"He's always inching up to someone with that look, like he's carrying around the biggest secret in the world. Oh, yeah, I remember another one: He had truckloads of surplus trumpets and trombones coming in, just needed some money to ship them to Indiana or wherever it is they melt trombones down for brass. I pitch in, he'll split the profits with me. Another time he tried to sell everyone New Jersey lottery tickets at a discount. He's annoying but he gives up quick, not pushy and no one gets mad because he's pathetic. I got him pegged as a spineless worm, no guts no glory. That's why it surprises me you think he killed her."

"We don't, Doris--"

"Whatever. He's at his finest after a few," she said. "Six, seven beers and he's creative. You really think he killed her?"

We left Fat Boy, got back into the car.

"Clumsy con man," he said. "Yeah, I can see him getting tumescent over a big-money squeeze job on a place like Prep."

"And correspondingly mad when Elise pulled out of the scheme. Plus, the jealousy angle just got stronger."

"Our tutor and a young guy. She sure covered a lot of ground. Meaning there could be who-knows-how-many partners out there." Chuckling. "She might as well have tutored biology. You got where I was going with that age question."

"A preppie type," I said. "If Doris's age estimate is off Elise could've been sleeping with a student."

"Pens in the pocket--maybe a math brain but he needed help in English. Be nice to get hold of some Prep yearbooks, have Doris go through the boys."

"If Prep even has yearbooks."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Mere paper and ink? I'm thinking sacred tablets."

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER
15

Back at his closet-sized office, Milo belly-dived into the cyber-world. If Windsor Prep issued yearbooks they weren't cataloged online and none of the pay services promising to hunt down alumni had anything on the school.

No snarky critiques on the Internet, either, just paeans to the school's physical plant and academic standards.

I said, "Didn't know police protection could reach that far."

His smile devolved to an abdominal growl. "Time to subpoena Elise's phone records. Something traces back to a student, I'm beelining for the damn school." Rubbing his face. "That'll be so much fun I'll follow it up with do-it-yourself open-heart surgery using a rusty can opener."

I drove home, cleared paper, drank two black coffees, and began my own computer search, starting with MySpace and Facebook and using windsor prep as keywords.

No shortage of smiling, attractive kids attending the school, along with the usual friends lists, music choices, poetic excerpts ranging from lewd to sad, some home-drawn comic strips, the occasional photo of a cat or dog.

A handful of postings about Elise Freeman, but nothing more specific than did u hear? ms. f. died. bizarre.

No memorials or calls for tribute. Not a hint of rumor about sexual indiscretions.