“Uh-huh,” Dan mumbles. “Check this out.” He grabs the third sheet. “Her spring schedule.”
I read through the list and see a sociology class, two education classes, a gym class, and another English course.
Before I can ask a question, Dan says, “I looked it up. English 362 was taught by the same professor as the English class she nearly flunked in the fall.”
I look at Dan, then down at the papers. “And?”
“Well, if that were me,” Finch says, pointing at her spring schedule, “and I struggled or had to work extra hard to pass the last English class, I don’t think I’d take another one. At the very least, I’d take it with another professor.”
“Do we have the grades for spring?”
Dan shakes his head. “Not in this stuff.”
“Was there anything from her apartment?”
“We weren’t looking for that,” Finch says, stepping away from the table.
“We can try the registrar’s office,” Dan suggests as Finch grabs one of the boxes of papers from Kara’s apartment and sets it in front of me. He does the same two more times until we each have a box to sort through.
“Probably need a subpoena,” I mumble, reaching into the box to take a stack of papers. “Let’s look through these and go from there.”
With each of us sorting through her papers in silence, I can’t help getting the feeling Dan was right and we’re on to something.
After about forty minutes and two cups of terrible Ames PD coffee, Finch announces, “Got it.”
Dan and I move in until we’re looking over Finch’s shoulder as he points. “Spring midterms.”
Again, she does okay in her other classes, getting As and Bs, but English, another F.
“Did you find the final grades?” I ask Finch.
“Yep.” He slaps down the second page. “She ended up with an A in English 362: Studies in 19th-Century American Lit.”
We stare at the pages for several minutes. My mind is whirring.
“I’m still not sure why this is significant,” Finch says. It’s a good question.
“It may not be.” Dan shrugs.
He’s right. This could be a whole lot of nothing.
“You mentioned they were taught by the same person? Who was that?” I’m afraid I already know the answer to this question.
Dan moves some things around on the table until he finds what he’s looking for. “Dr. D. Buchanan.”
Shit. Instead of saying something I may regret, I say, “How ’bout the footage from the elevator in Kara’s building?”
Finch begins to carefully place papers back into his box. “Nothing yet.” He looks over at me. “And Social Apartments’ management promised to get the garage camera repaired today.”
“Follow up with that today, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
“What about Falco?”
Finch turns to face me and Dan. “Left a message.”
“Okay. Keep on him. Call again until you get him.”
“We could go to his place,” he suggests. “I found an address for him.”
“Good job, Finch.” I nod. “Yeah. Let’s try this afternoon.”
Standing from my spot at the conference table, I turn to leave.
“Hey, Golden?”
Looking back at Finch, I wait.
“Isn’t that girl… the one who made the cookies… isn’t her last name Buchanan?”
“Yes.”
“She any relation to that professor?”
“She may be.” She is. I just need a minute before I relay that information to the team. “Let me use the john, and I’ll check my notes when I get back.”
“Cool.” Finch smiles proudly. As he should. He’s smart. He’ll make a great cop in time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Daisy
When a knock sounds on my front door, I’m startled awake. Looking around my room, I do my best to remember what day it is and why I’m so damn cold. The sight of my bed with no sheets, blankets, or pillows reminds me. I should have turned on the furnace last night, but I had other things on my mind.
The knocking redirects my attention to the front door. Sliding off the bed, I don’t even bother looking in the mirror. I know I look like shit and that my hair probably resembles something close to a rat’s nest, but I don’t care.
Without looking through the peephole, I wrench the door open and stare at the man of my dreams and that other guy. The one who loved my cookies. “Oh.” I do my best to get my hair under control, but it’s no use. “Morning.”
“It’s afternoon, ma’am,” the other guy deadpans.
“Rough night,” I mumble. Turning, I walk back into my place, leaving the door open wide and hoping they just take the hint and follow me inside. I’ve got no energy to be courteous this morning—er, afternoon.
“You okay, Miss Buchanan?” Gage asks.
Miss Buchanan? Since when…? Flopping onto my couch, I tug on the sweatshirt he lent me last night. “What’s going on?” Because this seems very official.
“Mind if we ask you a few more questions?” the other guy asks.
“No, I don’t mind.” I wish it were just me and Gage, but like I said, this seems super official.
I watch as Gage nods to the other guy. Since the other guy is the one talking, I assume that means Gage is giving him the lead. Yay.
“Are you related to a Dr. D. Buchanan?”
I look at Gage, asking him with my eyes, What the hell? Then I turn to the other cop. “Yeah. He’s my father.”
My father who’s dead to me.
“Did you know Kara Becker was taking classes with your father?”
Shaking my head, I respond, “Lots of people take my father’s classes.” And the reason is because his classes are easy. Who doesn’t love to get an easy A in their college English classes? It’s one of the reasons they wouldn’t give him tenure.
Well, until they did.
“So, he’s popular?”
Where are they going with this? “Look.” I lean forward. “People love my dad’s classes because he’s an easy A.”
The two officers turn to look at each other, then back at me. “So….” The other cop sounds hesitant. “Everyone ends up with an A in his classes?”
“Well, not everyone. You have to turn things in. But the majority get As and Bs.”
The men look at each other again, like they’re
