Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead (22 page)

“Wait,” he said as she pushed the trousers and boxers down.
“Condom.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t think.”

He wasn’t doing one hell of a lot of thinking right now,
either. Lucky he’d planned ahead. He pulled a packet out of his wallet and let
the wallet fall to the floor. It only took a second to shed pants and socks.
Getting the condom on was becoming a desperate matter, the way Madison kept
smoothing her hands over his thighs and belly, grazing her knuckles down his
erection and watching in apparent fascination as it jerked at her touch.

Somehow he managed to last long enough to slide his fingers
into her wet, warm center, working her until her eyes were dilated near black
and she was grabbing for him, trying to pull him over her. Troy lifted her legs
and sank into her body, a spasm shaking him at the purest pleasure he’d ever
known.

One of her feet ended up braced on the sofa back; he hooked her
other leg over one arm as he drove into her.
Gotta hold
out
was all he could think.
Wait for her, wait
for her,
but damn, he didn’t know if he could.

And then she arched, convulsed and cried out, and he buried his
face against her neck and let himself go. Every muscle in his body locked tight,
his teeth were clenched, and somehow still a guttural groan escaped.

When the tide let out, he sprawled heavily on top of her, too
weak for a minute to move.

I love you.
And his next
thought—prayer—was,
Please don’t let this have been a
payoff.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“I’
M
SORRY
. I
DON
’
T
understand why you want to talk to me,” Margaret
Chaffee nee Berlongieri said, voice stiff. Troy would swear he heard alarm.

Damn, he wished he could see her face. Unfortunately, she lived
in Boise, Idaho, so he’d decided to make this first contact via telephone. Once
Madison had called him with Margaret’s married name, he’d been able to track her
down even though she’d had no contact with the college in twenty-plus years.

“I’m trying to talk to everyone who was at McKenna Center that
night,” he explained yet again.

“I didn’t see anyone else.”

“You did see Sally Yee.”

Silence.

“Ms. Chaffee, I’m making no accusations here. Please talk to
me.”

“I can’t do this,” she said, and hung up on him.

Well, now, wasn’t that interesting? He’d scared this woman. So
far, Troy had gotten a lot of reactions from the people he’d interviewed,
ranging from friendly interest to hostility, but he didn’t think he’d scared the
crap out of anyone yet.

Tomorrow... No, damn it, he’d have to wait and see. But
sometime in the next few days, he was either going to drive or fly to Boise and
surprise Margaret Berlongieri Chaffee.

An hour later, he was deep in conversation with a more
cooperative Wakefield alum.

“Yeah, I’d have to think about who I was living with that
semester.” Art Hampton made a humming sound. “There were four—no, five rooms in
the suite.”

Troy hunched over, notebook on his knee, one eye on the
receptionist at the psychologist’s office, where he was waiting for his mother.
He didn’t want to be overheard, but he couldn’t afford to waste the hour she was
in there, either, especially not during the middle of the day.

“I remember three of us hooked up,” his informant said.
“Buddies of mine, I mean. We were trying to find five so we didn’t get stuck
living with someone we didn’t like. We ended up bringing a couple of guys in we
didn’t know that well. Juan Hernandez—man, I’d almost forgotten about him. He
was okay. The other one was Gordon Haywood. You know, the guy who is a senator
now, from—I forget what state.”

“Utah.”

“Right.” Hampton sounded amused. “Conservative as all
get-out.”

“Was he then?” Troy asked out of curiosity.

“He was a stuffed shirt, all right. Not that bad, though. He’d
just retreat into his room if the party got too loud, or we lit up...” He
cleared his throat. “Guess I shouldn’t say that.”

Troy repeated his usual line about not being real interested
unless the drug use—or substitute whatever crime the interviewee was getting shy
about—pertained to the murder under investigation.

With a few conversational nudges, he moved Art Hampton around
to the night in question. Hernandez hadn’t been there at all; he’d had a
girlfriend in a house off-campus and by late in the semester had been spending
most nights with her. One of the other guys had been at the library studying for
an Organic Chemistry final with some classmates.

“But Gordie, Drew and I all had Constitutional Law. Another guy
from the class joined us. Bob Schuler. Hey, he’s an attorney there in Frenchman
Lake. All four of us went to law school. Anyway, we stayed up till...had to be
three or four in the morning.”

“None of you left for any length of time?”

