Free The Jinx by Jennifer Sturman

lot of time hoping he wouldn’t open his mouth. A professor was assigned to each section as its leader, acting as an ombudsman of sorts.
    â€œThat’s good. What did he say?”
    â€œProfessor Beasley said he would take a look and help her figure out whether she should report the letters to campus security.”
    â€œProfessor Beasley? Is he new?” The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember a Professor Beasley.
    â€œI think he’s been around for a couple of years.”
    â€œWell, given what happened this morning, it seems like he should definitely tell the police.”
    â€œI think so, too. I was going to go see him later, but I don’t want to leave Sara right now. I called and left a message but he was in class.”
    â€œI’ll tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t I go talk to Professor Beasley?”
    â€œWould you do that? I’d feel so much better if I knew somebody was looking into it, but for all I know, he doesn’t even know what’s happened to Sara yet.”
    â€œWell, I’ll make sure he knows.”
    â€œThat would be great,” Edie said, visibly relieved. “I’d just hate to leave before Sara wakes up.”
    We exchanged cell-phone numbers so I could call her after I’d spoken to Professor Beasley and she could let me know when Sara awakened.
    Â 
    I called Cecelia back at the hotel as I left UHS, explaining what had happened. It was just after noon, and interviews wouldn’t resume until two o’clock. I hoped that I could get to Professor Beasley’s office, talk to him and make it back to the Charles in time for the afternoon’s interview schedule. I also tried Peter’s cell phone again.
    He picked up this time, but he sounded harried.
    â€œHi, it’s me.”
    â€œOh, hi, Rachel. What’s up?” His greeting was warm but rushed.
    Just as I was about to relate the morning’s events, it occurred to me that given how busy he was, and how stressed, unloading on him right now was probably not the most considerate thing a supportive girlfriend could do. “Nothing,” I said lamely. “Just wanted to say hello.”
    â€œGreat. Hi.” I heard a voice in the background, and a trill of female laughter. “Listen, I’m sort of in the middle of something right now. Abigail and I are at her hotel, refining our proposal for this pitch. Things are really heating up. Could I give you a call back later?”
    â€œUm, sure,” I said.
    â€œOkay. Talk to you later.”
    I started to ask him about our dinner plans, but he’d already hung up.
    I know it was irrational, but I felt annoyed, even while recognizing that there were plenty of times when Peter called me and I couldn’t talk. But the laughter I heard tapped into some well of insecurity in my heart, and the thought of Peter and Abigail working closely together in a hotel room wasn’t a particularly welcome one.
    Stop it, I told myself. It’s Peter. You have nothing to worry about. He’s just busy.
    With his gazellelike business associate, a mean little voice in my head reminded me. In a private place with a big bed. I shushed the voice, but not before registering a flash of jealousy so intense it made my stomach churn.
    I’d reached the river and was passing the boathouse once more. There were only a couple of police cars left now, but the yellow crime-scene tape was still up. I crossed the bridge, leaning into the wind coming off the water and burrowing my hands in my pockets. I tried to take my mind off Peter and Abigail, and instead imagined what Professor Beasley would be like.
    Old, I decided. Very old. With a walking stick, bow tie and lockjaw, like the professor in The Paper Chase. But imagining the decrepit Professor Beasley did little to quell the anxiety that my truncated conversation with Peter had stirred. I crossed Storrow Drive to Harvard Street and then took a