Free Played to Death by Meg Perry Page A

teaching as an adjunct had met for the final time yesterday afternoon, and I had to turn in grades by the end of the day tomorrow when the spring quarter ended.
    It was the last time I’d have to teach as an adjunct. The first thing I’d decided to do after receiving the inheritance last month was to quit teaching these extra classes. I’d been doing it to close the salary gap between Pete and me, which had been around $16,000.
    Not a problem now with $38 million in the bank.
    I was nearly finished when Liz stuck her head in my door. “Jon and Kevin are on campus. Want to meet them for lunch?”
    “Sure.”
    At noon, we walked over to the North Campus Student Center, where Jon and Kevin were seated at an outdoor table, digging into large salads. I’d brought red curry with vegetables from home, and Liz had pho. Kevin sniffed at our meals. “Smells good.”
    Liz pointed her spoon at the salads. “You guys are eating healthy.”
    Jon said, “It’s our summer resolution. If we have to eat out all the time, we’re at least going to eat healthy.”
    I said, “I’m glad to hear that.”
    Kevin gave me a meaningful glance. “I’m getting rid of all my bad habits.”
    Including Abby, I supposed. “Have you been to the music library?”
    “Yeah. We spent all morning there. At least we’ve figured out how Elena Morales got access to the stolen music.”
    Jon said, “The reference section isn’t open to the general public, but students from other colleges can show their ID and go back there. They do have a record of Elena’s student ID number from PCC and her signature on the day she was there.”
    I said, “That was dumb, signing her own name.”
    “She had to show her ID. That would have been harder to fake.”
    Liz said, “They don’t have to sign out?”
    “No.”
    I said, “They need a system like we have for special collections. You have to swipe your BruinCard to get in and to get out.”
    Kevin said, “We asked them about that. They said the cost of a system like that was prohibitive. And this is the first time they’ve ever had anything stolen from reference.”
    Liz asked, “Did you find the boyfriend?”
    Jon answered. “Not yet. Her friends knew she was seeing someone, but she was being coy about it. From some hints she’d dropped, they wondered if it was someone of a different race or religion. Her parents are very traditional. They wouldn’t have approved.”
    Kevin said, “Her memorial service is this afternoon. We’re going.”
    “To see who turns up?”
    “Right.” Jon picked at the remains of his salad. “We’ve spoken to everyone on the list of her friends that the parents gave us, but they might have missed someone.”
    Liz said, “Hoping this boyfriend will show?”
    “Sure. Although he’s hardly likely to announce himself.”
    I said, “But you still think the killer had to have an invitation to the wedding. Which doesn’t fit the boyfriend-as-killer theory very well. Unless the boyfriend was Brian.”
    Kevin frowned. “We spent all day yesterday talking to all the caterers and valets again. The three PCC student caterers swore again that they didn’t know Elena, but we need to cross-check course schedules and instructors.”
    Jon said, “We finally got to speak with the wedding planner. He’d been too rattled until yesterday. But he wasn’t any help.”
    Liz said, “Do you have the guest list?”
    Kevin snorted. “Not yet. The grooms are on a month-long honeymoon to Ibiza. They’ll provide it when they get back.”
    I said, “But you - or rather, Branigan and her partner - talked to all the guests the day of the murder.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Who were the security guards at the wedding?”
    Jon said, “Off-duty Beverly Hills cops. We’ve talked to them too.”
    Kevin wadded up his napkin and tossed it onto his plate. “We’re getting nowhere so far.”
    I said, “Maybe you’ll pick something up at the funeral.”
    Jon said, “Right. Speaking of which, we’d