I nodded and managed not to laugh until she’d gone into the workroom. Then I bumped Mac with my hip. “I’m going to miss you, too,” I said, grabbing my things and heading for the stairs.
I knew it was wrong to compare two people with very different personalities, but I couldn’t help noticing how easy everything was with Mac. I couldn’t help wishing it was that way with Nick.
Half an hour later I’d just finished printing out the orders that had come in via our Web site when Mr. P. knocked on my door. “Sarah, do you have a minute?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, gesturing at the love seat across from my desk. “Have a seat.”
Mr. P. sat down and I leaned forward, propping my elbow on the arm of my chair. “What’s up?”
“I discovered some interesting information about Jeff Cameron’s young assistant, Chloe Sanders.”
“Interesting how?”
“This job was just for the summer.”
I nodded. “Chloe’s a student at Cahill College.”
One eyebrow went up. “That’s the interesting part, my dear. She isn’t.”
I frowned at him. “What do you mean she isn’t?”
“I mean she didn’t take any classes last semester.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Did she fail the previous term or did she drop out?”
“As far as I can determine, she took a one-term deferment at the very last minute. She said it was for personal reasons.”
“Do I want to know how you know that?” I asked.
Mr. P. smiled. “I don’t think that you do,” he said. “What I find interesting is that she left that information off her résumé and off the job application she filled out for Helmark online.”
“She wouldn’t be the first person who fudged a résumé,” I offered.
He nodded. “True. But it’s more than that. Jeff Cameron was a guest lecturer in the Global Studies Department back in March. The lecture was only for students and faculty.”
“Chloe was at the lecture.”
“She was. It piqued my curiosity, so I did a little digging.”
I could tell from the beginnings of a smile on his face that his digging had unearthed something.
“So what did you dig up?” I asked.
“Two weeks after he was at Cahill, Jeff Cameron was at a business roundtable at the University of New Hampshire. There were photographs on the university’s Web site.”
It was obvious where he was going. “Chloe was in the audience.”
Mr. P. nodded. “The tickets were sixty-five dollars. I don’t like to generalize, but how many young women would spend that amount of money to attend a talk on outsourcing?”
“Not a lot.” I pulled my hands back through my hair. “Do you think she was having an affair with Jeff?” I remembered what Leesa Cameron had said about Jeff calling his assistant a Roomba. Would he have been having an affair with someone he saw as the equivalent of a vacuum cleaner? I was starting to dislike the man even more.
My office door moved then and Elvis padded into the room. He jumped onto the love seat next to Mr. P., who smiled at the cat and reached over to stroke his fur. “I don’t know,” he said. “According to Rosie, the young woman didn’t seem that upset at the idea that her boss had run off with another woman.”
He was right. Chloe Sanders had seemed a bit concerned, but she had showed none of the emotion that Leesa Cameron had displayed.
“I’d like to know more about why Chloe took a semester off and why she left that information off her résumé. She used her faculty adviser as a reference on that résumé.”
I linked my hands behind my head. “You’re thinking a road trip to Cahill College?” I asked.
Mr. P. smiled. “I’m thinking a road trip to the library, my dear.” He glanced at his watch. “In about half an hour.”
“For?” I prompted.
“A half hour talk on the changing face of the European Community by Dr. Isabella Durand, assistant professor of government and Chloe Sanders’ faculty adviser.”
We agreed to leave for the library in ten minutes. When I got downstairs I expected to find Rose waiting with Mr. P., but he was alone. “Where’s Rose?” I asked.
Mr. P. gestured in the direction of the Angels’ office. “She said she has other irons in the fire. It’s just going to be the two of us.”
I frowned, looking past him to the door to the back of the building. “What do you mean ‘other irons in the fire’?”
He shook his head. “Those were her exact words. Other than that I don’t know.” He followed my gaze. “Sarah, you do realize that we have exactly”—he looked down at his watch—“twenty-one minutes to get to the library?”
And Rose wasn’t going to tell anyone what she was up to until she was good and ready. Mr. P. didn’t say the last part, but it was implied.
I made a face. “We should go,” I said.
* * *
Far more people in North Harbor were interested in the changing face of the European Community than I expected, although the strawberry shortcake they were serving after the talk may have had a little to do with the good turnout. Isabella Durand was much younger that I had expected. She couldn’t have been more than a year or so out of graduate school. She was tall and curvy, with a mass of curly blond hair and dark eyes behind her gray-frame glasses. She was wearing a chambray sundress and black lace-up gladiator sandals that showed off her runner’s calves. She was also an excellent speaker, advancing her argument that a European economic and political union made the case for a similar construct in our part of the world.
Mr. P. and I waited until the crowd had thinned before we approached Isabella Durand. Mr. P. offered his hand. “Dr. Durand, I enjoyed your talk very much, although we disagree on the influence of a resurgent Russia.”
Resurgent Russia? Mr. P. never ceased to amaze me.
The professor smiled. “You’re not the first person to challenge my reasoning in that area.”
“And I’m certain I’d enjoy hearing more about your logic, but I’d like to talk to you about one of your former students, Chloe Sanders.” He extended one of his business cards.
Isabella Durand’s expression changed even before she read the card. Her body stiffened and the smile on her face tightened. “Is Chloe in some kind of trouble?” she asked.
“She’s been working for a man named Jeff Cameron,” Mr. P. said. “He’s been out of touch with his family.”
“You mean he’s missing.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “You can’t believe Chloe had anything to do with that?”
Mr. P. cocked his head to one side. He reminded me of a curious bird, eyeing a worm. “Dr. Durand, why did Chloe attend a lecture by Mr. Cameron which was supposed to be for students and faculty when she was taking a semester off?”
For a moment the professor didn’t say anything. Her mouth moved and then she seemed to swallow whatever response she’d been about to make. She exhaled softly. “Mr. Peterson, the reason Chloe took last term off is between her and the university. You obviously don’t have Chloe’s permission to have that information or she’d be here right now.”
Mr. P. didn’t say anything. He’d told me once that people didn’t like silences and if you left one, the other person would often step in to fill it.
“But it’s not a big secret,” the professor continued. “Chloe was a little overwhelmed with the amount of work global studies requires. She needed a bit of a break; that’s all. As for Mr. Cameron’s lecture, Chloe had written an excellent paper on outsourcing—his lecture topic—for my class the previous term. I thought coming to the talk might encourage her to return to classes in the fall. That’s it.”
She looked around before giving us a polite smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are other people I need to talk to.” She started for the table under the window, where there was coffee and some of what looked to be Glenn McNamara’s cinnamon-raisin muffins.