Grey Matters by Clea Simon Page B

And I can’t help but wonder. I mean, at the time I thought it was because of what had happened. Because of Cameron, you know. But maybe it was about the book. Maybe Lucy was right.’
    She opened her eyes. Chris was staring at her. He’d even put his unfinished slice back down on its paper plate.
    ‘Oh, Dulcie, you’ve had a miserable couple of days, haven’t you?’ He reached forward and took her hand. ‘And I’ve been no good at all, tucked away here. Working all hours.’
    Something was off. ‘Yeah, it’s been pretty bad. But I know you’ve got to work.’ She looked around at the students at their terminals. She was suddenly pretty sure they were all eavesdropping. She lowered her voice. ‘But it’s not like I’m imagining all of this.’
    ‘I know Lucy called.’ His voice was low, too. Comforting. The voice one would use with an invalid. ‘And she has a way of getting under your skin.’
    Dulcie gasped. What Chris had said was right, but why he’d said it was all wrong. ‘You think I’m losing it.’ Heads popped up and then quickly ducked back down. ‘You think I’m freaked out by Cameron and I’m putting it all on The Ravages .’ He didn’t respond. ‘You don’t believe in Mr Grey!’
    She was nearly yelling at this point, and Chris leaned forward to take her other hand. Dulcie pulled it back. ‘No, I don’t need this.’ Suddenly, the third slice had no appeal. ‘I’m going home.’
    ‘Dulcie!’ It was too late. She was heading toward the door, and Chris, she knew, was on duty till midnight at least.
    Suze wasn’t home yet, but Dulcie decided not to take any chances. Instead, she dumped her bag in the living room and climbed the second stairway to head straight to bed. ‘Nobody believes me. And I don’t know what to believe either.’ She was talking to herself as much as anything. But as she kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed, she couldn’t help but hope . . .
    ‘There, there, little one.’
    Could it be? The same calm, deep voice she’d so missed. The voice that Mr Grey had used to communicate with her from beyond. ‘These are trying times, and not everyone is ready to accept what you and I understand to be true. After all, not everyone knows what we know.’
    ‘Oh, Mr Grey! I’m so glad you’re here again.’ She relaxed against the pillow, ready for a good heart-to-heart. ‘I’ve missed you so much! And I’m really worried about my thesis.’ But the voice didn’t stop.
    ‘I know we expect better from her, but really, look what she’s working with.’
    Dulcie sat bolt upright. There, in her bedroom doorway, sat the kitten. The little tuxedoed cat was staring straight ahead – at the empty space at the top of the stairs.
    ‘She’ll come along, little one. She simply has to learn to trust herself. Give her time.’

NINE
    I t wasn’t that Dulcie didn’t trust the Cambridge police. Despite an upbringing that leaned heavily toward anarchism, or at least distrust of what Lucy deemed ‘the dominant paradigm,’ Dulcie was essentially a law-abiding type. She wouldn’t, for example, use her cell phone in the library, and she was relatively good about throwing a quarter into the departmental coffee fund. But she was on her guard the next morning as she walked up to the imposing stone building that houses Cambridge’s finest.
    ‘I’m here to see Detective Carioli.’ She tried to keep any quaver out of her voice. Suze had stayed over at her boyfriend’s, which meant that Dulcie was here without advice of counsel. She knew, as well as if Suze had shared a morning cup, that her law-school roommate would have told her not to come in without a lawyer. But calling on the school’s legal clinic had seemed like an unnecessary hassle this early in the morning. Besides, there was no way Dulcie could be considered involved in Cameron’s murder, was there?
    Unless, of course, she’d killed Cameron on her way in, and then met with her adviser to establish an