Come Unto These Yellow Sands Read Online Free Page A

crushing expectations of his nearest and dearest by means of his serious and less and less easily concealed cocaine habit.
    But that was all a long time ago. Now days Swift was healthy, whole and mostly happy. And even if he never wrote another poem as long as he lived, he would be okay.
    The only reason he was even thinking about this, dredging up painful history as he jogged across the green and glistening campus, was Tad. Swift didn’t need to hear the particulars of the case—although it had been all over the local radio during his morning drive—to know it was possible Tad had killed his old man. Especially if the kid was using again. Personal experience. Swift always figured it was a miracle he hadn’t killed someone—let alone himself—back in the bad old days.
    Not that Tad had appeared high when Swift spoke to him the previous afternoon. In fact, Swift had never once picked up a hint that Tad suffered chemical addiction. But if Mario Corelli had delivered the beating Tad received? Yeah, Swift could see Tad hitting back.
    Tad was a big kid. Not just tall but broad, heavyset. He reminded Swift of an overgrown puppy who still hadn’t grown into his size. He’d played football in high school despite his current literary aspirations. Swift could imagine him striking out in anger and doing serious damage. Except Mario Corelli hadn’t died in a fight. He’d been shot to death. Shot to death on a state park beach according to Max, which sort of eliminated the striking-out-in-blind-rage defense.
    Swift wished now he had shut up and let Max talk about the case. No one else really had much information beyond the most basic, but rumors were already circulating that Tad was wanted by the police for questioning.
    He reached Chamberlain Hall, which was busy and bustling at a quarter to eight in the morning, and picked up his messages and mail from Dottie Dodge, the department secretary. Dottie was a fierce munchkin of a woman, and she had never made a secret of the fact that she thought Swift did not belong at a fine old institution like Casco Bay College. The first week Swift had started teaching at CBC she had informed him that her nephew had died in a car accident caused by a drunk driver. It was Dottie’s opinion that all addicts were the same animal and that that animal ought to be put down. He tried not to take it personally, although after six years of that same unbending attitude it wasn’t easy.
    That morning Dottie greeted him more cordially than usual, her yellow-green eyes alight with malicious pleasure as she handed over the usual assortment of junk-mail catalogs and brochures. Dottie religiously kept Swift’s junk mail safe for him. The important stuff she tended to misplace for a day or two.
    Swift shuffled quickly through the envelopes. There was yet another letter from Shannon Cokely. Probably once again listing her imaginary grievances against the Lighthouse Program in general and Swift in particular.
    “The police were here when we unlocked the doors this morning.”
    “Oh?”
    “They made copies of Corelli’s cumulative records.” Dottie sniffed. “Looks like teacher’s pet is in hot water again.”
    There was no point pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. The whole campus was abuzz. “I thought the cops were looking at a waiter Corelli fired.”
    “Oh, you’re way behind the times. The waiter, Tony Lascola, has an alibi. And the Corelli boy has disappeared.” She smiled tightly. Dottie had always been deeply offended by the fact that Swift had bent the rules to get Tad into the Lighthouse program.
    “Innocent until proven guilty,” Swift reminded her, he hoped affably.
    Dottie gave another of those sniffs that conveyed so much disapproval with so little oxygen.
    Nodding farewell, Swift headed for his office. He was running late and had just enough time to dump his coat and grab his roll book before getting over to the seminar room where his students milled restlessly