But when he tried to imagine coming here every day, month after month, year after year, the thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. He had to fight the urge to restart the car and head down to the bay with his kayak. To be on the water, alone with the cormorants and the killer whales and the thing inside him that kept him moving.
Spencer pulled his keys out of the ignition. It was too late to run. He’d committed himself, if only temporarily. He threw on a black suit jacket over his T-shirt and jeans and grabbed his battered leather briefcase from the back seat. Kicking the door shut behind him, he strolled along the path to the biology building.
Spencer pushed through the heavy glass doors. Doc’s office was on his immediate right, but he continued down the wide empty corridor, his footsteps echoing as he walked past doors that led to classrooms or labs or offices. His eyes narrowed and the hall seemed to swarm with ghosts of students past, as distant and separate from him now as they were then.
At the end of the corridor he turned right and continued along the L-shaped passage. From somewhere came the sound of a radio. The classroom to his left jogged more memories. Thursday afternoons and Meg McKenzie.
He paused in the open doorway, his gaze seeking out the second table from the back. He saw her there, thick blond hair curving around an oval chin. Trying to keep her face straight and her perfect nose in the air while he told some outrageous story just to hear her laugh. He wondered if she’d realized how hard he’d tried to impress her.
Spencer pushed away from the doorjamb. She’d probably married a stockbroker and lived in Uplands, just down the road from Mommy and Daddy.
“May I help you, young man?” a pompous male voice said from behind him. “Classes don’t start for two weeks.”
Spencer recognized the department head’s plummy English tones from their phone conversations. He turned to the portly figure in the pristine white lab coat and full gray beard. “Dr. Randolph Ashton-Whyte, I presume.” He held out his hand. “Spencer Valiella.”
Ashton-Whyte’s bushy gray eyebrows climbed his forehead as he took in Spencer’s clothes and wayward hair. Slowly he extended his own hand. “A...pleasure to meet you, Dr. Valiella”
“Likewise. ‘Spencer’ will do.”
“I’ve heard a great deal about you from Angus. He spoke so highly of you I expected—” Ashton-Whyte. broke off and patted the row of pens in the breast pocket of his lab coat as if assuring himself they were still there and all was still right with the world.
Spencer grinned. He could just imagine what this tight-ass had expected. “Doc told me all about you, too.”
The department head rubbed his hands together, his manner brisk and important. “Now that you’re here, come along to my office. We have paperwork that needs to be completed.”
Spencer glanced at his watch. “My honors student will be along shortly. And I want to get my gear stowed away in the lab.”
Ashton-Whyte smiled coldly. “Ah, but for that you’ll need the keys to Dr. Campbell’s office and lab.”
“Got ’em right here.” Spencer pulled the key ring from his pocket and jangled it in front of Ashton-Whyte. “Never got around to returning them when I left.”
He grinned, just to let Ashton-Whyte know what kind of reprehensible character he’d hired. Spencer blamed his father for his habit of baiting what Ray still referred to as the establishment. He and Ray saw eye to eye on a lot of things.
Ashton-Whyte’s lips tightened, causing his mustache to meet his beard in a double row of raised bristles. “Well, do stop by and fill out the forms when it’s convenient, won’t you, old chap? We’ll need your details—” he paused significantly “—before we can put you on the payroll.” Then he spun on his heel and strode off, white coat flapping, confident, no doubt, he’d had the last word.
Spencer chuckled to himself and retraced his steps to Doc’s lab. As he put the key into the lock, again a weird feeling came over him, as though the last seven years had somehow been leading to this day—when he’d step into the shoes of his mentor. He shook his head. Crazy New Age stuff was his mother’s thing, not his.
He swung open the door. The familiar smell of a biology laboratory hit him. Its pungent bouquet of chemical reagents, marine organisms, cleaning fluids and old books felt like home. Especially to him, a man with no other home.
He’d expected to walk into the untidy disorganized lab of yesteryear. To his surprise, the workbenches and shelves were scrubbed, the glassware clean and put away, and plastic covers protected the microscopes. A new computer with a wide-screen monitor sat on a side table with a digital audio tape recorder next to it for analysis of killer whale vocalizations.
Spencer walked around the central workbench to open Doc’s office. A desk faced one wall with a table catercorner along the window and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on his immediate left. The window slanted outward at the base and overlooked the biology pond, where an endless succession of first-year students dipped their nets to study pond organisms.
He dropped his briefcase and went back to the car for the box containing the hydrophone equipment he used to collect and record killer whale calls. It was old and pretty basic, dating from his honors year when Doc had “retired” it from his own use. Catch 22: if Spencer wanted new equipment, he had to get a research grant and stay in one spot. He’d thought about that on more than one occasion and always decided it wasn’t worth it.
Another trip to the parking lot brought in his collection of killer whale teeth and bones. He was arranging these in a glass-fronted cabinet when he heard a knock at the door.
Meg. She was early.
His heart hammering, he turned.
Through the doorway came a young man of Asian extraction, not more than nineteen or twenty years old. He wore gray slacks and a crisp white shirt with a narrow tie, which he’d loosened. He moved quickly and his gaze darted from Spencer to the bone collection.
“Hi,” Spencer said. “Can I help you?” Some lost soul from the faculty of business, no doubt.
“I am Lee Cheung.” He strode forward and pumped Spencer’s hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Dr. Var...r..ierr...a.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Very hard name for Chinese to say.”
“You can call me Spencer. How do you know me?”
“I am Dr. Campbell’s research assistant. He did not tell you about me?” Lee grinned and shook his head. “Doc and I collected data over summer from stationary hydrophones. My job will continue, yes?”
“I guess. I don’t know what arrangements have been made for transferring Doc’s grant monies to me.” Another thing he’d have to take up with Ashton-Whyte. Spencer dropped the empty box he was holding to the floor and flattened it with the soles of his boots.
Lee flipped his briefcase up on the lab bench and popped open the lid. “If you would like to review transcript of my last year’s biology grades—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Spencer said, amazed anyone would carry that information around. Still, Angus Campbell surrounded himself only with people who had a consuming passion for killer whales. Besides that, there was something very engaging about Lee’s wide smile and enthusiasm.
“Tell you what, Lee. I’ll hire you out of my own pocket if necessary—as long as you’re not in a hurry for a paycheck—until I can see about Doc’s money situation.”
“Okeydokey, thank you very much.” Lee reached out and pumped Spencer’s hand again. “I appreciate your confidence.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Doc. Now, I’ve got a trunkful of equipment and books to bring in. Want to give me a hand?”