Mikaila’s voice comes through the partially open door. “I’m sorry about pranking you, Rebecca. I mean it.”

Steven raises his eyebrows, the look saying, See, she isn’t as bad as you think.

“Thanks, Mikaila,” Rebecca says. “It’s fine.”

“What does your professor want?” she asks, still a disembodied voice. “Extra credit?” She giggles.

“I’ll tell her what’s going on,” Steven says. “About your friend.”

“See you in a few, Steven,” Rebecca says, and goes through the living room and outside onto the small landing. She pulls the door shut behind her. “Okay. What’s the matter, Dr. Hoffman?”

Hoffman looks around, glances at the door. “Why don’t we go down the stairs? We can talk more privately in the parking lot.”

Rebecca looks back at the closed door and then out at Hoffman. It’s dark near the building, just a few streetlights brightening the parking lot below.

“We don’t have to get in my car,” Hoffman says. “But we can talk and not worry about anyone hearing. You know, little pitchers have big ears.”

Rebecca doesn’t know what Hoffman is talking about. Pitchers and ears?

Is that from a poem?

Hoffman starts down the steps without hearing Rebecca’s response. She feels she has no choice but to follow him. The wooden stairs squeak as they both go down, and when they reach the bottom, Hoffman moves out into the parking lot and stands near the halo cast by one of the streetlights. He rubs his hands together. He isn’t wearing gloves or a hat.

“Well,” he says, “I’m glad I found you at home.”

“How did you know where I live?”

“Oh, that. It’s in the university database. I have access to that. We all do.”

“Okay. I guess.”

“I wouldn’t have come over if I didn’t think this was important.”

“Is this about my thesis?” she asks. “Or is it about all the stuff going on? You know, the stuff about Madeline.”

Hoffman blows on his hands. “That’s it,” he says. “Madeline.” He shakes his head, his lips pursed tight. “Such a terrible loss. You indicated in my office that you knew her. Isn’t that right?”

“I knew her, yeah. We took a class together.”

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss. This is a shock to everyone in the department. She was a bright light. And so young. Alas, she’s now the townsman of a stiller town.”

Rebecca rarely knew what Hoffman was talking about, but she remembers that poem from high school. “A. E. Housman, right?”

Hoffman’s face brightens. “Wow, good for you. See, we’ll make a poet out of you yet.” He rubs his hands together again. “Since it’s so cold, I’ll try to cut to the chase. I know you saw something at my house a couple of years ago, something that you may feel inclined to talk to the police about.”