The Sixes

the police had found linking the girls to the crime.

Duncan raked his hand through his hair. “It’s going to seem like a bomb went off on campus tomorrow. Too bad U.S. News and World Report doesn’t measure notoriety for their college rankings. I bet we’d finally break the top one hundred.”

“Yeah, I just hope the board doesn’t hold it all against Glenda.”

“And how are you feeling?”

Phoebe let out a long sigh. “Relieved, I suppose. Maybe I can stop looking over my shoulder now. It’s just . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“What?” Duncan asked, his dark eyes quizzical.

Phoebe reached behind her head and shook her hair out from its ponytail.

“I guess I was wrong,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t really think that it was the Sixes.”

“But you thought it was a possibility.”

“Yes, but . . .” She struggled off the couch and paced before the stone fireplace. “I keep asking myself what Hutch saw in the notes that pointed in their direction. Of course, his contacting them may have had nothing at all to do with what was in the notes. Maybe he got a hold of them for another reason—he’d heard about them from me and might have begun to investigate them separately. And once he made contact with them, they went on the defensive.”

“Could be,” Duncan said. “Here, why don’t you let me see those notes?”

After retrieving them from her purse, she brought them to Duncan, explaining the difference between the two sets. He tugged a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and began to peruse the pages. While he read, Phoebe watched the flames do their repetitive dance in the fireplace. Her good arm touched Duncan’s, and she could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. It had been ages, she realized, since she’d hung out with a man on a couch after dinner. In the last years with Alec, their lives had been so busy in the evenings. After dinner there was more work, phone calls, answering e-mails, or often packing for a trip.

Duncan scrunched his mouth. “You’re right about there not being a single reference to any college girls in here.”

“Maybe Hutch found out about Blair being in the bar some other way,” Phoebe said. She rested her head briefly against the back of the sofa. She was tired and knew she wouldn’t figure this out tonight. “I probably should hit the hay so I’m fit for class tomorrow.” She turned to smile at Duncan. “But what do I do about my face? I was hoping the bruises would be mostly gone, but they’re turning out to be stubborn little bastards.”

“Hey, you’re the campus hero and those are your battle scars.”

“But as far as I know, I’m still not suppose to disclose that I was at the murder scene. By the way, I never asked how you found out I was there.”

Duncan ran a finger back and forth along his lower lip and looked off, thinking.

“It was Miles who told me you were in the hospital,” he said. “I think he said he heard it from Cameron Parr.”

“No, I mean about me being at Hutch’s.”

He paused. “Well, I hope this doesn’t land him in hot water,” Duncan said, tucking his glasses back into his pocket. “But Mark Johns told me.” He eased up into a standing position and tossed the notes on the table.

“Mark?” Phoebe said, totally surprised by the revelation. “Why would he volunteer that to you? Glenda didn’t know about you and me until today.”

“It just came out during a brief discussion we had,” Duncan said. “I think I mentioned to you that he might be teaching a course with us, and I bumped into him in the building on Monday. Miles had just told me you were in the hospital, and I’d also just heard about Hutch’s murder—though I didn’t know the two were related. I brought up the murder to Mark, thinking he might know something via Glenda. And that’s when he said that you’d been injured at the scene.”

“That was before I’d told Glenda the cops were keeping it under wraps, so she wouldn’t have told him yet not to say anything,” Phoebe said, following the sequence but annoyed nonetheless. “And yet he should have known to be discreet.”

“Please don’t let Mark know I said anything,” Duncan said. “I don’t want him ticked at me. Ready for bed?”

“Hmm, yes. Though I might grab some fresh air out on the deck for a few minutes. I’ve spent most of the day indoors, and I could use it.”

As Duncan headed for the bedroom, Phoebe slid open the back door. There was a real chill to the air, but it was just what she needed. The house had grown warm, because of the fire, and she’d been having a hard time focusing.

She crossed the deck to the railing at the far end. A light at the back of the house was on, and she could see that Duncan’s yard was a decent size, nicely landscaped. In the far back were several rows of fir trees, blocking a view of his neighbors. She glanced up. A zillion stars were scattered across the sky, and she could see the filmy swaths of the Milky Way. Orion towered above the trees.

If Blair and Gwen really had killed Hutch—and she assumed the police had enough evidence to arrest them—that meant Hutch must have become suspicious of them and telegraphed that to them. They killed him to protect themselves. I was lucky, Phoebe thought, that they only used their scare tactics on me.

So that meant Hutch had stumbled onto something linking them to the drownings or to Wesley’s fall in the river, or both. Something that wasn’t in the notes. But what? she wondered, yet again.

Suddenly a thought jumped in front of her, like a night bird lighting on the railing of the deck. Maybe Hutch had contacted Wesley himself. He might have wanted clarification of a few points in the notes, and Wesley could have told him about Blair being in the bar. She would call Wesley first thing tomorrow and find out.

Of course that didn’t explain all the underlines, she realized, but Hutch may have come to see that the clue he’d spotted in the notes didn’t amount to anything in the end.

Phoebe turned to go inside and then stopped. Duncan had shut off most of the great room lights, but there was still a light burning in the kitchen. He must have left it on so she could find her way. She realized that now that Hutch’s killer had been arrested, there’d be no reason for her to have to hole up at Duncan’s. Well, she thought, it would be tough to function indefinitely in a space that was not her own.

When she entered the bedroom a minute later, Duncan was standing by the bed in his gray boxer briefs, setting the alarm clock. Despite her fatigue and achiness, she felt a surge of desire shoot through her. She slipped into the bathroom, quickly washed her face, and changed into her pajama pants and camisole. He was in bed when she returned, propped up against the headboard and staring at a corner of the room, as if deep in thought.

“I didn’t even ask about your day,” Phoebe said. She crawled in beside him, mindful of her elbow.

“Mine paled compared to yours,” he said, directing his gaze at her now. “It was all pretty routine.”

“What about your student?”

“Student?”

“The one with the unexpected issue.”

“Oh, yeah. Smart kid, but the statistics part is totally over his head. He’s tried tutoring, and it’s just not working. He’s probably going to have to switch majors. You ready for lights out?”

“Yup.”

He switched off the swing lamp by his side of the bed. Phoebe lay on her right side, facing him, and in the dark she felt him shift his body closer to her. Duncan found her face with his hand, cradled it, and kissed her softly.

“Good night,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll feel even better tomorrow.”

She felt a twinge of disappointment. Should she just boldly announce her intentions? she wondered. But Duncan was already on his back again, pulling the covers up. Of course he’s not going to assume I want sex tonight, she told herself.

She thought she would fall asleep instantly, but when she closed her eyes, an image she had fought off all