last time she’d called a tow truck, she actually hadn’t needed a mechanic. She’d flooded the engine. At $125 a pop, she couldn’t afford to make too many mistakes like that.
Apparently, her luck had changed. When she turned the key, the engine started. She called Michael to tell him she wouldn’t need a ride, got ready, and drove to the college, arriving there by seven-thirty.
Somerville was a relatively new school, established only ten years ago, but Liz thought that the architects had done a marvelous job of blending the two-story, whitewashed brick buildings with the eighteenth-century mansion that had once been the heart of a colonial plantation.
Massive oak trees, stone walls, and boxwood hedges graced the rolling green lawns adorned with marble fountains and wrought-iron benches. If she hadn’t remembered the dairy farms that had been on either side of the crossroads before the land was purchased for the college, Liz might have assumed that Somerville had been offering a quality liberal arts education to upper-class students for more than a century.
This was the last place she’d expect a murder.
The school was a private institution, with tuition comparable to Penn State, but Somerville had already received national acclaim for the high priority of academics over sports. Liz knew how lucky she was to hold a full professorship here, even if she’d been forced to face old demons and memories of Jack Rafferty to accept the position.
She mulled over how lucky she was to have a position in such a respected school as she pulled into the parking area. Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself to enter Jacobs Hall and walk down the corridor—a simple act that had been routine until yesterday.
“Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered. “You can do this.”
The morning was sunny, so she chose a parking space under a big pin oak. As she was getting out of the car, she heard the roar of a motorcycle, and quickly turned to see a black and silver Harley coming toward her. It looked like the same bike she’d seen yesterday.
Liz hesitated, uncertain. Should she wait to see who the rider was or be cautious and go inside? Curiosity won out. She was pretending to check her door lock as the driver braked and tugged off his helmet.
“Morning, Lizzy.”
“Jack?” She turned and stared at him, her throat dry, tongue frozen to the roof of her mouth.
Jack Rafferty was trouble in tight jeans. His dark hair was frosted with streaks of gray, but the years had only honed his roguish looks and air of danger.
Pirates
, her dad had called the Rafferty brothers. No description could have fitted Jack better. Give the man a cutlass, and he could have stepped off the set of a Johnny Depp movie.
Liz felt a chill as she realized that Jack had been the stranger she’d seen driving away yesterday morning. He’d called her in the middle of the night to ask about Tracy’s murder. And he’d never explained exactly how he’d gotten her unlisted phone number.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. The years had been good to him. His craggy features were a little more weathered, but it was the same old Jack. Liz experienced the breathless sensation of leaping blindfolded into an abyss.
“I was looking for you,” Jack said. “I went by your place, but you’d already left.”
“You went to my house?”
“It’s not like I don’t know the way.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
“We’re not exactly strangers, Lizzy.”
“I saw you in this lot yesterday morning.”
“Dropping Tracy off. She told me she had an appointment with you.”
“She did.” Liz glanced around. Ernie Baker, one of the security staff, was coming around the corner of the building. “Why did you bring her to school?” she asked Jack.
“I told you. Somebody slashed her tires. She asked for a ride.”
“The weather was good. Why weren’t you out on the bay fishing?”
“What is this? Twenty questions? You think I killed
Apparently, her luck had changed. When she turned the key, the engine started. She called Michael to tell him she wouldn’t need a ride, got ready, and drove to the college, arriving there by seven-thirty.
Somerville was a relatively new school, established only ten years ago, but Liz thought that the architects had done a marvelous job of blending the two-story, whitewashed brick buildings with the eighteenth-century mansion that had once been the heart of a colonial plantation.
Massive oak trees, stone walls, and boxwood hedges graced the rolling green lawns adorned with marble fountains and wrought-iron benches. If she hadn’t remembered the dairy farms that had been on either side of the crossroads before the land was purchased for the college, Liz might have assumed that Somerville had been offering a quality liberal arts education to upper-class students for more than a century.
This was the last place she’d expect a murder.
The school was a private institution, with tuition comparable to Penn State, but Somerville had already received national acclaim for the high priority of academics over sports. Liz knew how lucky she was to hold a full professorship here, even if she’d been forced to face old demons and memories of Jack Rafferty to accept the position.
She mulled over how lucky she was to have a position in such a respected school as she pulled into the parking area. Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself to enter Jacobs Hall and walk down the corridor—a simple act that had been routine until yesterday.
“Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered. “You can do this.”
The morning was sunny, so she chose a parking space under a big pin oak. As she was getting out of the car, she heard the roar of a motorcycle, and quickly turned to see a black and silver Harley coming toward her. It looked like the same bike she’d seen yesterday.
Liz hesitated, uncertain. Should she wait to see who the rider was or be cautious and go inside? Curiosity won out. She was pretending to check her door lock as the driver braked and tugged off his helmet.
“Morning, Lizzy.”
“Jack?” She turned and stared at him, her throat dry, tongue frozen to the roof of her mouth.
Jack Rafferty was trouble in tight jeans. His dark hair was frosted with streaks of gray, but the years had only honed his roguish looks and air of danger.
Pirates
, her dad had called the Rafferty brothers. No description could have fitted Jack better. Give the man a cutlass, and he could have stepped off the set of a Johnny Depp movie.
Liz felt a chill as she realized that Jack had been the stranger she’d seen driving away yesterday morning. He’d called her in the middle of the night to ask about Tracy’s murder. And he’d never explained exactly how he’d gotten her unlisted phone number.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. The years had been good to him. His craggy features were a little more weathered, but it was the same old Jack. Liz experienced the breathless sensation of leaping blindfolded into an abyss.
“I was looking for you,” Jack said. “I went by your place, but you’d already left.”
“You went to my house?”
“It’s not like I don’t know the way.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
“We’re not exactly strangers, Lizzy.”
“I saw you in this lot yesterday morning.”
“Dropping Tracy off. She told me she had an appointment with you.”
“She did.” Liz glanced around. Ernie Baker, one of the security staff, was coming around the corner of the building. “Why did you bring her to school?” she asked Jack.
“I told you. Somebody slashed her tires. She asked for a ride.”
“The weather was good. Why weren’t you out on the bay fishing?”
“What is this? Twenty questions? You think I killed
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