Patty-Cake smoothed her hair. “Am I early, John? I’m supposed to be meeting the Rose girls here. Don’t let me chase you off, Angie, I’m sure Caroline would be so pleased to see you again.”

“You’re not early,” John said, opening the door for Angie. “They’re late, as usual. Thanks for coming by, Angie.” He managed a grim smile, which was more than Angie could do. She nodded at Rob, and slipped out the door.

EIGHT

Miss Zula wasn’t ever a beauty and she is still wearing dresses she must have bought in 1963, but she is dignified and distinguished. By all accounts she is an excellent teacher. I cannot speak to her stories, as I have never read one.

Your name: Corrine Stillwater (Mrs. Howard). If you would like to talk to me, you may find me at home, looking after my family. I am also chairlady of the local chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy.

I’ve made some resolutions,” Angie told Rivera the next morning. “First, I’m not hiding out in this house anymore.”

Rivera pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Well, good. You’ve got to see about Tony. I’ve got a bad feeling about him.”

“I’ll corner him and get some answers,” Angie said. And then: “Who is it?”

River scowled at her. “Harriet Darling, of course. Harriet Darling with the husband who should just die.” Rivera had perfected Harriet’s accent and mannerisms in record short time. She sent Angie a sideways glance. “I warned you.”

“How far has it gone?”

“You’ll have to ask him that,” Rivera said. “But you’d best go up and catch him right now. Take coffee with you.”

Except Tony wasn’t in his room, which was pleasantly rumpled and strewn with rolls of film and camera lenses, odd papers, and pieces of clothing. If Tony Russo wasn’t in his own bed at seven in the morning, he was in somebody else’s. Angie just hoped it wasn’t Harriet Darling’s.

The rest of the day turned out to be just as frustrating. The office Angie had been assigned in the English department turned out to be without working air-conditioning or telephone—though she remembered both things being there when she had first looked in, over a week ago—and there was no sign of the computer she had been promised. The office was empty of everything but two straight-backed chairs and an old metal desk that looked distinctly out of place against the walnut wainscoting. The top of the desk was covered with something sticky, and all the drawers were firmly locked. With the first glimmerings of a serious headache already making themselves felt, Angie went to find Patty-Cake Walker.