work to do.”
“I’d only say this, Professor. The last time around they found the body of the managing partner in the firm’s reception area with a knife in his back, and he turned out to be your boyfriend. This time around there’s a body and it’s your student. What’s a good detective to think?” He stood up and stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I said, conspicuously declining either to stand up or to shake his outstretched hand.
He smirked, turned and waltzed out the door.
I sat there after he left with a rising feeling of unease. Was I about to be accused of killing Primo? That was too ridiculous even to contemplate, and I shoved it out of my mind. Or maybe I didn’t shove it entirely out of my mind. When I looked down at my hands, they were shaking again, and they were redder than ever.
CHAPTER 11
A fter Drady left I looked around my office once again, hoping to catch sight of either the mailing tube or its supposed contents. I got down on my knees and peered under my desk. I opened all of my desk drawers, thinking perhaps someone had taken the map out of the tube and folded it up. I looked carefully on my bookshelves, even pulling out some of the books to make sure nothing had slipped behind them. It wasn’t in any of those places.
Next I walked back into the empty office across the hall, where I had taken the phone call. The room was still utterly empty. I went down the hall and searched in the small kitchen, where there was a tall trash can. There wasn’t much in the can, but I rooted through it anyway. I found nothing that even remotely resembled a map. I looked in the drawers and cabinets. I searched the trash can in the women’s room and even in the men’s room. Nothing.
I returned to my office and considered what to do with the coffee that was left in the coffeepot. I was about to take it to the bathroom and dump it when I had second thoughts. Skillings had taken a sample, which Drady had said he was going to give to the police. If there turned out to be something wrong with the coffee, there were going to be consequences. My litigator instincts told me I needed to have my own sample. I decided it would be easiest to take the entire coffeepot home with me.
My next problem was what to do with the remaining beans in the cute little Coffee Chaos bag. If they were tainted in some way, it wouldn’t be a great idea to leave them there lest someone else use them. But who could possibly use them without my knowledge? On the other hand, at least three people had entered my office without my knowledge in the last twenty-four hours—Primo, Skillings and Drady. There was no point in risking it. I grabbed the bag and shoved it into my purse.
I walked to Lot 3 for the second time, carrying the coffeepot, managing to get there without having the coffee slosh over the edge of the lid. I put the pot on the floor in front of the passenger seat, got back in the car and headed for home.
On the way, not far from campus, I spied a new nail salon. It had a big sign out front: ONLY NAILS. GRAND OPENING . Amazingly, there was a parking place right in front. I braked hard, slid my car into the space and went in. After some initial confusion, I was able to persuade them that I didn’t want my nails done—that I just needed some treatment that might soothe my raw, red hands. The woman in charge, whose name was Thu Nguyen, and who I think was also the owner, suggested hot wax. I agreed. The treatment—wrapping my hands in plastic bags into which hot wax was poured—felt great. For the first time that day, I was able, at least momentarily, to forget about Primo and the missing map and just relax.
When they were done with the treatment, I thanked Thu, paid in cash and left a large tip. Then I got back in my car and headed home. On the way, though, I couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in my mind—over and over and over again. They still made no sense
“I’d only say this, Professor. The last time around they found the body of the managing partner in the firm’s reception area with a knife in his back, and he turned out to be your boyfriend. This time around there’s a body and it’s your student. What’s a good detective to think?” He stood up and stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I said, conspicuously declining either to stand up or to shake his outstretched hand.
He smirked, turned and waltzed out the door.
I sat there after he left with a rising feeling of unease. Was I about to be accused of killing Primo? That was too ridiculous even to contemplate, and I shoved it out of my mind. Or maybe I didn’t shove it entirely out of my mind. When I looked down at my hands, they were shaking again, and they were redder than ever.
CHAPTER 11
A fter Drady left I looked around my office once again, hoping to catch sight of either the mailing tube or its supposed contents. I got down on my knees and peered under my desk. I opened all of my desk drawers, thinking perhaps someone had taken the map out of the tube and folded it up. I looked carefully on my bookshelves, even pulling out some of the books to make sure nothing had slipped behind them. It wasn’t in any of those places.
Next I walked back into the empty office across the hall, where I had taken the phone call. The room was still utterly empty. I went down the hall and searched in the small kitchen, where there was a tall trash can. There wasn’t much in the can, but I rooted through it anyway. I found nothing that even remotely resembled a map. I looked in the drawers and cabinets. I searched the trash can in the women’s room and even in the men’s room. Nothing.
I returned to my office and considered what to do with the coffee that was left in the coffeepot. I was about to take it to the bathroom and dump it when I had second thoughts. Skillings had taken a sample, which Drady had said he was going to give to the police. If there turned out to be something wrong with the coffee, there were going to be consequences. My litigator instincts told me I needed to have my own sample. I decided it would be easiest to take the entire coffeepot home with me.
My next problem was what to do with the remaining beans in the cute little Coffee Chaos bag. If they were tainted in some way, it wouldn’t be a great idea to leave them there lest someone else use them. But who could possibly use them without my knowledge? On the other hand, at least three people had entered my office without my knowledge in the last twenty-four hours—Primo, Skillings and Drady. There was no point in risking it. I grabbed the bag and shoved it into my purse.
I walked to Lot 3 for the second time, carrying the coffeepot, managing to get there without having the coffee slosh over the edge of the lid. I put the pot on the floor in front of the passenger seat, got back in the car and headed for home.
On the way, not far from campus, I spied a new nail salon. It had a big sign out front: ONLY NAILS. GRAND OPENING . Amazingly, there was a parking place right in front. I braked hard, slid my car into the space and went in. After some initial confusion, I was able to persuade them that I didn’t want my nails done—that I just needed some treatment that might soothe my raw, red hands. The woman in charge, whose name was Thu Nguyen, and who I think was also the owner, suggested hot wax. I agreed. The treatment—wrapping my hands in plastic bags into which hot wax was poured—felt great. For the first time that day, I was able, at least momentarily, to forget about Primo and the missing map and just relax.
When they were done with the treatment, I thanked Thu, paid in cash and left a large tip. Then I got back in my car and headed home. On the way, though, I couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in my mind—over and over and over again. They still made no sense
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