Darkside by P. T. Deutermann

bird,” he said, getting up out of the chair. “It’s tree time in the city.” He swept the bird off his shoulder and onto his right hand, then held the parrot over a sand-filled trash can, where Jupiter did the right thing. “Good bird,” he said.
    â€œGood bird,” Jupiter acknowledged, and they went below.
    Â 
    At nine o’clock that evening, Ev was in his study, correcting some student papers, when he heard Julie bang through the kitchen screen door and call for him.
    â€œIn here, Julie,” he called back, placing the papers in a folder and closing it. She came in a moment later, dressed in full sweats. Her face was bright red, almost the color of the reflective vest she wore over her hooded shirt. She droppedthe headless eight iron she carried to ward off unruly dogs and flopped down in one of the big leather chairs. Both she and the chair let out an enormous exhalation.
    â€œWant a beer?” he asked brightly, and she managed a smile.
    â€œWhole point was to work off the last one,” she gasped. “But I’m definitely going to walk back. Slowly, too.”
    â€œOkay, so give: What went down with the NCIS people?”
    She took another minute to regulate her breathing. Every night except Sundays and Wednesdays, firsties in good academic standing were allowed to leave Bancroft Hall after dinner for what was called “town liberty,” but they had to be back in by midnight. Given the academic load, Julie rarely took town liberty during the week.
    â€œI didn’t want to use the hall phones,” she said. “Everyone’s eavesdropping at the pay phones, and the cell phones—”
    â€œAre radios. Right, I know that. Now, what happened?”
    â€œThere were two of them,” she said. “A man and a woman. They started out being real polite. Then they went into one of those good cop/bad cop routines. I mean, how dumb is that? It was so cop show.”
    â€œWhat was the connection?”
    She told him.
    He blinked. Panties? “WTF? Over.”
    â€œRoger that, Father Time. They traced them back through my laundry number. I mean, c’mon, Dad, how embarrassing is that!”
    â€œCertainly different,” he said, getting up from his chair. “And they assumed that you and this plebe were closer than the regs envision?”
    â€œThey weren’t exactly sharing. They flat out asked if Dell and I had been intimate. Answer: negative, of course. I wouldn’t be caught dead dark-siding a plebe, even if it were legal, which of course it isn’t. No firstie would.”
    â€œBut he was found wearing your underwear, and dead, to boot. Logical question: How did he get your skivvies, andwhy on earth would a normal guy wear women’s underwear?”
    â€œYou’re assuming Dell was normal,” she snapped. “Ipso facto, he wasn’t.”
    â€œIs there some way a plebe could raid your skivvy drawer?”
    â€œHe’d have to be pretty brazen, but, yes, our rooms aren’t locked during the academic day. You know, for surprise room inspections.”
    â€œSo he could have knocked on the door, stepped in, and sounded off. Anyone in the passageway seeing him do it would assume that he was coming around. If no one happened to be in the room, once the door closed, he could take anything he wanted?”
    â€œI suppose,” she said. “Except this plebe, well, I don’t think he’d have the balls to do that.”
    â€œSo you did know him?”
    She shrugged defensively. “Sort of. Like, I helped a lot of plebes during plebe summer, Dad. That’s what we were there for, to get them through it, and to keep them from bolting out the front gate on parents’ weekend.”
    He paced around the room, while Julie remained sprawled in her chair. “And they wanted to know if you remembered Dell, right?”
    â€œThat was the gist of their questions: Did I know Midshipman