Free Conundrum by Susan Cory Page B

class star.”
    “Yeah, strange and tragic. Listen, if you think of anything else, maybe something that happened during the party, would you please give me a call? I have a card here somewhere…” She fished one out of her purse.
    People around them were getting up and moving into the building. Patty stood up and brushed the crumbs off her skirt. “Are you going in to hear the panel?”
    “I don’t think so. I’ll catch you later, Patty. It’s been good to see you again.”
    By now, most people had wandered inside either to snag a good seat in the auditorium or to look at the lobby-mounted exhibits of work by the reunion class. Iris headed for the lobby. Some foresighted administrator must have stored a sampling of presentation boards from back then for precisely this purpose— to flatter alumni into opening up their checkbooks.
    The display brought back a flood of memories. The first presentation was of a Michael Graves knock-off of a housing project— a beautifully painted watercolor of a building that looked like a cartoon. While the structure itself was a half-baked pastiche of post-Modernist clichés, every tree and window mullion had been lovingly rendered. It was Adam’s. Iris remembered how excruciating his final review had been, with one critic suggesting he stick to painting watercolors and forget about trying to become an architect. As little respect as she had for the guy, she had felt sorry for him.
    Next to this hung a board that was a total contrast— a complicated slightly messy drawing surrounded by hand-written notes. Carey’s project. What a juxtaposition ; No wonder Adam had been in such a sour mood out on the lawn. He had probably just looked at the show.
    The assignment had been to design public housing, but Carey had designed an entire self-sustaining village. He had argued that low-income housing shouldn’t be ghettoized, but rather integrated into the entire town. She peered at one of the notes, remembering his loopy printing.
    The hand-drafting and freehand-sketching must look quaint to students now, Iris mused. All drawings, even renderings were done on the computer these days. As she swiveled around to look for one of her own projects, she almost bumped into C.C. standing close enough to breathe on her.
    “So, the cops let you go. Or did you tunnel out?”
    “I’m out on good behavior.”
    They eyed each other. Even dressed in baggy shorts and a ‘Design will Save the World!’ T-shirt, C.C. wore a mantle of authority like a fascist dictator or a gym teacher. All that was missing was a riding crop or whistle. How had she ascended the food chain with so little charm? For the first time, Iris wondered about her background.
    “Carey was brilliant, wasn’t he?” Iris turned back to Carey’s board. “I’ll bet he would have accomplished great things if he’d lived.”
    “He was quite the superstar,” C.C. agreed.
    Someone jostled Iris on their way to the auditorium, so she stepped out of the circulation path, moving closer to the wall. She tried to picture the hefty C.C. sneaking up behind Carey on a balcony. If the drugs had kicked in by then surprise wouldn’t have been required in order to topple him over the edge. Then again, most people braced themselves reflexively when C.C. was around. “So, the house in Lincoln. Are you seriously interested in running it?”
    “I am. It’s perfect for our September issue. Norman bent my ear about all the green features. Of course he implied that he did most of the design.”
    “ Ri-i-i-ght ,” Iris said. “I just drafted his ideas. You know, he’s dying for this publicity. He thinks it will enhance his swinging bachelor image.”
    “And you don’t want it? I toured two alternative projects in Connecticut yesterday afternoon before I flew up here, but I like the Lincoln house best. This could be your lucky break, kid.”
    Iris noted that C.C. had just alibied herself for the time of Will’s killing. “When are you intending