Free An Educated Death by Kate Flora Page A

murder investigations has left her extremely cautious." Dorrie's reconciliation technique reminded me of the way I was taught to darn socks. First you circle the hole with thread and gently pull the thread tight until you've closed the gap as much as possible. Then you begin to weave threads back and forth across the gap until the hole is mended.
    "I know that Thea reminds you of Sharon and you've translated that into young, inexperienced, and untrustworthy. But she isn't Sharon. She's a mature, extremely able, and accomplished professional woman. In my opinion, she's the best person we could get for this job and we're lucky to have her. By the way"—she paused and gave me a curious look—"I didn't tell her about Sharon. That was just a good guess on her part." Rocky took his hand out from under Dorrie's and put it on top, giving her hand a squeeze.
    It didn't take a detective to see that there was more between them than just a professional relationship and it surprised me. There must be more to Rocky than the juvenile, belligerent, sexist man I'd seen. I'd only known Dorrie in a professional context, but we'd spent enough time together to know each other's stories. Although she was older—about Rocky's age, I realized—we had a lot in common. We were both somewhat reserved, workaholic young widows who took our professional selves very seriously. Dorrie and Rocky seemed like an odd pairing to me.
    "You didn't tell her about Sharon?" he said.
    "Of course not."
    "Sharon, as you probably guessed, was my wife," Rocky said. I thought I was going to get a story but that's all he said. I let it go. With Dorrie's help we were slowly working our way toward a truce, and a truce was what we needed if we were going to be able to work together. Besides, there was no way I was going to undertake any sort of investigation into an unexplained death without a policeman in my pocket. I'd taken a lifetime's worth of chances already, first with my sister, Carrie, and then with Helene Streeter and with my mother's protégée, Julie Bass. I knew that life could be very dangerous. But with the caveat that if things got dangerous, I would bow out and hand the job over to Rocky, I could see that I was needed here. In her career as headmistress, Dorrie would probably never face a more challenging and delicate situation. I had just spent seven years developing the expertise and reputation to be selected as the consultant of choice in such situations. In a small, crass corner of my professional self, I recognized this as an important opportunity.
    Over dessert, which was a succulent apricot tart, we discussed some of the specifics and Rocky reluctantly agreed to Dorrie's plan. After lunch, he strode off to attend to some business elsewhere on campus and Dorrie and I went back to her office to talk. I was to start the next morning, after I'd checked in at work. I'd be talking to a list of people that Lori Leonard had already scheduled. We reviewed the hierarchy and I took copious notes on how the parietal system worked, how the day's schedule flowed, and at what points a faculty person had regular contact with students, how sign-out worked, and bed check, and what sort of special privileges upper-class students had. I also had an overview of how the campus security system functioned.
    I'd gotten as much sleep as I could on the plane, but the redeye is aptly nicknamed. By the time I left her office, I was bleary-eyed, my throat felt scratchy, and I was sick of the clothes I'd been wearing for almost twenty-four hours. I rushed down the brick walkway to my car, oblivious to the dangers of smooth leather shoes on ice. Just as I reached for the door, my foot slipped. A strong hand under my elbow stopped the fall and pulled me gently to my feet. "Returning to our conversation about pigs," Rocky said, "a woman in high heels is as unstable as a hog on ice." He got into his car and drove away.

 
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    Chapter 5

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