Free Conundrum by Susan Cory

their status on his computer screen. At least none of them had checked out.
    According to the reunion schedule, if they were following it, the group would be attending what was dubbed ‘picnic on the lawn’ at GSD at noon, followed by a round-table discussion in the auditorium on “ Unmodernism ” led by Roger Barton, the class Boy Scout.
    She left the hotel and raced to her Jeep just as a meter maid approached brandishing a ticket pad. Iris smiled triumphantly as she started the engine and squealed out into the congested streets of Harvard Square. She crawled along the dozen blocks toward the GSD, her eyes scanning for another parking place. She should have walked the mile from home or even fed the meter and left her car in the square.
    The design of Gund Hall, which housed the Graduate School of Design, made no pretense of fitting into its context. Amid the brick Georgian architecture of the nearby quadrangles, Gund Hall rose as a stand-alone testament to 1960’s concrete Brutalism. The building resembled a giant football bleacher with each floor as a rising step. Outside, you entered the building by walking under the giant top step, which rested on tall, skinny columns, an entry that was more menacing than welcoming. Iris hurried through lobby and lunchroom to the back lawn.
    She saw a long line of people snaking past Roger Barton, who was punching lunch vouchers and handing out book bags stamped with GSD emblems.
    “Hey there, Iris! We missed you this morning at the brunch,” he called to her gaily, unaware of her new status as a murder suspect.
    As she filled out a name tag, she heard another voice behind her.
    “Roger, have you seen G.B. anywhere?”
    Iris half-turned to eye a well-built young man with a purposefully clenched jaw.
    “I think he’s in the auditorium setting up for the symposium, Steve,” Roger gestured vaguely.
    Iris bustled back into the building after Steve, but instead of following him straight ahead to the lobby she turned left toward the open studio levels. She raced up the open stairs two at a time and out the back of the second floor studio into a deserted hallway. After sprinting down its length, she tried to quiet her ragged breathing and cautiously pushed open the door to the auditorium’s balcony. Ducking down to crawl as she reached the balcony’s edge, she heard Steve’s raised voice below.
    “Why didn’t you give me some notice? Please— you made me look like a moron. I can’t prepare to cover one of your semiotics classes with no advanced warning.”
    She could barely hear G.B.’s placating response.
    “… sorry … it was a… yesterday… never… terribly…” he soothed.
    Iris eased back onto her haunches. So, G.B. had blown off teaching his semiotics class the day before. The day that Will was murdered.
    “I just need you to understand. You put me in an awkward position.”
    There was some more indecipherable conversation, then one of Piper Auditorium’s enormous doors slammed shut.
    Iris backtracked to the hall and took the fire stairs up to the fourth floor administration level. The bulletin board she remembered was still hanging outside the Registrar’s office. She scanned the schedule for the architecture classes. Professor Broussard’s Semiotic class met on Fridays from one until three. O- kaaay . He’s definitely on the suspect list.
    Pleased by her discovery, Iris descended to the first floor, prepared to unmask the secrets of the other suspects. She spotted her first quarry sitting on a spread of napkins which had been arranged on the patchy ground under a towering elm. Alyssa’s blue sweater and white pants stood out from the sea of black and grey architectural mufti around her.
    “Hi, Alyssa. Hello Adam. We didn’t get much of a chance to talk last night. Did you have to stay long with the detective?”
    Alyssa eyed her warily and snapped “Will was our friend.” Adam silently glowered.
    “And he was my boyfriend, remember?” Iris