He laughed. “No, why would we have? We had a refrigerator and a
john. I didn’t even hear about the murder until after the final the next day. I
don’t think any of us did. Maybe Bob, I don’t know, but Gordie, Drew and I
walked over together.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” Troy told him. “You’ve saved me
having to talk to any of those people, since I know they weren’t anywhere near
McKenna Center that night.”

“Glad I could help,” the other man said. “You really think
you’re going to figure it out, after all these years?”

“Yes.” Troy heard the steel in his voice. “It’s past time.”

He ended the call and brooded over his notes for the remaining
ten minutes of his mother’s appointment. She came out smiling, although he
thought she looked a little shaken. This was her first appointment. But they had
taken a couple more short walks—the last time they made it all the way around
the block.

He took her arm on the way out of the restored brick building
that housed several doctors’ offices and gave her a gentle boost into his
SUV.

“I suppose having lunch would be pushing it?” He couldn’t help
noticing how tightly she was gripping the seat belt strap.

“I think maybe, if you don’t mind.” Then she took a breath.
“You know what I’d love?”

Troy cocked his head at her tone, which was mildly defiant.
“What?”

“A cheeseburger and French fries. And a root beer float. I
haven’t had a lovely, greasy, fast-food meal since... Well, in a long time.”

He grinned at his mother. “Now you’re talking my language.”

Of course, she lectured him on his eating habits and
cholesterol all the way to Dairy Queen, but the price was worth paying.

He knew when they ordered that she wouldn’t come close to
finishing her entire meal, but he liked the way she laughed and slapped his hand
when he stole some of her fries.

When he pulled up in front of her house, she sighed. “Oh, that
tasted so good. I’ll probably be queasy half an hour from now, but it was worth
it.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “When’s our next
appointment?”

She met his eyes squarely. “You don’t have to take me to every
one, you know.”

“I probably won’t be able to,” Troy said honestly. “You know
how it goes with my job. But for now, I’m mostly talking on the phone and making
charts. These first visits have got to be the hardest for you. I’d like to help
as long as I can.”

“You’re a good son.”

“I’m not sure I have been.” Being honest felt more important
these days than it ever had.

“Nonsense.” Mom shook her head. “If you think you should have
noticed sooner, I can only tell you that I worked very hard to make sure you
didn’t.” She paused, sadness shadowing the gray eyes so like his. “I almost
succeeded in fooling myself.”

Maybe fooling ourselves is a family
talent,
Troy thought grimly as he drove away a minute later.

He yanked himself back. He’d made up his mind he wasn’t going
to think about Madison today, and by God he’d stick to his vow. He’d call her
one more time—once he reached her father, so she’d know the plan—but after that,
she would have to decide for herself how much Troy mattered to her.

His phone rang as he was pulling into the lot behind the police
station. He braked and reached for it, immediately recognizing the number. Speak
of the devil.

“Detective Troyer,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Guy Laclaire. Returning your call.”

Troy found a parking spot and turned off the engine. “Mr.
Laclaire, I imagine you’ve heard that we have reopened the investigation into
the murder of Mitchell King.”

“My daughter told me,” he said tersely.

“I’m going to need to speak to you, face-to-face. A witness
places you at McKenna Center that night.” He braced himself for the blast.

It never came. “May I ask what witness?” Laclaire sounded tense
but civil.

“My father. Joe Troyer.”

“What the hell...?” The shock was easy to hear. “I understood
he’d passed away.”

“Yes, he did. However, he left a written description of the
events of that night.” Troy had debated how much to say up front, and decided to
keep it to the bare minimum. “I can come to Portland this week, if you’ll be
available.”

Madison’s father gave a harsh laugh. “Are you going to
recommend I include my attorney in this interview?”

“That is entirely up to you, Mr. Laclaire.”

The other man swore. There was a long silence. “I’m sure you’re
aware my daughter works at Wakefield College.”

“Yes.” Shit, he thought—what if Madison denied to her father
having any close acquaintance at all with Troy? His teeth ground together.
So be it.

“I think,” Laclaire said slowly, “that I’d prefer to come to
you, Detective. Let me check my calendar.” Another pause ensued. “Would Friday
work?”

This was Wednesday. Friday suited Troy just fine. They made an
appointment for early afternoon. Neither man said goodbye.

Speaking of shit—it was about to hit the fan. Troy suspected
Guy was calling his daughter even now.

He rubbed his belly as he got out of the Tahoe and locked it.
Fast food hadn’t been a good choice. Then he grunted. Maybe he should be glad he
could blame a cheeseburger for the uneasy stirring inside.

