“My name is Spenser,” I said. “I’m a detective looking into the death of Ashton Prince.”
“Dr. Prince,” she said. “A terrible shame.”
“What can you tell me about him?” I said.
“A fine scholar and a fine gentleman,” she said.
“Anything unusual about him?” I said.
“No,” she said.
From the corner of my eye I saw the two other women look at each other.
“You ladies tell me anything about Dr. Prince?”
They both shook their heads, but there was a mutual smirk hidden somewhere in the head shakes.
“He get along with everyone?” I said.
One of the younger women said, “Uh-huh.”
But it didn’t sound as though she meant it.
“Never any trouble.”
“Of course not,” Agnes said. “This is an academic office.”
“Well,” I said. “He had trouble with someone.”
“You know who killed him?” one of the younger women said.
Agnes gave her the gimlet eye.
“You girls have work to do,” Agnes said.
They both turned back to their computers, sneaking sidelong looks at each other.
“And I have work to do, too, if you’ll excuse me.”
“You’re excused,” I said. “Is there a place around here to get lunch?”
“We all use the faculty cafe,” one of the young women said. “In the basement of Sarkassian.”
“Unless you are faculty or staff,” Agnes said, “I don’t believe you’re allowed.”
“Thanks,” I said.
The younger women looked at me. I winked at them and left the office.
12
I found Sarkassian Hall on a circular drive opposite the library. I went to the basement and walked into the faculty cafeteria, trying to bear myself like a man thinking deeply about John Milton. No one paid any attention to me. I could have been thinking about Sarah Palin, for all they cared. It was eleven-thirty. I got a cup of coffee and a large corn muffin and sat at an empty table where I could see the door, and waited.
I had finished my coffee and my corn muffin by the time the two young women from the art office arrived at twelve-ten. They each got a salad and carried it to a table at the other end of the cafeteria. I got up and walked over to them.
“Could I buy you lunch?” I said.
“We already paid,” one of them said. “But you can sit if you want.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I sat.
“My name’s Spenser,” I said. “As you probably gathered, I’m trying to find out who killed Ashton Prince.”
“We heard you in the office,” one of them said. “My name’s Tracy. This is Carla.”
Tracy had shoulder-length dark hair and was a little heavy. Nothing a modest workout schedule wouldn’t fix. Carla was slimmer, with brown hair in a ponytail. Neither one was a stunner. But neither one was beyond the pale, either.
“Agnes minding the store?” I said.
“We have lunch while she covers the office,” Tracy said. “And then we cover the office while she has lunch.”
“Doesn’t trust either of you to do it alone?” I said.
“Big job,” Carla said.
“She tries to make it a big job,” Tracy said. “You know, making sure nobody uses the copy machine unless authorized. Important stuff like that.”
“She hard to work for?” I said.
Tracy shrugged.
“We don’t really work for her. But she’s the chairman’s secretary and we’re just department pool workers, so it sort of works out that way.”
