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head, a Beatles cut, and round sunglasses. She looked vaguely familiar. She held the handlebars of a mountain bike with a dished frame and knobby tires.
    "I'm Stephanie Byrd. I took your course 'Populating the Americas' last year."
    "Of course." He was surprised he remembered her at all. She hadn't asked a single question all semester and he could barely remember their two personal consultations, which he held with every student.
    "I spoke to your wife earlier. I'm your baby-sitter."
    "Of course! Come in. Come in."
    Beadles stood and glanced at his watch. It was almost five. They were due at the University Club at six. It was a good thing the girl had come by. He led her into the house. Stehanie hoisted the bike effortlessly to her shoulder and carried it up the steps.
    "May I leave this here?"
    "Of course. Betty! The baby-sitter's here!"
    "Just a minute!" came back from the hall.
    Beadles gestured to the living room. "Make yourself at home. There's the TV. Help yourself to whatever you fancy in the fridge. Would you like something to drink?"
    Byrd set her backpack on the coffee table with a thump. It was designed to look like an Ewok with furry head, ears and little limbs clutching forward. Something a 7th grader might cherish.
    "May I use the bathroom?"
    "Down the hall, first door on the right."
    While Beadles was in the bedroom changing his clothes he heard Betty sorting things away.
    "Now you have both our cell phone numbers. Don't hesitate to call if anything happens."
    "Nothing's going to happen, Betty. I've been baby-sitting half my life."
    Beadles emerged waring a crisp white short-sleeved sport shirt with arrow collars and creased cream-colored Calvin Klein trousers. Betty was a knockout in a little black cocktail dress that stopped at mid-thigh, her long auburn hair done up in a wave, simple gray pearl earrings. With her high cheekbones, turned-up nose, and wide, generous mouth she was cover girl worthy, every man's dream of a sexy tomboy.
    Byrd talked nonsense to Lars on the sofa. Lars laughed, giggle and squealed.
    As they pulled out in the Ford Beadles said, "Who are the Banshees?"
    "Oh some awful heavy metal band. At least it's not rap."
    Betty rolled down her window and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out.
    ***

CHAPTER NINE
    "Department Party"
    The CU Anthropology Department had benefitted munificently in the past year. In addition to Jepson Hayes choosing them as the custodians of the Azuma Collection, an alumnus named Daniel Potts had bequeathed them two million dollars. The End of Semester party was a tradition among most departments at CU and each celebrated in its own way.
    The Athletic Department held theirs in a beer hall with brats and deep-fried cheese. The English Dept. celebrated at an Italian restaurant. Anthropology always held theirs in the tony University Club, hub of the University Golf Course. Joel Liggett was a longtime member and avid golfer.
    The Beadles turned their car over to the chauffeur under the Frank Lloyd Wright-designed porte cochere and entered the club through double oak doors. The tinkle of ice and of laughter drifted out of the Lake Tipton room, down the hall on the left. Inside, three dozen people had gathered in clusters, some at the square tables or in the booths overlooking the lake, some at the curving bar. White liveried waiters circulating among them distributing canapes.
    There was a minute rustling as the Beadles entered, like sunflowers turning to the sun. They looked so glamorous, more like celebrities than faculty. Beadles sensed admiration, fear, envy and loathing. The rotten fruit of academic infighting. Donations from the Alumni Foundation were down across the board due to the economy and disagreement with school policies. The Creighton Catamounts' football team had pieced together three losing seasons. The B-ball team was mediocre. New speech guidelines enraged some alumni who held to the quaint proposition that universities should be laboratories of free