As he had hoped, Philip was a total wreck. Nervous. Terrified. Perspiring. Chewing on his fingernails. Whatever he has on his chest, he’s dying to get rid of it, Livingston thought.

“Prof——Philip, if I may . . . There’s something you

want to tell me ... something you’ve already confided to Miss Twyler. No innocent person has anything to worry about.”

“Totally innocent . . . t-t-totally,” Philip stammered.

Livingston made a stab in the dark. “Now sometimes any of us can be guilty of bad judgment,” he suggested soothingly.

Bull’s-eye. Philip gave one final bite to his thumbnail. “Bad judgment. Exactly. That’s it. D-d-definitely should have called the authorities.” He snapped his lips together.

“When?” Livingston whispered. “When, Philip?”

“Needed m-m-mulch, you see ... n-n-never better than the stuff under the 1-1-leaves in the woods. Compost heap and all that . . . breaks down to necessary ingredients . . . marvelous ...”

“Yes, bad judgment, Philip, bad judgment,” Livingston urged.

“You see, the year before Miss Po-Po-Popolous disappeared, terrible problem ...”

“What was that?” Livingston felt as though he were trying to land a fish.

“An unstable young woman suggested that I impreg-preg-pregnated her. Impossible.”

You won’t have a hard time convincing me of that, Livingston thought.

“But quite unpleasant ...” Philip gazed at the floor. “I had spent some time with h-h-her. Bad judgment...”

“Yes, Philip, yes ...”

“And so the Saturday after Athena last showed up at class I was in the w-w-woods ...”

“Yes . . .”

“You see, the poor dear girl used to bi-bi-bicycle past the house. It had been noted ...”

“Yes . . .”

“I discovered her body!” Philip burst out.

“You discovered her body ten years ago!”

“T-t-terrible experience. Shovel hit it. Almost fainted, you know.”

“And you didn’t report it!”

“I was afraid because of what happened the y-y-year before . . . Didn’t want to lose my job . . . was sure the body would be discovered by someone else ...”

“And it never was?”

“N-n-no . . . until last week.”

“You told Miss Twyler about this?”

“Yes . . . Had a little too much port one night . . . sort of blurted it out . . . Next day she suggested that if the b-b-body was ever found, it would be better if I was a m-m-married man.”

That’s one way to swindle a proposal, Livingston thought. “I see. I see.”

“I really am quite content being alone with my flowers,” Philip added forlornly.

Chapter 59

AT SEA

REGAN WATCHED VERONICA anxiously. Granted she’d been kicking up her heels for the past few days, but this sudden dramatic exhaustion was frightening. She had seemed progressively more tired toward the end of dinner, leaned on Regan as they left the elevator, barely seemed to have enough strength to shed the sequined cocktail dress.