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next to a crying baby. Need I say more?”
    “Nope,” Leander replied sympathetically. “You don’t. I’m sorry about this—I really am. The professor was a very nice man.”
    “Yes,” Devlin agreed soberly. “He was. I took one of his classes when I was working on my masters and we hit it off. He was the perfect mentor…. Part parent, part coach, and part Attila the Hun.”
    Leander laughed. Originally, when McCracken had come in to discuss his estate, the attorney had assumed that there was some sort of sexual relationship between the aging academic and the young Sara Devlin. Now the lawyer wasn’t so sure. Devlin was pretty in a rough and ready sort of way, but certainly didn’t come across as a gold digger, and the lawyer warmed accordingly. “Yes, I was fortunate enough to have a mentor like that. Except he was my father—and more Attila the Hun than coach.”
    Devlin smiled. “Well, it worked!”
    “Yeah,” Leander agreed. “I guess it did. We might as well get started. I have some good news and some bad news…. Which would you like to hear first?”
    “I’ll take the
good
news,” the parasitologist said hopefully. “Maybe it will outweigh the bad.”
    “Okay,” the attorney said noncommittally. “Here’s the good news…. The house that Mrs. McCracken inherited from her parents, and passed along to Professor McCracken at the time of her death, continues to appreciate. We’ll have to get an official appraisal of course, but given its size and location, I suspect that the home is worth something in excess of $750,000.”
    Devlin’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”
    “Oh, but I am,” Leander assured her. “And, even though the professor’s life insurance was nullified when he committed suicide, he made some pretty good investments. Plus there’s a couple of vehicles. So, once everything is tallied, I won’t be surprised if you inherit something in excess of a million-dollars.”
    Outside of the modest amount of money inherited from her parents, all of which had gone to pay off student loans, Devlin had never had very many material possessions. Nor had she spent much time thinking about money, other than the never-ending need to find grants, which are the life’s blood of scientific research. So the revelation not only left her stunned but brought an unexpected flood of tears as the scientist thought about Mac and the manner of his death. Leander had a box of Kleenex ready for such occasions and passed it across. Devlin took two tissues and dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry…. You said there’s some bad news.”
    “Yes,” Leander said reluctantly. “I did. You see Professor McCracken didn’t leave a suicide note—not in the normal sense of that term. What he
did
leave were some rather detailed instructions.”
    Devlin frowned. “And?”
    The attorney placed both forearms on his desk. “
And
, even though the professor knew what the cause of his death would be, he left orders that a private autopsy be conducted subsequent to the one required by law. That’s unusual, but what’s even more remarkable, is his insistence that
you
be present during the procedure.”
    Devlin sat up straight and frowned. “
Me
? Why?”
    Leander shrugged. “I don’t know…. There’s no need to go of course—and it would probably be better if you didn’t.”
    Devlin’s eyes fell, but when she looked up again, they were filled with determination. “If Mac wanted an autopsy, then there was a reason. Give me a time and place, and I’ll be there.”
    For the first time Leander became conscious of the fact that her eyes were green,
very
green, and ice cold. He nodded gravely. “We haven’t known each other for very long…but for some reason I’m not surprised.”
    ***
    The dim winter light had already begun to fade by the time the taxi delivered Devlin to what she still thought of as Professor McCracken’s house. A tall, dignified three-story structure, that had been built by his