“Thank you.” Erin hurried to the bank of seats, empty but for a few occupants. An older man with a grizzled gray beard snored gently into his chin. At the edge of the row, a middle-aged woman flipped through a magazine, one of several provided on a low, round coffee table in front of the chairs. Erin leaned forward to snag a dog-eared copy of an haute couture magazine. The buxom, sculpted cover model stared up haughtily, secure in her superiority. Erin drew back her hand and instead rummaged through her satchel.

A handful of exams lay at the bottom, and somewhere in the satchel’s depths she was certain hid a red pen. Corralling the pen and the tests, Erin started grading. Swiftly she marked tests, speeding through the stack with ease. As she graded, Erin marveled at the ability of some students to answer everything but the question asked. Or the probability of duplicate answers on an essay.

Contrary to the odds, when asked to recount the characteristics of a serial killer, Harmony Turner had recited the exact answers offered by Reggie Clark seven papers before. Likely neither had crafted the responses themselves, given the clichéd intellect of the sorority girl and the student athlete. More the pity, both answers were uniformly inaccurate.

“If you plan to cheat,” Erin muttered with annoyance, “at least cheat off someone smart.” The red D at the top of Harmony’s exam probably torpedoed her summer in Greece. Luckily for Mr. Clark, he had completed the multiple-choice section on his own, so he squeaked by with a C+.

For a moment, Erin thought of failing both students, but to accuse them of cheating would cause a scandal. The most popular girl at the university and her quarterback boyfriend? With a psychopath sending Erin notes, she didn’t dare—a happy coincidence of fate for Harmony and Reggie.

“Ms. Abbott?”

Erin turned in the narrow seat. Standing at the end of the chairs, a woman no taller than Erin beckoned. Sun-kissed olive skin stretched taut across a broad face, capped by tight gray curls. Muscle packed across the small frame, layered by a bit of cushioning. Erin set the papers on the table, rose, and extended a hand in greeting. “I’m Erin Abbott.”

“Detective Sylvie Iberville.” The detective waited patiently while Erin collected her things. “Come this way, please.” They entered the squad room through the metal doors.