Peter took it with a smile.
“Looking good, Ted.” Peter looked at the girl. “And who’s the lady, Ted?”
Upon closer inspection, the girl looked like a bulimic. Her clothing hid most of the indication. Black hair, bone-white skin, and eyes the color of a fish belly. Peter wanted to ask if Ted could descend lower.
“This is Carolyn,” Ted said.
“Hello, Carolyn, do you have a surname?”
“Nice to meet you, Professor,” she said through clenched teeth. “Are you having a good time?”
“I sure am.”
Pleased with the girl's performance, Ted smiled and nodded at Peter. He dragged his girl away. Peter cussed Ted. “Prick.”
Someone patted him on the back. When Peter turned around he was looking at the bearded, tanned face of one of the men who had been honored tonight. Peter could not recall his name.
“Professor Peter Williams?”
“Yes, I am.”
They shook hands. The man had straight brown hair that was oiled and combed back. His beard was well trimmed; it bordered his thin lips making him look like Doctor Strange. His eyes were brown and soft, like a grandfather’s.
“Can we get some air, Professor?”
Peter nodded. Of course they could.
It was airy on the small, private balcony on the topmost floor of Baughman Center. Stars spangled the black skies, lights sparkled across the city. The balcony was only wide enough for about four people at once.
They had come up a flight of stairs, had seen Barry Dutch on their way up. The dean had raised his brows when he saw Peter’s companion and had given him a thumbs-up.
Peter couldn’t have been more confused.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” asked the man.
Not sure what he meant, the heavens or the city below, Peter said, “Sure is.”
“My name is Frank Miller.”
Peter glanced at the man sharply. “The billionaire?”
“Yes, that one.”
Miller smiled. He rubbed his beard. “I decided to change my look, to confuse the journalists a little bit. They hound me.”
Peter shook his head in wonder. Frank Miller had appeared on the front page of Forbes five times now. He was excessively rich, and elusive. He did everything he could to stay out of the news. The tan was perhaps part of the disguise. He had been given three awards by the university tonight alone.
Peter snickered. “You are really going to donate 100 billion to the school?”
He looked at Peter. “Yes, why not?”
There was an accent but Peter couldn’t place it. Miller suppressed it somehow.
The man continued. “I’m all for great causes, Professor. For example, I would like to support and finance your expedition.”
It was like being punched in the gut. Peter turned his face sharply. The man’s brown eyes held his. His lips formed a determined line on his face.
“How did you know about that?” Peter whispered.
“I understand that the committee in charge denied you the funds. Well, I find the case interesting. Harald Kruger was indeed a patient fellow, God bless his soul. I am making sure that the Baker Home gets more funding too. In fact”—he made a fist—“I have placed all the seniors on a weekly allowance, those there presently and those to come.”
Peter sighed, his thoughts wild with possibilities.
“I know what must be known, Professor Williams. I know you have documents — ones I understand were taken from your office not long ago — and I assure you that is not me. I don’t steal what isn’t mine. Everything I have I worked for. But I can help. Let me help. Olivia Newton and the sheriff, Tom Garcia, would agree.”
First, he felt relief — then anger at the man beside him.
“You’ve been following me? You’ve been following us? How do I know you didn’t kill Harald Kruger? You can’t just go about following people around!”
He raised his hand again.
“Please, be calm. I mean no harm. I’m a powerful man and if I want you harmed I have better ways of achieving it. As I have said, none of those was my doing. I simply want to help—”
“Why?”
Frank Miller was quiet for a moment, but his eyes never left Peter’s face and they remained mild. Though Peter thought he saw something else in them that he could not name at the time.
“Let’s just say I have my reasons, professor Williams. And I’m willing to make the expedition comfortable for you in any way.” Miller leaned closer. “If my information serves me right, you don’t have much time left.”
Peter started. “What are you talking about?”
Miller hesitated before saying, “You are not the only one who knows Harald Kruger’s secret, Professor Williams.”
Flushed with hot anger anew, Peter gazed out towards the city. He was supposed to be happy but he wasn’t. Maybe Olivia could come up with something about Frank Miller’s motive.
Motive was everything. It drove him crazy now that this wealthy man knew so much, had the money to knock him and Olivia off the trail. Feelings of insecurity roused in Peter.
Finally, Peter said, “Alright, I’ll have to think about it.”
“Here.” Miller showed Peter a small card. “Call the number on the card tomorrow. That’s my direct line. And Professor, time is of the essence.”
Frank Miller smiled for the first time. He showed a crooked tooth. He left Peter on the balcony.
Peter Williams left the ball early. He ran into Barry Dutch once more as he walked down the stairs. The dean was with a few fat men in expensive suits. Two of them were Asians, wealthy and imperious men.
Barry was doing what he had to do. The faculty needed money, the dean could convince millions out of the pockets of these men.
The dean pulled his hand as he went past the group.
“Hey, Peter, what’s going on? You know who that is, right?”
Peter said he did. “I have to go, Barry.”
“Yeah, what did Miller want? Did he say anything about the Lamar Project? Did you tell him?”
“Yeah,” Peter lied.
“Good boy. You just might get your expedition next time, you know.”
Peter gave the man a sour look. Barry quickly reverted to his group of prospective investors.
He called Olivia’s phone. It rang continuously for almost a minute before her hoarse voice came on.
“Olivia, hey.”
“It’s late, Professor. Humans have to sleep.”
“We got the expedition.”
Peter felt Olivia’s exciting movement. Her voice became clearer. “Say again!”
“We are back on track, Olivia. But I have to—”
“How did that happen?”
“It’s a long story, I’d like to tell you about it over lunch tomorrow—”
“A date?”
“What? I’m—”
“Deal.”
Peter shook his head in wonder. He said, “I have to get more information from our financier tomorrow before seeing you, okay.”
Olivia was up now, bright-eyed, he imagined. And she was barely holding back from the array of questions that were on her lips.
Peter said, “Tomorrow.” And hung up.
The white business card had a border of gold and green. On one side the name Frank Miller was written in gold. Below that was a telephone number.
Peter dialed it.
There were no pleasantries.
Frank Miller’s voice was as fresh as the night before.
“A car will be in the street to pick you up in ten minutes,” he said.
There was a click.
He knows my place, Peter mused. He tapped the business card on the table.