"I'm guessing Alzheimer's or some other type of dementia. I know one thing; he's not Garrett Malone. Maybe we have the wrong Jerry Williams. It's a common name."
"I don't think so. The fact that Williams lives here in Santa Cruz is too big a coincidence. Malone must have used Mr. Williams's social security number. That's the only explanation."
"Why would he go to so much trouble?"
"Because he was writing about a real event and trying to sell it as fiction. He didn't want anyone to know who he is, not his agent, not his publisher, maybe not even his friends."
"He wanted to protect himself. Keep his distance from the event while throwing the rest of us into the fire," Natalie finished. "I guess that makes sense. But how would Malone get this man's social security number?"
"He has to be connected to him in some way."
While Cole tried to get the old man's attention, Natalie moved across the room and opened the drawer by the bed. There were some blank notepads and pencils inside, a Bible, a box of chocolates, a CD player, and a book of poetry. Natalie opened up the book and caught her breath at the stamp. "Look at this," she said, holding it out to Cole. "Greg Martin, Ph.D., Professor of English Literature, Santa Cruz University. I know that name. He taught when I was there. I'm almost positive either Emily or Laura took a class from him. I remember, because he was considered pretty cute by professor standards."
"If he's still at the university, we can find him. Maybe we just found Malone. The initials are the same—Greg Martin, Garrett Malone."
"Maybe." Natalie still couldn't see how an English professor at the University would come to write a book about Emily, or about herself for that matter. "It's hard to believe he could have known so much about us, though."
"Not if he had Emily's journal."
"How would he have gotten her journal?"
"I don't know, but let's take this one step at a time. And think about this—an English professor would certainly know how to write a book."
"I guess."
"You don't sound convinced," Cole said, his eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?"
"I was just so sure it was Dylan or Drew or someone we knew more intimately. But Professor Martin—why would he take the trouble to disguise himself? What would his connection be to this man?" She waved her hand toward Mr. Williams, who had yet to acknowledge their presence in the room. "They don't have the same name, but he obviously came here to visit him."
"They're probably family of some sort. Let's go to the university and see if we can find this professor. He has a better shot at answering your questions than I do."
She nodded in agreement. "Let's pick up Laura and Madison on the way. Maybe one of them knows more about him. They're at the sorority house."
Cole's face paled. "That's the last place I want to go."
"I feel the same way, but I don't think this will be over until we do."
* * *
While Madison parked the car in the lot, Laura walked along the sidewalk in front of the two-story sorority house that had been her home for three years. She put one hand up to shade her eyes from the sun as she stared at the building. She'd had so many moments in this house, both good and bad. Coming back here wouldn't mean as much to Natalie and Madison as it did to her. After they'd left, the sorority had become her haven, her family of friends. While she'd never felt as close to anyone as she'd felt to Natalie, Madison, and Emily, she had managed to fit in and find a group of women with whom she could laugh and study, dance and party, and eventually share a graduation ceremony.
She hadn't been back to the house since that graduation, but it looked the same, maybe a new coat of off-white paint on the outside. White columns provided a covered walkway from the parking lot to the house. A border of flowers ran along that walk and a short patch of lawn led down to the sidewalk. The downstairs housed the library, living room, dining room, and kitchen, as well as the housemother's quarters in the back. The second story was all windows as bedrooms ran around the front, sides, and back, with communal bathrooms in the middle of the floor.
The very first day of rush, Laura had stood on this sidewalk with her friends, waiting to be invited in. It was the first house they had visited, and they had had no idea what rush meant. They had been shocked when the front door and second-story windows had flown open with dozens of girls in colorful costumes singing a sorority song and inviting them to come inside. It had seemed corny and silly and they'd laughed a lot, but they'd gone inside. A whole new world had opened up to them.
It had been Emily's idea to rush. They'd met some sorority girls their freshman year in the dorms and had envied their parties and closeness. Sorority life had looked like a lot of fun. They'd decided as sophomores to give it a try. And they'd made a pact; they'd join together or not at all. Fortunately, the Gamma Delta house had invited all four of them to join.
The front door opened now and a young woman walked out, headphones in her ears, a book bag over one shoulder. She couldn't have been more than nineteen. To Laura she looked like a baby. Had they really been that young, that carefree? The girl didn't pause or acknowledge Laura as she made her way to a bike parked at the side of the house. She hopped on and rode off, perhaps to her next class.
"It looks the same," Madison said, coming up beside Laura.
Dressed in a black miniskirt, black knee-high boots, and a silk sweater, Madison looked sophisticated and successful. Laura felt like a frumpy housewife in her Dockers pants and cream-colored sweater.
"Frowns will make you wrinkle," Madison told her with a smile.
Laura's frown disappeared at that familiar comment. "I think that's one of the first things you ever said to me. We were in our dorm room, and I was thinking how small it was, and how narrow the beds were, and wondering what I'd gotten myself into. Then you came in, a blond bombshell with a sassy smile, who told me frowns would make me wrinkle."
"Oh, please, I was hardly a bombshell at eighteen."
"You were then and you are now. Don't even try to pretend you don't know that."
