Free Deception by Randy Alcorn

asked.
    “As long as your gloves are on. Careful.”
    Clarence shuffled through them. “Mostly Cs and Bs. A few Ds. Not a single A. Either he’s a tough grader or he was in a bad mood.”
    “Or his students are dunderheads,” Carp said.
    Dunderheads? I liked it. She was winning me over.
    “Interesting,” Dr. Hatch said, pointing at the computer monitor.
    “One thing at a time.” I flipped through the stacks. “Fifteen graded. Five to go.”
    Next to the papers were seven piles of playing cards, faceup, with other cards staggered below them.
    “Solitaire?” Abernathy asked.
    “I’ve seen murders over poker, never solitaire. But it gives us the victim’s frame of mind, doesn’t it?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He’d stopped grading papers. If he was playing solitaire, he was bored, wanting to kill time.”
    “Or taking a break from the papers,” Manny said, reappearing. “Rewarding himself.”
    “Or he might have been distracted from his work,” I said. “Knew something was looming. Nervous. Expecting someone? Check out the last card facing up, by the main deck. What do you see, Abernathy?”
    “The ace of spades.”
    “Anything strike you as strange?”
    “No.”
    “It hasn’t been played.”
    “So?”
    “Look, he’s got two aces played above, diamonds and clubs, with a two and a three on it. With this kind of solitaire, when you flip an ace you play it then build on it. It’s a no-brainer. You don’t leave it sitting there like that. You make your play. Unless you’re interrupted.”
    “Meaning what?”
    “He stopped midstream. When someone came to the door, if that’s what happened, he was playing solitaire, not grading papers.”
    I noticed a criminalist poised over the professor’s body, shining a flashlight.
    “What you seeing?” I asked.
    “A strand of hair,” he said. “Not the professor’s.”
    “Perfect,” I said. “Bag it.”
    “Mind if I move that lamp?” Carp asked.
    “Don’t touch anything,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
    “About three inches back from the screen,” Carp said.
    “Hey, I’m here to serve you Trib folks. Can I order you a pizza?”
    “Double pepperoni, double cheese,” Carp said, smiling.
    I froze. “Who told you that?”
    “Told me what?”
    “My favorite pizza. Double pepperoni, double cheese.”
    “That’s my favorite pizza,” Carp said. “Always has been.”
    It was one of those magical moments. If it had been a movie, the music would have changed. Lynn Carpenter was speaking my love language.
    “I’ll search the desk,” I said, eyeing Carp. “Manny, you want to grill the rubbernecks?”
    “Nobody’s done that?” He was out the door, pulling out pad and pen, a warrior looking for a war.
    In the professor’s oak desk, I discovered paper clips, rubber bands, a roll of peppermint BreathSavers, an unopened Snickers bar, reading glasses, three blue and four black Pilot G2 gel pens, three phone numbers without names, a Matt Hasselbeck rookie card, and a Shaun Alexander MVP card. Plus a nearly empty 8.45-ounce bottle of Pelikan fountain pen ink, royal blue.
    I showed the ink bottle to Clarence.
    “They still make fountain pens?” he asked.
    “I just realized,” Carp said, pointing to a corkboard covered with pictures, including a newspaper clipping. “I know this man. I took that picture. He was receiving the Rotary Club community service award.” She scanned the article. “For his ‘investment in the lives of young people.’ It goes to one college professor each year.”
    “When was it taken?” I asked.
    “June, I think.” She stepped closer. “Yeah. The June 13 edition. So I took it June 12.”
    “What was he like?”
    “Seemed a bit … taken with himself.”
    “Yeah,” I said, stepping in close beside her to view the picture. “Some men can be real jerks. Not every man’s humble and sensitive like me.”
    She nodded knowingly.
    “What’ve you found, Chandler?” Another familiar voice. I