“Not that I recall,” Julia said. She thought for a moment. “Rick Tackett was writing a book about Vietnam. I think it was therapy for him, more than anything else. The other two women in the group were writing romance novels, and one of them was working on a western. The history professor—I think he’s actually teaching Justin this semester—was writing this horrendously awful historical novel about an oversexed druid in ancient Britain.”

“That’s six of you,” I said. “Were there others in the group?”

“Occasionally,” Julia said. “We had three people join for a brief time, if I remember correctly, but they never lasted.”

“Do you remember who they were?” I was thinking of the person lurking behind Julia in the photograph. “Someone who might have been part of the group when Godfrey spoke to you twenty years ago?”

“That’s what Kanesha Berry wanted to know,” Julia said, her head tilted to one side.

“Oh,” I said. “And did you have an answer for her?”

Julia looked at me for a moment. “There was this strange little man who came a few times, but he never showed us any of his writing. Shortly after Godfrey talked to us, he stopped coming.”

“Who was he?” I said. I had the feeling Julia was deliberately dragging this out.

“He was one of our classmates in high school,” Julia said. She paused for a moment, and I thought I would have to prompt her again. Then she spoke. “It was Willie Clark. He always was an oddball, you know.”

TWENTY-NINE

TWENTY-NINE

“Willie.” Of course, I thought. Who I had seen the day Godfrey died, scribbling away at something in the staff lounge.

Then I put another piece of the puzzle together. The misogyny of the books. Who had a reputation for it? Willie did. I remembered the conversation I had overheard the other day in Hawksworth Library. Willie didn’t like women, while Godfrey did.

Perhaps I was jumping to conclusions, but for me, that clinched it. Willie was the X who wrote the books.

And who had a powerful motive for killing Godfrey.

“Charlie.” Julia’s voice brought me back to earth. “What is it? Why are you so excited about Willie?”

I tried to restrain myself. I didn’t want to give away anything to Julia, not without talking to Kanesha Berry first.

“I can’t really say,” I told her. “But knowing that Willie was part of your group, even briefly, helps fill in some missing pieces of the puzzle.”

Julia scrutinized me for a moment, as if she were trying to read my mind. “It’s the oddest thing,” she finally said.

“What is?” I asked when she fell silent again.

“About Willie,” Julia replied. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I could have sworn I saw him at Farrington House on Tuesday.”

“You did?” This was even better—a witness to place him near the scene of the crime.