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something to you first.”

CHAPTER TEN
    W hy hadn't she started this sooner? Iris thought as she stomped up the open steel stairway to the fourth level. It was the last Friday in September and her interim student evaluations were due today, but she couldn't get the GSD website to accept her password. Even web-savvy Ellie hadn't been able to figure out what the problem was. So now she needed to take a break in the middle of Studio to throw herself on the mercy of Peg, Gilles' assistant, who would undoubtedly scold her for leaving things to the last minute.
    Peg was a woman of advanced years, with a head of improbably red hair. She sat at her desk in the reception area outside Gilles' office and controlled access to her boss with fierce loyalty. She peered at her computer screen through her thick eyeglasses before finally looking up.
    “Professor Reid, I noticed that you haven't submitted your student forms yet.” The faint accusation was delivered in a nasal midwestern accent.
    Iris explained her dilemma, then watched Peg's computer screen over the older woman's shoulder as she tried to trouble-shoot the problem. This gave Iris a close-up view of the gray roots on the back of Peg's scalp, no doubt overlooked during a home dye job.
    Peg instructed Iris to type in her password, and looked away while Iris carefully did so. The “password incorrect” message shot back.
    “Are you sure you're remembering your password correctly? Did you write it down anywhere?”
    “Of course I remember it. I always use the same one.”
    Peg gave her an appalled look. “That's how people get their identities stolen.” She glanced down at a metal corner peeking out of Iris' tote bag. “Good, you brought your laptop. Sit here and open up your e-mail so you can get a new password.”
    Iris opened her e-mail account, retrieved a change-password message page and cast her eyes to the ceiling, trying to think of a word she would be likely to remember, other than 'Sheba1,' her usual one. When prompted she typed in “Luccormier.”
    At the sound of a light tap-tap on the doorframe, both women looked up. A preteen girl in a plaid school uniform appeared in the doorway. She had black-fringed hazel eyes, innocently beautiful.
    Peg looked up, focused on the girl, and asked “May I help you, dear?”
    “I'm looking for Professor DeWitt's office.” The girl's voice was soft and she seemed nervous.
    Peg pointed. “It's number 414, about eight doors down on your right.”
    As the door swung shut again, they could hear light footsteps recede down the hallway.
    Iris hit a button on her keyboard, and her student evaluation page emerged on the screen.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    S heba's stubby Bassett Hound leg waggled in time to Iris' rhythmic belly patting as they sprawled together on the leather Corbusier sofa in Iris' living room.
    “Uh, oh. This poor guy's in trouble, Sheba. The next clue says he has to find unpasteurized cheese in the middle of Detroit. I can't watch.” But Iris' eyes remained glued to the TV. Sure enough, the latest Urban Survivor -hopeful, a software salesman from New Mexico, could be seen racing wild-eyed through the Motor City's mean streets, fruitlessly confronting people for the location of a gourmet grocery. Meanwhile, his opponent, a blackjack dealer from New Jersey with the improbable name of Shelli, was trying to track down a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig in the middle of St. Louis, a far harder task in Iris' estimation. It would be one thing if they were allowed to have their smart phones. Back in the studio, the show's hosts made snarky comments about the contestants' progress while the studio audience shouted out encouragement for their favorite player.
    But the spell of the show was broken when a commercial for Fluffy's Fiesta cat food came on and Sheba lifted her head suspiciously from the sofa. When a clowder of cats started mewing on screen, Sheba growled deep in her throat.
    Why am I watching this? Iris clicked off the