Dear Irene

There was another pause before he asked, “Where?”

“You live near campus?”

“Yes.”

“You have classes today?”

“No, winter break is just starting. Finals just ended.”

“Hmm. What about the Garden Cafe – is it still around?”

“Yes. That sounds fine.”

I described what I was wearing and arranged to meet him at this old college haunt in half an hour. I hung up and wondered at the differences between this man and Henry Taylor. Taylor had seemed no more personally affected by Edna Blaylock’s death than a man reading about a flood in a distant country. Kincaid, on the other hand, sounded as if he was just keeping his head above water.

Just before I left, I stopped in to see John, and told him of my plan to meet with Kincaid.

“Watch out, Kelly. For all we know, he could be the one who killed her.”

“He had an alibi, John.”

“You’ve covered trials. I don’t need to tell you that sometimes an alibi can be pretty easy to come by.”

I shrugged. “Maybe so. But then again, maybe this kid is i

“And if he gives you any information? Is this going straight to Frank’s ears?”

“That’s why I came in to talk to you. I won’t talk to Frank if you tell me not to. I just need to know where the paper stands on all of this.”

“You’ve got an obligation to Kincaid. He can’t act as a source and not be made aware of what you plan to do with the information. If he asks for confidentiality, he should get it.

“On the other hand, I’m not overlooking our obligation to the community. Had a long talk with Frank about this, and later with his lieutenant – what’s his name?”

“Carlson.”

“Yeah, well, we’re all on thin ice here. And if Wrigley gets word of this, we could both end up sending out our résumés. For now, I’d prefer you talk things over with me before you say a word to anyone co

“Sure. I’m going to be pestering you a lot, but I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

“Well, let’s just play it this way for now. Now scram. You’re going to miss Kincaid and deadline both if you don’t get a move on.”

THE GARDEN CAFE hadn’t changed much since the 1970s, other than the clothing and hairstyles of the clientele, and even some of those were the same. It was a college hangout when Lydia and I were students, as it had been twenty years before we started school. The walls were covered with photos of Las Piernas from about 1910 up to the present day. There was no particular theme, except that after the cafe’s founding in the 1950s, photos of alumni who had made good decorated portions of the wall behind the old-fashioned cash register. I wasn’t up there.

The “garden” was a small enclosure behind glass that featured a couple of ficus trees, a few ferns, and a small fountain. They used to have finches in there, but every once in a while they’d bang up against the glass and kill themselves, which didn’t do much for the appetites of the customers who saw it happen. So the birds had been gone for some time.

I stood by the door, catching snippets of conversations that ranged from the Lakers’ chances to go all the way this year to whether or not the Stanford-Binet tests were a valid measure of intelligence. There were one or two people who looked like they might be faculty members, but I was definitely an oldster in this crowd.

A few people turned my way when I walked in, but nobody seemed to take special notice. I was a few minutes early, but wondered if Kincaid was already there. I looked to see if anyone might be trying to attract my attention. I saw a self-conscious young man peering up at me over the rim of his glasses. He studied me for a while, and I figured him to be Kincaid. He was ski

“Miss Kelly?”

I jumped and turned to look behind me, where the voice had come from. I was almost nose-to-nose with one of the most gorgeous men I have ever laid eyes on. And he knew my name.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He extended a hand. “I’m Steven Kincaid.”

I decided to close my gaping mouth before I gave him enough time to examine my dental work, and reached out with my right hand. He glanced down and noticed the swelling, and gave me a gentle but warm handshake. I was still speechless.

He gri

“You’re not what I expected,” he said, and led the way toward the back of the cafe. With his back to me, I was able to shake myself out of the daze I was in and follow him. I thought of Frank and felt a wave of guilt, then smiled to myself. I could enjoy looking at Frank for a hundred years, go blind, and still want to be next to him for another hundred. More than just another bo

Feeling my equilibrium return, I sat down across from Steven Kincaid in the last booth outside the kitchen. It was only then that I realized that conversations had been dropping off in volume or halting all together, and that some people were openly staring at us. Kincaid saw me looking around and said, “I’m afraid I’ve become notorious, at least around campus.” He swallowed hard. “Some of them probably think I killed E.J.”

“E.J.?”

“Professor Blaylock. Her name was Edna Juliana Blaylock. She was E.J. to her friends.”

“If you’re uncomfortable here, we can go somewhere else.”

He shook his head. “Might as well face up to it. I have nothing to be ashamed of. People think E.J. and I were trying to be clandestine. We were only trying to be discreet. There is a difference.”

A waiter came over and brought menus. I wasn’t hungry, so I used the opportunity to study the man across the table. I guessed him to be in his mid-to-late twenties. He had easy-to-look-at masculine features: a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and cobalt blue eyes with dark lashes. His hair was almost jet black. His skin had the kind of tan a person has in December only if they regularly enjoy some kind of outdoor activity. He wore blue jeans and a light blue shirt, and filled both of them out just fine. He had a broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, athletic build. Probably could win an election for “defines handsome” without going into a runoff.

But there were dark circles under his eyes, and a kind of tiredness in his face that showed he had been under a strain lately. I noticed then that those eyes were avoiding my own, that he was pretending to be fascinated with a menu he had probably memorized. I realized that I might be making him nervous. People often are jittery around reporters, but I had been so dumbstruck by his appearance that I hadn’t made any small talk or other efforts to get him to relax a little.

“What were you expecting?” I asked.

“What?” He was startled into looking at me.

“You said I wasn’t what you were expecting.”

He looked down at the menu again. “Oh. I guess I was expecting someone – I don’t know – hard-boiled? Tougher?”

I laughed. “Don’t let my appearance deceive you.”

He looked chagrined.

“I’m afraid I’m not doing a very good job of putting you at ease, Mr. Kincaid. As I said, my main interest is in trying to learn enough about Dr. Blaylock to be able to make more sense out of this man who calls himself Thanatos. I’d like to try to figure out who his next victim might be – before it’s too late.”

The waiter reappeared. Kincaid ordered a piece of carrot cake, and it sounded so good I ordered one, too. I was going to have to get back to my ru