waxed paper from our lunches, and tossed it all into the waste basket. “Caring for stray dogs is not in my job description,” she said. “And it’s not negotiable.”
“If I didn’t know you better,” I said, “I’d think you didn’t want Henry to have a loving home.”
She snorted a laugh out her nose, turned, and headed for the door.
“I’m leaving the office early,” I said. “We’ve got no appointments. Why don’t you take off for the afternoon?”
She turned and frowned at me. “I don’t care if you double my salary,” she said. “I’m still not taking the dog.”
“He’s really a sweet dog,” I said.
“Yes, he seems to be. You two are destined for each other.”
“No, huh?”
“No.”
I flapped my hand. “Take the afternoon anyway.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I believe I will.”
After Julie left, I made sure Henry’s water dish was full and locked him in the office. If he made a mess, the cleaners who came in at night would just have to take care of it.
It was a fifteen-minute walk to the Emerson College registrar’s office on Tremont Street. I took the elevator to the fourth floor and got the attention of a pretty young woman behind the long counter.
“Help you?” she said.
“Are you the registrar?” I said.
“Me?” She smiled. “Not hardly.”
I took out a business card and put it on the counter. “I need to talk to the registrar.”
She peered at the card, then looked up at me. “A lawyer, huh?”
I nodded.
“Did somebody do something wrong?”
“Yes,” I said.
She cocked her head at me, then smiled. “Well, it wasn’t me. Hang on.”
A minute later a fortyish man in horn-rimmed glasses came to the counter. He had my card in his hand. “Mr. Coyne?”
I nodded.
“I’m James Connors. I’m the registrar here. Were you threatening Jamie?”
“Nope. I wasn’t threatening anybody. I need your help.”
“What kind of help?”
“The father of one of your students died last night. I need to get ahold of the boy.”
“That’s a shame.” James Connors shook his head. “Classes ended nearly a month ago. The students have all gone home.”
“I know where he lives,” I said. “He’s not there. I thoughtmaybe I could look up his friends, see if they might be able to help.”
“Who’s the student?”
“Ethan Duffy. He’s studying screenwriting.”
“WLP,” he said. “Writing, literature, and publishing. That would be his department. Hang on.”
He disappeared around the corner. I waited about five minutes, and then he came back with a computer printout. “This is the class roster for his freshman screenwriting seminar. My best guess would be that he’d have friends in this class. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know how to help you.”
I looked at the printout. There were sixteen names on it, including Ethan’s. “You wouldn’t have phone numbers for these kids, would you?”
He reached under the counter, pulled out a thin paperback book, and slid it toward me. On the cover it said, “Emerson College Directory.”
“No hometown numbers in there,” he said. “Many of the students have apartments here in Boston. Some stay in the city for the summer. Others hang around for a while after classes end. I imagine a lot of them have gone home, but I’m not comfortable giving you their family information.”
“This is a big help,” I said. “I assume Ethan’s somewhere in the city, probably staying with one of his friends. Thank you.
Henry was glad to see me. I scooched down on the floor, and he leapt upon me, braced his front paws on my shoulders, and licked my face.
I let him do that for a while. Then I stood up and wentto my desk. Henry looked at me for a minute, then came over and curled up under my feet.
I tried the number of every student in Ethan’s freshman screenwriting seminar, starting at the top of the list James Connors had given me. I left messages on the five voicemails that answered, saying the same thing:
“If I didn’t know you better,” I said, “I’d think you didn’t want Henry to have a loving home.”
She snorted a laugh out her nose, turned, and headed for the door.
“I’m leaving the office early,” I said. “We’ve got no appointments. Why don’t you take off for the afternoon?”
She turned and frowned at me. “I don’t care if you double my salary,” she said. “I’m still not taking the dog.”
“He’s really a sweet dog,” I said.
“Yes, he seems to be. You two are destined for each other.”
“No, huh?”
“No.”
I flapped my hand. “Take the afternoon anyway.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I believe I will.”
After Julie left, I made sure Henry’s water dish was full and locked him in the office. If he made a mess, the cleaners who came in at night would just have to take care of it.
It was a fifteen-minute walk to the Emerson College registrar’s office on Tremont Street. I took the elevator to the fourth floor and got the attention of a pretty young woman behind the long counter.
“Help you?” she said.
“Are you the registrar?” I said.
“Me?” She smiled. “Not hardly.”
I took out a business card and put it on the counter. “I need to talk to the registrar.”
She peered at the card, then looked up at me. “A lawyer, huh?”
I nodded.
“Did somebody do something wrong?”
“Yes,” I said.
She cocked her head at me, then smiled. “Well, it wasn’t me. Hang on.”
A minute later a fortyish man in horn-rimmed glasses came to the counter. He had my card in his hand. “Mr. Coyne?”
I nodded.
“I’m James Connors. I’m the registrar here. Were you threatening Jamie?”
“Nope. I wasn’t threatening anybody. I need your help.”
“What kind of help?”
“The father of one of your students died last night. I need to get ahold of the boy.”
“That’s a shame.” James Connors shook his head. “Classes ended nearly a month ago. The students have all gone home.”
“I know where he lives,” I said. “He’s not there. I thoughtmaybe I could look up his friends, see if they might be able to help.”
“Who’s the student?”
“Ethan Duffy. He’s studying screenwriting.”
“WLP,” he said. “Writing, literature, and publishing. That would be his department. Hang on.”
He disappeared around the corner. I waited about five minutes, and then he came back with a computer printout. “This is the class roster for his freshman screenwriting seminar. My best guess would be that he’d have friends in this class. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know how to help you.”
I looked at the printout. There were sixteen names on it, including Ethan’s. “You wouldn’t have phone numbers for these kids, would you?”
He reached under the counter, pulled out a thin paperback book, and slid it toward me. On the cover it said, “Emerson College Directory.”
“No hometown numbers in there,” he said. “Many of the students have apartments here in Boston. Some stay in the city for the summer. Others hang around for a while after classes end. I imagine a lot of them have gone home, but I’m not comfortable giving you their family information.”
“This is a big help,” I said. “I assume Ethan’s somewhere in the city, probably staying with one of his friends. Thank you.
Henry was glad to see me. I scooched down on the floor, and he leapt upon me, braced his front paws on my shoulders, and licked my face.
I let him do that for a while. Then I stood up and wentto my desk. Henry looked at me for a minute, then came over and curled up under my feet.
I tried the number of every student in Ethan’s freshman screenwriting seminar, starting at the top of the list James Connors had given me. I left messages on the five voicemails that answered, saying the same thing:
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