts to bring higher education to those who couldn’t otherwise afford it.”
    Professor Bigelow rapped his knuckles with an ineffectual thump on the padded plastic surface of the card table. “Your attention, please. We’re not discussing the merits of this educational institution. Cape Cod University appointed our committee to provide oversight. Period. Academic standards, faculty credentials, student qualifications, and facilities condition.” He pulled up one of the mismatched chairs and sat down. “Be seated, please.”
    â€œWhere is Professor Cash?” asked Dedie. “He missed the August meeting, too.”
    â€œHe’s teaching a field course,” said Hammermill Jones.
    â€œHis field course is in Death Valley,” said Dedie. “He’d hardly take a class into Death Valley in August and September. That’s why it’s called Death Valley.”
    Hammermill puffed up slightly, and turned away. “My dear Dedie…” he said and didn’t finish.
    Professor Bigelow slapped his hands on the tabletop again. “We can’t waste time discussing nonessentials. We have a quorum and we need to name a replacement for Professor Bliss.”
    Cosimo Perrini, a shy, pale man with rimless glasses, crossed himself. “Bless him,” he murmured. He was wearing