Murder at Barclay Meadow by Wendy Sand Eckel Page A

“He’s forty-seven, married, and has two elementary school-age children.” He peered over the top of his glasses. “Those are young children for a man that age. Maybe a second marriage?”
    â€œIf he sleeps with his students that wouldn’t come as a surprise.”
    â€œYes.” Glenn nodded. “That’s a good theory.” He looked back at the spiral pad. “He’s only been with the college three years. They hired him away from a small liberal arts college in New York.”
    â€œI wonder why he left.” I picked up my coffee. “Glenn, how did you find all this out?”
    â€œHow else? I Googled him.”
    â€œOf course you did.” I laughed.
    The campus was dotted with students enjoying the sunny day. A pack of boys passed by kicking soccer balls and jostling one another, their cleats strung over their shoulders. One exceptionally tall and gangly boy kicked his ball into Glenn’s shin. It thudded and ricocheted into the grass.
    â€œSorry, dude,” the boy said and trotted away to fetch his ball.
    Glenn rubbed his leg. “Did he just call me ‘dude’?”
    â€œHe did. Are you okay?”
    â€œI’m fine. Actually, I like being out here among these college students.” He nudged his glasses back up his nose. “Waterside Village is nice enough. My townhouse is adequate and I have a view of the river. And I certainly don’t miss mowing the lawn. But you know the problem with living in an over-fifty-five community?”
    I smiled at him. “What?”
    â€œEveryone is the same age. It’s not an accurate slice of the world. I miss watching a child ride his bike down the street or a teenager learning to parallel park. Sitting here with you is just what I needed.”
    â€œI never thought of it that way. You sure you’re okay?”
    â€œCouldn’t be better.”
    â€œBack to Professor Angeles. Does he live in town?”
    â€œOne of those historic homes on the Cardigan. You can see it as you cross the bridge into town.”
    â€œOn the water?” I took a sip of coffee.
    â€œYes. Why?”
    â€œGlenn…” I nibbled on my bottom lip. “What if the professor has a boat?” I turned to face him. “If he does, then maybe he took Megan out on it. What better way to keep an affair under wraps than on a boat?”
    â€œOf course. And if you want to end it, you toss her over the side. Good thinking, Rosalie. In this business, what may seem trivial can often be the most significant.”
    â€œI know, right? This is good. We’re getting somewhere.” A rare feeling of elation tickled my neurotransmitters. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt happy. “Glenn, do you think we might figure this out? I mean, look at us—you’re a retired businessman, and I’m a…” I frowned. “What exactly am I? A work-in-progress? A piece of work?”
    Glenn chuckled. “It’s all in how you sell it. I would rather say that I am an analyst and you are an exceptional observer of people. Put those two together and you have the makings of a savvy detective.”
    â€œHa! Nice spin.” I jostled my shoe again. “I’m so glad you’re helping me.”
    â€œIt is I who should be thanking you.”
    Detecting a subtle change in his tone, I said, “Glenn, what happened to your wife?”
    He tucked away his notepad and rubbed his palms on his corduroy pants. “She passed six years ago of breast cancer.”
    â€œI lost my mother to the same thing. I think it’s an epidemic.”
    â€œMolly never knew she had it until it was too late.” Glenn stared off. His voice was strained with emotion. “She found a lump. After three years of telling her it was nothing, the doctor told her it was something. She died three months later.”
    â€œThat’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
    He removed his