* * *

“D
ID
YOU
KNOW
this was coming?” were the first words out of her father’s mouth, cold and
cutting.

Anger burst in her chest, but Madison couldn’t trust it to
last. Had she ever stood up to her father when he was in this mood?

“What is
this?
” she asked
carefully.

“A goddamn cop has the balls to inform me that I’m a suspect in
Mitch King’s murder.”

Shocked, she repeated, “A suspect? He said that?”

“Not in those words,” Dad said impatiently. “He told me his own
damn father saw me running away from McKenna that night. What’s the department
thinking, letting him investigate when he has that kind of bias?”

“Why would that give him a bias?” she asked. “His father’s
dead.”

Silence. Madison realized her mistake.

“You knew he was investigating.”

“Of course I knew,” she snapped. “Everyone knows. I told you
there was a witness. You blew me off.” The anger carried her on, however stunned
she was to be speaking like this to him. “No,” she corrected herself. “You lied
to me, didn’t you?”

“Watch yourself.” This was close to a snarl.

Madison discovered she was shaking. Cowed, the way he
intended—but not so much that she wasn’t still mad.

She didn’t have to listen when he was like this. She didn’t
have to talk to him at all.

Feeling numb and more than a little shocked at herself, she
took the phone away from her ear, although he was now saying something else, and
cut him off. She dropped the phone in her purse and didn’t even check to see who
was calling when it rang again a moment later.

Opening the file on her desk, she stared at it blankly for a
moment, then with an effort of will made herself focus. Making reservations at a
restaurant in Memphis, Tennessee, that had been recommended to her because it
offered excellent food and a room large enough to accommodate an “On the Road
With” evening. Yes, that’s what had been next on her to-do list.

For this event, Wakefield Assistant Professor of Geology Jared
Andrus would be talking about the confluence of science and man, specifically as
it related to controlling the Mississippi River. Madison was considering joining
him; she had yet to visit the South in her role as director of alumni relations.
If she made the trip, she’d extend it with some meetings with prominent alums in
a three- or four-state area.

The phone in her purse rang again. Without looking, she reached
in and muted it.
Take that
.

She double-checked details, then made the call to the
restaurant manager, who was delighted to accommodate her event. She recommended
a neighboring hotel should Madison wish to reserve a small block of rooms. A
glance at her notes confirmed that the particular hotel was already on her list.
She took another look online, then made that call, too. All she needed was a few
more details from Professor Andrus about his talk, and she’d be ready to write
the letter to be sent to alumni within a five-state radius. She should be able
to get a save-the-date message on the website by tomorrow....

Her purse jumped and vibrated. She pushed it farther under her
desk with one foot.

Troy might be calling... But Madison didn’t want to talk to
him, either. Not yet, anyway. She still hadn’t come to terms with last night or
what it meant. Making love with Troy had been the most astonishing experience of
her life. But she couldn’t forget the way she’d begged. Or the question he’d
tried to ask her.

It has to be mutual, not...
Not
what? What had he thought?

God. He hadn’t made love to her out of
pity,
had he? He’d certainly been reluctant.

I’m getting the feeling you’re more
interested in the investigation than you are in me. You and I are never
alone, Madison. Your father’s always here, too.

She’d tried to deny it. That’s when she’d begged him not to go.
Not like this,
she had said.

How
should
I
leave?
She hadn’t entirely been able to pin down what his tone meant,
but now she thought it was contempt. He’d been impatient, even disgusted.
Because she was so pathetically hung up on her daddy’s opinion.

The quiver she felt, a kind of shriveling, made her
feel
pathetic. The next minute, her chin came up. She
didn’t deserve his contempt.
He’d
been obsessed with
his father, too. They’d sympathized. He kept saying, “I understand, Madison.”
Apparently, like her father, Troy had lied, or his compassion and understanding
had limits.

No, she definitely didn’t want to talk to him, either. Not yet.
Not until she understood better why she was scared and furious and confused, all
at the same time. Why a part of her
wanted
to find
out Dad had done something really sleazy, as if that would justify all the anger
she’d tamped down so well she’d hardly known it was there.

Oh, heavens—Dad and Troy would be sitting down together, and
not in a friendly “meet the family” way. She could just hear her father, tone
and words intended to freeze the insolent young police officer who dared to
question
him.
And Troy—she already knew what Troy
thought of her father, and that was partly her fault.