"Okay, I won't. It must have been strange to live here after Emily died and we left." Madison gave her a curious look. "Especially that first week."
"It was really difficult for a long time. Emily and Natalie's room was empty the rest of that year. The following summer they painted it. Some new transfer students moved in, girls that hadn't been here that night. They'd heard the stories, but after they put their stuff in the room, it looked different. I didn't go in there much; I couldn't. I couldn't go by the side yard or out on the roof either. Actually, they nailed the windows shut until they could put up a guardrail. By the time I was a senior, everyone was back out there again, as if it had never happened."
"Except for you."
"Except for me. No amount of time could ever make me forget that Emily fell off that roof." Madison didn't comment on that, and Laura couldn't help wondering what was going through her mind. Madison seemed so casual, unconcerned, yet she was here. She'd taken off work to come to Santa Cruz, so she must be worried about something. "I know you didn't come down here because the police called you, Madison. Or even because Natalie had a lead on Malone. What is it you're looking for? And don't give me some flippant reply. I want the truth."
Madison didn't answer for a moment, then said, "I want to know if Dylan is involved in the book."
"Dylan?" Laura echoed, sensing there was more behind her words. "You like him, don't you?"
"He intrigues me. That's all. I'm curious. Don't make more of it than that."
"I think there is more, but I'll leave it be for now."
"Thank God! Speaking of men, I have a question for you. I know Emily had a crush on someone right before she died. Did she ever tell you who it was?"
Laura was surprised by the question. "I—I don't know. Why?"
"Maybe that man is the key to all this."
Laura shook her head as she tried to remember. "We were always talking about guys. I can't remember one in particular."
"Do you think Drew might know?"
"I don't know why Emily would have confided in Drew and not us," she said slowly, not really liking the tone of Madison's question.
"They were pretty close, weren't they?"
"I guess. You're not suggesting that ..." She could tell by Madison's expression that's exactly what she was suggesting. "You think Emily was interested in Drew? Are you serious?"
"He did go to her room that night."
"Yes, but he and I were planning to be together that night. If he was interested in Emily, he wouldn't have made such a point of wanting to be with me—would he?" She hated the insecurity in her voice. Drew had married her. He'd loved her. He still loved her. "And Emily, she wouldn't have gone for Drew. She knew I was interested in him."
"Which is why I asked. Emily used the word unattainable when she told me there was someone she wanted. And I was just trying to think who was unattainable, that's all."
"Unattainable? So you think it was Drew she wanted?"
"It was just a thought."
"You're wrong. They were friends, that's it. Maybe it was one of the Somerville twins, Dylan or Josh. Emily used to say that being Cole's little sister cut her off from a lot of potential dates, because everyone thought of her as the little sister."
"It wasn't Dylan," Madison said. "He had a huge crush on her, and he said it wasn't reciprocated. Although I never considered Josh. He wasn't around that much. He just came down with Cole sometimes."
"When they came down, Josh hung out with Emily, while Natalie and Cole took off together."
"That is interesting," Madison said. "Josh ... I'll have to think about that." She glanced around. "I wonder what's taking Natalie and Cole so long. I really hate to wait."
A couple of girls turned the corner and came down the sidewalk toward them. They were completely dressed in red—sweaters, T-shirts, scarves, hats, all with university logos. As they passed by, Laura heard them laughing and talking. "Do you think he really likes me ... I know he does, but he doesn't think you like him ... Oh, my God, how could he not know that I like him ..."
Laura looked at Madison, and they both laughed. "That was us," Laura said.
"We were never that stupid, were we?"
"I was."
"Yeah, you were," Madison agreed with a soft smile. "That was a million years ago."
"At least," Laura agreed, feeling old. What she wouldn't give to be that young and carefree again.
The front door to the sorority house opened and another group of girls came out wearing similar shades of red. They paused, catching sight of Madison and Laura. One of them came forward. "Hi, are you alumni here for the homecoming game?"
"Uh—yes," Laura said, grabbing at an answer. "As a matter of fact we are. We used to live here."
"Cool. Everyone has gone to the game, though. We're having the alumni open house starting at seven tonight, if you want to come back then."
"Thanks." Laura turned to Madison as they left. "I forgot it was homecoming weekend."
"That explains the clothes. I was beginning to think these girls had no fashion sense. Actually, this might work out to our advantage. I'd rather take a stroll through the house while it's relatively empty."
"I think we should wait for Natalie," Laura said. "This is something we need to do together."
* * *
Natalie's body tensed as they drove down the street toward the sorority house. Each roll of the wheels brought her closer to her past, a past she still wasn't sure she knew how to face.
"There they are," she said, spying Madison and Laura standing on the corner. "They look like they're waiting to rush. We stood in exactly that spot the first day we came to the house, waiting for the girls to invite us in."
"I wish they never had," Cole said.
"I know you do." She realized this trip might be even more difficult for Cole than for her. His only visits to the house had been to see Emily. And if Emily had never moved into the house, she might still be alive.
Cole pulled up in front of Madison and Laura. Natalie rolled down the window. "Get in," she said. "We found Malone. I'll explain on the way."
Madison opened the door to the backseat, and they climbed in. "What's going on?" she asked.
