need to let the cops know.”
Glenda set her fork down and looked into Phoebe’s eyes.
“Fee, if for any reason you want to bail on the research, I’d totally understand. When I asked you to help, I never expected that someone would end up sneaking into your
“I won’t lie,” Phoebe said. “Those apples rattled me a little. But they’re just apples. I’d be silly to let them get to me. Next on my list is visiting Alexis Grey to see if she might be willing to talk now. Can you dig up her contact information on file?”
“Of course,” Glenda said. As Phoebe took a sip of wine, she could feel her friend studying her.
“What?” Phoebe asked.
“There’s a question I never knew how to ask you at the time,” she said. “Your experience back in school. How much did it—you know, really affect you? You sounded so strong in your letters, I never knew for sure.”
Phoebe shrugged. She could feel her throat constricting a little.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, setting her wineglass down. “I suppose it’s why I hung back my first years at Wisconsin—because I couldn’t risk getting burned again. And I used to wonder what would have happened if I’d graduated with you and gotten a scholarship to some Ivy League college. How might my life be different? But something good came out of it. You and me. Maybe we wouldn’t have become lifelong friends if I hadn’t had that experience and counted on you for so much support.”
Glenda smiled sadly and raised her glass. “As my mother likes to say, thank God for small favors.”
When they finished eating, Phoebe started to pull on her jacket. In light of what had happened earlier, she was eager to arrive home on the early side.
“I’ve got an idea,” Glenda said. “Stay here tonight. We’ve got this big-ass, fancy guest suite for so-called visiting dignitaries.”
“You’re not serious,” Phoebe said, laughing.
“I’m dead serious. I lured you into this, and I don’t want you staying at your house until you change that lock. The bathroom is stocked with everything you need—even a toothbrush.”
Phoebe started to argue, but she could see Glenda wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
After Glenda showed her to the ground-floor guest room, decorated in yellow chintz, and said goodnight, Phoebe realized she’d never mentioned her dinner with Duncan. Tonight hadn’t been the right time anyway. She washed up in the adjoining bathroom and left the light on and the door just an inch ajar. As she tugged off her jeans a minute later, she heard a car pull into the driveway along the side of the house. Mark, she realized. Wearing just her T-shirt and panties, Phoebe climbed into the high antique bed.
She had just begun to drift off to sleep when she heard a man’s muffled shout from the floor above her. Her eyes shot open, and her muscles tensed. It was over so quickly she wondered for a second if she’d imagined it. But she knew she hadn’t. She waited, holding her breath, but nothing else came. For the second time in a week, she wondered if there was trouble in Glenda’s marriage.
The next morning, on her way to Ball’s office to report about the apples, she dropped by the cafe in the student union for coffee.
“We have to stop meeting at local eateries like this,” a male voice said behind her.
She spun around to find Duncan standing in line. She was surprised by the small rush of pleasure she felt at seeing him.
“Oh, hi,” she said, realizing that she must look grungy from not having showered. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good, thanks.”
She waited while he ordered a coffee himself and walked out with him onto the quad. It was much cooler today than yesterday, and the wind was driving crinkly maple and oak leaves across the grass. Students were bundled up.
“I take it you didn’t check the weather forecast last night,” he said with a smile, nodding toward her lightweight coat. Duncan himself was wearing a suede jacket.
“Um, actually I bunked down at Glenda’s last night.” She relayed the story about the apples.
“That’s pretty damn nervy,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Shouldn’t you turn this investigation back over to the administration?”
“I think I’m okay for now.” His concern was making her feel anxious. “So the memorial’s tonight. Do you think there’ll be a big turnout?”
“I would guess so. Are you going?” He seemed to study her closely. Her hair was whipping around her face, and she could feel that the tip of her nose was reddening from the cold.
“Yes. Definitely.”
“By the way, thanks again for dinner Sunday night,” he said. He held her eyes, as if he was about to say something else, and she thought, Okay, here it comes—a request to get together again—but suddenly he broke his gaze and glanced at a group of students rushing by. “Oops, I’ve got a student meeting now. Take care—and please be careful, okay?”
She watched as he dashed across campus, his strides long and easy. She felt a twinge of disappointment. She’d wanted that invitation, she realized.
Taking sips of her coffee as she walked, she made her way to the small building on the eastern edge of campus that housed security. Since a student had just died, she expected to step into a scene of jangling phones and tense activity, but the room was quiet and there were only two people there—a pretty young woman manning the front desk and an older man, probably early seventies, on the other side of it. He was wearing a parka plastered with strands of yellow dog fur. It was clear Phoebe had interrupted a conversation between the two, but the man stepped off to the side to let Phoebe speak, as if he had the time to wait. He was tall, with a large frame, but there was something hat-in-hand about his stance.
“Is Officer Ball available?” Phoebe asked the girl at the desk.
“I’m sorry, he’s not,” she said with a light southern accent. “But if you leave a message, I’ll make sure he gets it.”
Phoebe offered her name and number, which the girl typed into the desktop computer, her nails clacking against the keys. Phoebe started to leave but then turned back. “Oh, just one more thing,” she said. “I need a locksmith. Can you make a recommendation?”
“Mmmm, lemme see,” the girl said, sliding open the top drawer of her desk. “I’ve got some cards in here.”
“You lock yourself out?” the old guy said. Gruff voice, but his nearly translucent blue eyes were kind.
“No, just want to change one of my locks,” Phoebe said.
“There’s a place called Reliable Locks over on Broad. Tell them Hutch sent you.”
“Thanks a lot,” Phoebe said. She realized that this must be Hutch Hutchinson, the security head that Ball had nudged out of his job.
As Phoebe pushed the door open to leave, she could sense the old guy sidling back up to the desk.
“Well, tell Craig I stopped by again,” she heard him say. His comment was followed by the sound of his parka being zipped.
“I will, Hutch,” the girl said almost tenderly. “I’m so sorry he hasn’t had a chance to call you back. It’s been just crazy around here, you know.”
Outside on the path, Phoebe called directory assistance on her phone and learned the exact address of the locksmith. She could swing by there right now, she thought. She was putting her phone back into her purse when she nearly collided with Hutchinson. In the bright light of day she saw that his face was leathered with age, but thanks to his striking blue eyes and thick head of gray hair, he was still a handsome man.
“You’re the former head of campus security, right?” Phoebe said. “I’m Phoebe Hall, an old friend of Glenda’s. I’m teaching a couple of classes here this term.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Hutch said and pumped her hand with a firm grip.
“Glenda tells me you did a great job here.”
“Well, I sure enjoyed working with Dr. Johns,” Hutch said. “She’s one of the best things that ever happened to this college.”
“Do you still keep in touch with many people on campus?” Phoebe said, thinking of the comment he’d made inside about stopping by again.
“Not so much. But with this girl drowning, I thought they could use an extra pair of hands in the
