21 Dares: A Florida Suspense Mystery Read Online Free Page A

noticed. Or this was
about the paper on some unknown subject. She hadn’t paid attention. So she
followed him out the classroom. Together, they walked through the crowded
hallway.
    “You’re a bright student, Miss Reed,” he
said, moving past several students loitering near a water fountain. He rounded
a corner and Abbie followed. He glanced back at her, over his shoulder. “ You don’t say much in class.”
    “You
don’t ever call on me. I didn’t even know you knew my name.” Abbie saw that
they were headed toward the faculty offices. He came to a closed door with a
title plate reading “Professor Cunningham” in large block letters. Inserting a
key into the door knob, he nodded toward Abbie.
    “Do
you know why?”
    Abbie
shrugged. “Comparative suffering?”
    “Interesting.” The Professor glanced
away, his expression unreadable. His coolness was evidence enough; he was not
amused. He opened the door and turned on the lights. Abbie followed as he took
a seat at his desk. He pushed out an extra chair along the side and motioned
for her to take a seat. Abbie
sat, hesitantly, as he positioned himself in his own chair. The Professor
leaned back, arms folded across his sleeveless sweater vest. “That’s an
interesting notion—comparative suffering. But, no, that’s not the reason.”
    Abbie didn’t make eye contact. She waited for
him to drop the hammer, start the lecture, tell her
she needed to pay attention. Anxiously, she focused on his desk cluttered with
papers and folders. A tan rain coat draped over the far left corner, covering
even more paperwork. The wall behind him was a collage of framed diplomas,
degrees and photographs. They took up every square inch of wall space.  
    “Do
you want to know why I don’t call on you, Miss Reed?” His voice was courteous
but patronizing. “Because you already know the answers.”
    Abbie
acknowledged that. “Is that why you always call on that girl?”
    “Miss
Larson?”
    “Yes,”
Abbie said. “Miss Larson.”
    “I
know everyone’s name in my class. I know their story and their potential.” He
unfolded his arms and leaned forward. His gray eyes darkened as he held her gaze.
“I take an interest in all my students.”
    Now
Abbie leaned back. She read the framed Master’s Degree hanging behind him. He’d
graduated from Florida State University. Along either side of the degree were
black-and-white photos: Professor Cunningham shaking hands with President Obama
at a banquet and, the other, standing beside Tiger Woods on a golf course. He
didn’t smile in any of the photos.
    “Miss
Reed, I’m aware of your past.” He shuffled papers on his desk. Abbie wondered
if he was looking for something, and watched as he addressed her. “I think
you’ve done an admiral job overcoming certain…” He hesitated, picking up a
folder and scanning its contents. After a moment, he finished his sentence with
a single word. “Adversities.”
    Abbie
stared at him, waiting for a point. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “I
knew your father, Miss Reed. He was a good man.” He set down the folder and
suddenly swiveled in his chair. He reached for a picture hanging on the wall
and removed it using both hands. He stared at it, then handed it to Abbie.
      Abbie took the photo. It looked old, like it
had been taken fifteen, maybe twenty years ago. The professor was sitting in a
bar with several other young men. One of them, the man sitting directly
opposite him, was Clinton Reed. He looked so young, care free. A mere shadow of
the man he was today. They were holding up mugs, laughing. It was a side of
Clinton Reed she’d never seen before.
    She
looked up at the wall where the picture had been hanging just a moment ago.
There were dozens of framed photographs. Professor Cunningham
accepting an award from Buzz Aldrin. Professor Cunningham
in a robe, speaking behind a podium. Professor
Cunningham posing with the mayor and the chief of police. There didn’t
seem to be