Murder at Barclay Meadow by Wendy Sand Eckel

to be now, as hard as it is.”
    â€œ Something ? You don’t even know, do you?” She shook her head. “Why are you letting him do this? Mom, you always taught me to be strong—to stand up for myself. ‘Annie,’ you said, ‘you have to go after what you want. Don’t expect it to find you.’”
    â€œAnd you are.” I smiled.
    â€œAnd you aren’t,” she said, her voice pleading. “Mom…”
    â€œI’m trying. Honestly, I am.” I studied her face. “I just don’t want you to be in the middle. I want you to enjoy your first year of college and not worry about your parents. Can you do that?”
    â€œIt’s hard. But the rugby is helping.”
    â€œOf course.” I tucked my arm through hers. We started walking again. “You get to knock people down.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œAnnie…” I swallowed hard. “If you want, we can go to dinner with your father tonight. I can swing it if you can.”
    â€œNo.” She squeezed my arm. “I want you all to myself. Dad and I, and apparently that woman”—Annie made quotation marks in the air—“are having brunch tomorrow.”
    â€œI would go for you if I could.”
    â€œI’ll be all right.”
    â€œMaybe you could accidentally tackle her.”
    â€œMom!” Annie rubbed her arms. I noticed chill bumps on her legs.
    I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and picked up the pace. “We need to get you out of those clothes.”
    â€œOkay.” She leaned in close. “Hey, you know that guy you were talking to at the match? He asked for my number.”
    â€œYou mean Connor O’Malley? He offered me a beer just when I needed it. Well? Did you give it to him?”
    â€œNo. But I told him he could friend me. I like to peruse the Facebook wall before I agree to a date.”
    â€œSmart girl,” I said, pulling her closer, breathing her in, feeling grounded again for the first time in months. She was here with me. And she was alive.

 
    S IX
    The following Monday Glenn and I sat on a bench along a red-brick walkway that cut a diagonal path through the heart of the John Adams campus. Bright crimson leaves rustled in the Japanese maple above us, occasionally releasing one in an unhurried flight to the ground.
    â€œI bought you a coffee,” Glenn said. “From Brower’s.”
    I popped off the lid and set the cup on the sidewalk.
    â€œI’ve never known you to turn down coffee.”
    â€œJust letting it cool.” I crossed my legs. “Okay, so what’s my shtick?”
    â€œYou have decided to go back to college and pursue a degree in psychology.”
    I hugged my purse, nervous at the thought of encountering the mysterious professor—our first suspect. I had dressed up in an A-line black skirt and scarlet red blazer for our meeting. “Do you think he’ll buy it?” I popped the heel of my pump off and on. “A forty-five-year-old woman returning to college?”
    â€œIt makes perfect sense. You’ve just emptied your nest.” Glenn removed his notepad from his shirt pocket and studied it. “I’ve been looking into this man.”
    â€œGlenn,” I said. “I believe you’re getting as obsessed as me.”
    â€œI can get a little single-minded about things, I’m afraid. It served me well in business. But research is our best weapon.”
    â€œSo, are you certain we have the right guy?”
    A fresh gust of wind exposed Glenn’s bald spot. He fixed his hair back in place and examined his notes. “Absolutely. Not only has he recently received a prestigious grant, he’s the only professor teaching four hundred-level psychology courses. Oh, and all the other psychology professors are women.”
    â€œWell, that certainly narrows it down. Anything else?”
    â€œLet’s see.” Glenn flipped a page.