professor?”
“Yes.” Nina cleared her throat. “At least, that was what I understood.”
“And no one else has seen it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then who wrote the article?”
“What?”
“The article you read about this case. If only one person has seen the letter, I’d have to assume the person who wrote the article was the relative who had the letter.”
“I suppose.” Nina nodded. “That makes sense.”
“So why hasn’t this person gone to the police with the letter? Wouldn’t you think that that would be the first thing they’d do?” Regan turned to her. “If it was someone in your family, wouldn’t you want his name cleared as soon as possible?”
“Yes, I do.” She caught herself. “I mean, I would. Of course I would.”
“What was his name?”
“His name?”
“The professor. I want to pull up everything I can find about him, but I need his name.”
“I . . . I don’t remember his name.”
Nina could feel Regan’s eyes studying her. She should have anticipated this, should have realized that Regan would not be content with supposition. She’d want to go straight to the source and find every scrap of information possible about the case. Suddenly, Nina felt uncomfortable, trapped.
“It’s really going to be tough to work on this without knowing the names of any of the players, Nina.” Regan spoke nonchalantly, but Nina knew there was nothing casual about Regan’s curiosity.
She was debating whether to tell her the truth when the phone rang.
Yay,
Nina thought. Saved by the bell, literally. She immediately began to think of ways to distract Regan when she completed her call. Maybe she could suggest that they watch a movie. Or go for a walk . . . or shopping . . .
Regan glanced at the caller ID.
“Oh, good. It’s Mitch.” Her face brightened.
Whoever Mitch was, Nina was thinking, he certainly put a smile on Regan’s face. She tried to recall what Regan had said about this new man in her life.
“Hey. Hi,” Regan said as she answered the phone. “How are you?”
Regan toyed with her spoon as she listened to the caller.
“I didn’t forget. Why not pick me up on Friday, and we’ll drive up together? That would be fine. Hey, Mitch? While I have you on the phone . . . I could use those expert computer skills of yours. Not to mention that super-fab FBI equipment . . .”
Nina froze in her seat, recalling the conversation she’d had with Regan a few weeks ago. Her heart sank as it all came back to her. Mitch was a special agent with the FBI.
She gnawed at her fingernails as she listened to Regan repeating the facts she’d shared earlier, and chastised herself for being so stupid. How could she have thought for one moment that Regan wouldn’t be able to trace the case? What would she think of her once she found out the truth? Would she ask for another editor? How could someone like Regan, who’d had such a wonderful and open relationship with her own father, possibly understand Nina’s situation?
Still chatting, Regan rose and took her coffee cup into the kitchen. She turned in the doorway and mouthed the words,
Would you like a refill?
to Nina, who shook her head to decline.
From the next room, Nina could hear scraps of Regan’s conversation. She and Mitch were obviously discussing various ways to prove or disprove the allegations made in the professor’s letter. Nina’s stomach was in knots. She stood up and went into the hall and grabbed her jacket from the newel post where Regan had laid it earlier. She slid her arms into the sleeves, and went out through the front door. Kicking through the leaves that had fallen from the lone oak tree behind the garage, she walked around the house and followed the walk down to the dock. She stood and watched the fog roll in from the bay, and tried to sort out her feelings.
On the one hand, what would it matter if Regan knew the truth? They were friends, weren’t they? Hadn’t they been friends long enough
“Yes.” Nina cleared her throat. “At least, that was what I understood.”
“And no one else has seen it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then who wrote the article?”
“What?”
“The article you read about this case. If only one person has seen the letter, I’d have to assume the person who wrote the article was the relative who had the letter.”
“I suppose.” Nina nodded. “That makes sense.”
“So why hasn’t this person gone to the police with the letter? Wouldn’t you think that that would be the first thing they’d do?” Regan turned to her. “If it was someone in your family, wouldn’t you want his name cleared as soon as possible?”
“Yes, I do.” She caught herself. “I mean, I would. Of course I would.”
“What was his name?”
“His name?”
“The professor. I want to pull up everything I can find about him, but I need his name.”
“I . . . I don’t remember his name.”
Nina could feel Regan’s eyes studying her. She should have anticipated this, should have realized that Regan would not be content with supposition. She’d want to go straight to the source and find every scrap of information possible about the case. Suddenly, Nina felt uncomfortable, trapped.
“It’s really going to be tough to work on this without knowing the names of any of the players, Nina.” Regan spoke nonchalantly, but Nina knew there was nothing casual about Regan’s curiosity.
She was debating whether to tell her the truth when the phone rang.
Yay,
Nina thought. Saved by the bell, literally. She immediately began to think of ways to distract Regan when she completed her call. Maybe she could suggest that they watch a movie. Or go for a walk . . . or shopping . . .
Regan glanced at the caller ID.
“Oh, good. It’s Mitch.” Her face brightened.
Whoever Mitch was, Nina was thinking, he certainly put a smile on Regan’s face. She tried to recall what Regan had said about this new man in her life.
“Hey. Hi,” Regan said as she answered the phone. “How are you?”
Regan toyed with her spoon as she listened to the caller.
“I didn’t forget. Why not pick me up on Friday, and we’ll drive up together? That would be fine. Hey, Mitch? While I have you on the phone . . . I could use those expert computer skills of yours. Not to mention that super-fab FBI equipment . . .”
Nina froze in her seat, recalling the conversation she’d had with Regan a few weeks ago. Her heart sank as it all came back to her. Mitch was a special agent with the FBI.
She gnawed at her fingernails as she listened to Regan repeating the facts she’d shared earlier, and chastised herself for being so stupid. How could she have thought for one moment that Regan wouldn’t be able to trace the case? What would she think of her once she found out the truth? Would she ask for another editor? How could someone like Regan, who’d had such a wonderful and open relationship with her own father, possibly understand Nina’s situation?
Still chatting, Regan rose and took her coffee cup into the kitchen. She turned in the doorway and mouthed the words,
Would you like a refill?
to Nina, who shook her head to decline.
From the next room, Nina could hear scraps of Regan’s conversation. She and Mitch were obviously discussing various ways to prove or disprove the allegations made in the professor’s letter. Nina’s stomach was in knots. She stood up and went into the hall and grabbed her jacket from the newel post where Regan had laid it earlier. She slid her arms into the sleeves, and went out through the front door. Kicking through the leaves that had fallen from the lone oak tree behind the garage, she walked around the house and followed the walk down to the dock. She stood and watched the fog roll in from the bay, and tried to sort out her feelings.
On the one hand, what would it matter if Regan knew the truth? They were friends, weren’t they? Hadn’t they been friends long enough
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