Natalie turned in her seat as Cole made a U-turn and headed toward the campus. "Cole's investigator tracked Malone's corporation to a man named Jerry Williams. It turns out Mr. Williams is an old man suffering from Alzheimer's and living in a retirement home. It quickly became clear he could not be the author of the book. However, in his drawer I found a book of poetry with a name stamped in it—Greg Martin, professor, Santa Cruz University."
"Professor Martin?" Laura echoed. "Emily and I took a class from him fall semester of our sophomore year."
Natalie felt a rush of excitement at that information. "I thought I remembered Emily mentioning his name. Was it a small class?"
"No, it was in a lecture hall. There had to be a hundred students or more," Laura replied. "Do you really think Professor Martin is Garrett Malone? How would he have been able to write a book about us?"
"That's what we need to ask him," Natalie said. "At the very least, the professor should be able to give us more information on this Jerry Williams and if he's tied in any way to someone else who might have written the book."
After parking the car in a nearby lot, they walked into the building housing the English department. Professor Martin's office was on the third floor. Bypassing the elevator, they took the stairs.
"It's so deserted," Natalie commented. "I wonder where everyone is."
"At the football game," Laura replied. "It's homecoming weekend. Kind of ironic, isn't it?"
Natalie didn't bother to answer that as they paused in front of a door marked with the professor's name. Cole knocked, then tried the door. No one answered, and the door was locked. "Damn." He hit the door with his fist. "I should have known he wouldn't be here. He's never where he's supposed to be."
Natalie sighed, feeling as discouraged as Cole. Before they could decide what to do next, Cole's cell phone rang.
"Parish," he snapped. "What? Are you kidding me? As a matter of fact, I'm in Santa Cruz. All right. I'll be right there."
"Be right where?" Natalie asked when he ended the call.
"The Santa Cruz Police Department. Apparently, they're questioning Dylan about something."
"Dylan? About what?" Natalie asked. "He can't be Malone if Malone is Professor Martin."
"We still don't know that he is. I'd better get over there."
"I'll come with you."
"No. The last place you should be is the Santa Cruz Police Department," Cole replied. "It will just complicate matters."
"He's right, Natalie," Madison added. "You don't need to put yourself in front of a police detective right now. We have to find out what happened first."
"All right," Natalie replied. As Cole sprinted down the stairs, Natalie turned to Madison and Laura. "What should we do now? Any ideas?"
"Maybe we can find out where Professor Martin lives," Laura suggested. "I bet someone around here knows."
"Maybe Diane knows," Natalie said. "She did tell me she'd like to help if she could. Hey, wasn't she married to a professor?"
Laura's face suddenly paled. "Oh, my God, Natalie. You're right. In fact, I think Diane was married to Greg Martin."
Chapter 18
Cole couldn't believe Dylan was in Santa Cruz and at the police department. They had to be questioning him about Emily's death. But what did Dylan know that he didn't? Cole couldn't even guess. After seeing the shrine to Emily in Dylan's closet, he wasn't sure what to think of the man he'd grown up with. At one time, he would have said they had no secrets from each other. Now it was clear they had many. Well, Dylan had been playing the mystery man for too long. The secrets were coming out today.
As Cole entered the police department, he saw Dylan sitting in a chair next to a desk, talking to a detective. Dylan was wearing blue jeans, a T-s
hirt, and his usual black leather jacket, and the somber expression on his face made Cole feel even more uneasy. The men stood up when they saw him. The detective extended his hand. "Cole Parish, right? I'm Robert Boland. You might remember me. I'm the detective who was in charge of the investigation into your sister's death ten years ago."
Cole nodded, having a vague recollection of the man. He looked over at Dylan, his eyes narrowing as he noted Dylan's unshaved appearance, the dark shadows under his eyes. "You look like shit. What did you do?"
"He broke into an office at the university," the detective answered for Dylan. "The office belonging to Professor Greg Martin."
"He's Malone," Dylan said shortly, meeting Cole's questioning gaze. "Martin is Malone. I know he is."
"How do you know? Did you talk to him?"
"He wasn't in his office. And the door wasn't locked," he added, shooting the detective a pointed look. "I just walked in. Martin is the one you should be talking to, not me."
"He's right," Cole interjected. "I believe Professor Martin is Garrett Malone, the man who wrote the book about Emily's death. I can't prove it yet, but I have a private investigator working on it. I can give you his name and number. He can show you the paper trail we're following."
"All right," the detective replied. "As I'm sure you know, Mr. Parish, your father has put a tremendous amount of pressure on my chief to take another look at the case. I've made calls to the three women who were your sister's closest friends. I'd like to interview them again. I have to tell you that we still have no concrete proof that this was anything but an accident. That said, I'm very interested in speaking to Mr. Malone to discuss where he got his information." The detective looked at Dylan. "As for you, you can go. But don't go far. I've got your number, and if your phone rings, I expect you to answer it. Mr. Parish, I've already sent someone out to Professor Martin's house. Let us take care of this."
Cole didn't bother to reply. He didn't intend to make any promises he couldn't keep, and he'd do whatever it took to find Malone. But first ...
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