thatâs the nine oâclock class students leaving the building.â
âThere is nothing in between.â
âIt appears to be missing.â
â
The large Greek letters in the yards of the brick houses for a block near Nebraska Avenue provided every indication that Dan had arrived at Greek Row. Alpha Chi Omega was the third house on the right and the only one on the block that looked habitable. The fraternity next door had a sofa in the yard and another on the porch. The fresh coat of paint the fraternity applied every summer to spruce up the place was already under siege. Ten guys under a single roof aged a house like beer-drinking termites.
Dan approached the front porch of the Alpha Chi Omega sorority house and suddenly he felt his age. Memories of college life flooded back to him. Nights huddled around a keg in some yard, drinking out of red Solo cups, keeping one eye out for the police and the other out for a girl better looking than the one you were currently chatting up.
Dan knocked on the door and gazed at the Greek letters emblazoned on the ceiling of the porch. Under the letters the sororityâs sloganâReal Strong Womenâwas painted in bold strokes. Or as bold as strokes can be when stenciled in light pink.
A young lady in pajamas and flip flops opened the door. At least these students arenât killing their parents with expensive clothing bills , Dan thought.
âHi,â Dan said to the black-haired, blue-eyed girl. He guessed she was of Hungarian descent, but kept his opinion to himself.
âHi,â the girl replied.
âMy name is Dan Lord and Iâm looking for a girl named Lindsay.â
âWe have two Lindsays, which one are you looking for?â
âI have no idea.â
âWhat class do you teach? One Lindsay is a Psyche major, the other is International Affairs.â
Dan brushed off his ego. If he needed further evidence he was no longer college-aged, the black-haired, blue-eyed junior had just provided it.
âIâm not a professor. Or a student,â he quickly added. âMy nephew passed away this weekend and I think he was seeing, or at least knew, Lindsay. Or one of the Lindsays.â
âYouâre talking about Conner, right?â
âYeah.â
âThat would be Lindsay Richer.â
âShe around?â
âYeah, I think I heard her fire up the shower a little while ago. Come on in. Sheâs been a mess since she got the news.â
Dan followed the dark-haired girl into the living room. The room décor was a head-on collision of Ikea and Martha Stewart. âHave a seat, Iâll get Lindsay.â
Dan nodded and sat down on the edge of the sofa cushion.
âMan in the living room,â the black-haired girl yelled loud enough to be heard next door. She looked at Dan. âHouse rules on weekdays. Now if someone comes dancing through the living room naked, youâll be innocent.â
âGood rule,â Dan replied as the girl bounded up the stairs. He turned his admiration to the array of magazines on the table, none of them fit for male consumption. Each cover offered its own sex secrets comingled with the recurring themes of how to catch your man cheating and tips to lose weight.
He heard footsteps above and a moment later a blond with wet hair wearing a white bathrobe came down the stairs.
Dan stood.
âHi. Iâm Lindsay.â
âLindsay Richer,â Dan replied, showing that heâd been paying attention. âMy name is Dan Lord. Iâm Connerâs uncle.â
âHe mentioned you,â she said, tears welling up in her eyes. âI canât believe it.â She looked like she had been crying, no small feat for someone who had just exited the shower.
âYou want to grab a seat? Talk for a minute?â
Lindsay sat on the far end of the sofa and Dan returned to his seat a cushion away. Lindsayâs hair was wet and she had yet to apply
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