now?”
She snaked around Mindy’s desk and followed Ball into his office. The space was as nondescript as the rest of the small security building—metal desk, file cabinets, industrial-looking lamps—except for the fame wall. There were at least a dozen photos of Ball with various dignitaries who’d obviously visited the campus—the governor, a few mid-level rock singers, and a book author Phoebe figured Ball had never actually heard of. He gestured for Phoebe to take a seat in the chair opposite his desk and slid into his own chair, which appeared to have been jacked up to give him extra height.
“Campus troublemaker?” Phoebe asked as she sat down.
“Excuse me?” Ball said, frowning.
“That kid who just left. Is he a campus troublemaker?”
“Why would you ask that?” Ball said.
“I saw you talking to him the other day.”
“Just some information gathering on my part,” Ball said, folding his arms on the desk.
“Related to the drownings?” Phoebe said.
“No, Miss Hall, it was not,” Ball said, brusquely ending that line of discussion. “Speaking of Mr. Hutchinson, why don’t you tell me what happened. It will be just between us, of course. I know the cops are keeping your involvement hush-hush for now.”
She gave Ball a bare-bones version of the events, mindful of the fact that the police didn’t want her sharing key details, but also aware that Ball was in the loop to some extent because of his contacts. When she was done, she leaned forward in her chair. She could tell he was about to fire questions at her, but she wanted to jump in.
“I’d love your thoughts on the crime,” Phoebe said, trying to sound just the right amount of ingratiating. “Do you think it was a burglary that went wrong—or something else?”
Ball twitched in his chair. Phoebe sensed that he was both annoyed at being cut off and flattered to be asked for his opinion.
“You can’t expect me to hypothesize without seeing any of the evidence,” he said. “And Michelson, unlike his predecessor, isn’t one to share. But what I hear from some of my buddies on the force is that there was no sign of a burglary. There’s a chance, of course, that you interrupted it when you arrived, but if that was the case, how were they going to cart anything out of there? They couldn’t very well lug it through the woods to their car.”
“So they parked along the road somewhere,” Phoebe said, keeping her voice neutral. “That’s what I’d figured.”
Ball hesitated before answering. “Possibly,” he said, though the slight shift in his eyes told her that he knew something in this regard, may have even checked out the site himself. It was clear Ball liked snagging info, but not sharing it.
“If it wasn’t a burglary, then what’s your best guess—without seeing any evidence?” Phoebe asked.
“You’d probably make a better guess than me,” he said, “since you were at the scene. Did it look like he’d been taken by surprise?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to discuss details of the actual crime scene,” Phoebe said.
Ball laughed, with a hint of a snicker to it. “We’re all working toward the same goal here.”
“I know. But as you indicated, Michelson is a real stickler about not sharing.”
“Fair enough,” he said, though his tone suggested he thought otherwise. He picked up a pencil and began to tap it against the fleshy palm of his tanned hand. “I’ve a question for
“We were hardly that,” Phoebe said. “I’d talked to him a couple of times because of the research I was doing into the Sixes.”
“And what was that trip to his house Sunday night about? Just another chitchat session?”
“Yes, we were going to touch base. Mr. Hutchinson told me he had some information he wanted to share. It might have been important, but unfortunately I never had the chance to hear it.”
Ball raised his eyebrows—they were same silver gray color as his hair—and pulled his mouth into a kind of trout pout.
“He give you any hints?”
“No, nothing, I’m afraid.” Phoebe was suddenly anxious to leave. “Is there anything else? I should be on my way.”
“That’s it,” he said. “This must all be very trying for you. Do you need a lift home, or do you have your vehicle?”
“I’ve got my car, thanks,” Phoebe said, rising.
“Speaking of which, Officer Hyde told me he didn’t see your car in the driveway when he drove by your home last night. I was concerned, needless to say, but assumed you might be staying with Dr. Johns.”
“Um, actually, I’m staying with a friend for the next few days.”
“Could you let me know when you return, please? I don’t want to deploy a man to check an empty house each night when our resources are already stretched.”
“Of course,” she said. She assumed he’d enjoyed the opportunity to slap her wrist.
Her next stop was going to be her office, but as she headed toward the quad, she passed a couple faculty members and was struck by their double takes when they saw her face. She realized she’d be best off waiting until tomorrow to show up at Arthur Hall. Her bruises would be fading then, and she’d reduce the chances of people buzzing about her.
She turned and headed back to the eastern parking lot, feeling suddenly weary and achy again. This part of the campus, away from the quad and the plaza, tended to be quiet, and it was no different today, even with all the turbulence going on elsewhere. She had the path to herself, except for the dried leaves that chased each other ahead of her. It’s so deserted here, she realized, and instinctively she spun around, checking behind her. What if the killer knew who she was and was tracking her movements? By the time she reached her car, her stomach was twisted in a knot.
The entire way back to Duncan’s, she kept her eye on the rearview mirror, and she locked the door carefully once she reentered the house. She staggered into the bedroom. Not only was she fatigued, but her headache had intensified, and there was now a piercing pain in her elbow. Maybe she’d overdone it, she thought. Though her stomach was grumbling from hunger, she popped half a pain pill and fell onto the bed, letting sleep overtake her.
She stirred once during her nap, aware that dusk was descending and that she should turn on some lights, but she felt too leaden to move. She was asleep again almost instantly.
She woke the next time with a start, her heart racing and her body sticky with sweat. The room was dark. She’d had a nightmare, she realized, and the terror still had hold of her. In the dream she’d been back at Hutch’s house. She’d just walked in the front door and discovered Hutch on the living room floor, but this time he was alive, moaning. It was an odd kind of moaning, almost like the mooing of a cow. And then there was someone else in the room, off to the left and wearing a black cloak with a hood covering his face. She’d gasped, and slowly the person had lifted the hood to reveal his face. It was Dr. Parr, the English department chair.
Where in the world is Duncan? Phoebe wondered, using her good elbow to prop her body up. She glanced at the digital clock: 5:20. She fumbled for the bedside lamp and turned it on, creating a pool of light along the side of the bed.
She struggled out of bed and into the bathroom. It had been ages since she’d napped during the day, and she felt jet-lagged, slightly disoriented. After dabbing a cold, wet washcloth on her face and pulling her hair into a ponytail, she wandered out to the great room. In the dark, the unfamiliar shapes of the room seemed ominous, almost threatening. She had no clue where the lights were, and she fumbled around the room for a minute, trying to locate the switch on the wall. Finally she found it by the door. The moment she touched the button, the room was flooded with light from the dozen or so small fixtures in the ceiling.
After pouring a glass of sparkling water, she found her phone and checked for messages. Duncan had called once to see how she was doing—she had stupidly forgotten to bring her phone into the bedroom with her. He’d also sent an e-mail about an hour ago. “I hope you’re napping. I’m running later than planned but will be home by 7. DO NOTHING ABOUT DINNER.” She smiled. His message assuaged some of the weirdness she was feeling.
Two hours later, when she heard Duncan’s key turn in the lock, Phoebe was ensconced on the couch with her
