Dear Irene

Thanatos suddenly seemed like a crazy answer to her question. I forced a smile. “No one, no one. Sorry. I was just thinking about something else. I don’t know why I turned the lights on. Haven’t driven for a while, so I guess I was out of practice.”

“With the Karmann Ghia?” she asked. “You’ve driven it since college.” She was watching me carefully now, giving me the same look she might have given a strange dog that came trotting toward her, wagging its tail and growling at the same time.

By then we had reached the car. There was no one lurking in the small interior. The doors were locked. The windows were up. No visible damage to the ragtop. I tried not to shake as I opened the door and got inside.

The car started right up.

Lydia smiled.

“I guess I won’t be needing those jumper cables,” I said. “Thanks for waiting.”

“Any time.” She started to walk off, then turned back. “Are you all right?”

I don’t know, I wanted to answer. But I nodded and waved, then drove off.

As I drove, I tried to tell myself that maybe I did accidentally turn them on. I looked at the switch for the lights. No. Not something anyone would do “accidentally.” And not something I did and then forgot. It had been a sunny morning. If it had been foggy or dark, I would have turned the headlights on, not the parking lights — in California, it’s illegal to drive around with only your parking lights on. And I would have noticed that the parking lights were on when I pulled the top back up.

At home, I debated with myself about telling Frank about the lights. He had so much on his mind — did he need this? But what if Thanatos had been near my car?

The issue was decided for me when Frank came in the front door.

“What a day,” he said. “Okay if I go for a run before dinner? I need to do something to get my mind off lunatics and assholes.”

Not wanting to fall into either category, I told him dinner could wait and stayed silent on the subject of parking lights.

On Tuesday, Kevin called to say he had searched his files but hadn’t found anyone that he could connect to the Thanatos letter. The people I had worked for had no strong ties to the college or the zoo, even if some of them belonged in the latter.

I pestered Mark Baker into giving me the phone numbers for the professor’s old boyfriends. The one I most wanted to talk to was a man by the name of Steven Kincaid, who appeared to be Dr. Blaylock’s most recent conquest. But Kincaid was either out or didn’t answer his phone. That was further than I got with four of the remaining five, who had disconnected the numbers Mark had for them. Fleeing media attention, I thought, until I reached a fellow by the name of Henry Taylor.

“A few more minutes and you would have missed me,” he said in a pleasant voice. “Does the paper want to interview me again?”

“I just had a few more questions,” I said. “Could we meet somewhere?”

“Gee, no, I’m sorry, that’s what I was trying to say. The semester’s over. My girlfriend will be here any minute now. We’re going to be flying back to Michigan, to her parents’ house. I’m going to pop the question at Christmas.”

“Pop the question?”

“You know, ask her to marry me.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Taylor, if I sound a little confused. It’s just that your name has been associated with—”

“Edna, yeah, I know. Really sad. Oh, you mean, is Connie upset about that? No, hell, she knows it was years ago.”

“Years ago?”

“Yeah. Edna and I had a brief little fling about two years ago. My senior year, before I started the MBA program.”

“You’re not a history major?”

“Hell no. History major? No money in it. All undergraduates have to take a semester of U.S. history. I took a history class from Edna to satisfy the bachelor’s degree requirements. I was expecting to be totally bored, but she made it interesting. And something about the lady attracted me, I guess, but nothing came of it then. I was seeing somebody else. But then I broke up with that girl, and the next semester, I saw Edna in a local club one night… and I don’t know, I guess we just decided to go for it.”

“How old were you then?”

“Twenty-six.” He paused then added, “I work and go to school, so it’s taking me a little longer.”

He sounded embarrassed about it, so I told him I had taken more than four years, and not just because I worked. “But listen — about Dr. Blaylock — can you tell me if she ever mentioned anything about Greek mythology, or the zoo?”

He laughed. “We didn’t really do a whole lot of talking when we got together, if you know what I mean. It was just a brief affair. Nothing very involved. I think we both realized that it wasn’t for the best — not for either of us.”

“Did she ever mention anyone who might be angry with her, or seeking revenge?”

“The cops and the other reporters asked me about this kind of stuff,” he said easily. “I’ve got nothing to say, really.”

“I won’t quote you. I just need to get a lead on this.”

“You’re a little late on the story, aren’t you?”