47.
Jerry had a meeting he had to attend. So we went to Lois’s office, which was smaller. We didn’t mind. We had probably used up pretty much all that Jerry had already.
“He must have just come to classes,” Lois said. “Just walked in and sat down and acted like he was a student.”
“Thirst for knowledge?” I said.
She shrugged.
“Good place to meet girls?” she said.
“Sort of a reversal of the norm,” I said.
Lois smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “Most students are enrolled and act like they’re not.”
“Do you know any other people who would remember
Turner/Alderson?” I said.
She smiled slightly.
“Women,” she said. “It would be nearly all women.”
“Names?” I said.
“Oh, God,” she said. “We’re talking about fi fteen, twenty years ago.”
I nodded. She looked at me speculatively. Then she picked up the phone and dialed.
“Ruth? Lois . . . I’m fi ne . . . absolutely . . . can you send me a list of the members of my class, when I was here? . . . yes, and maybe the class on either side of me? . . . yes . . . real soon . . . thank you.”
She smiled at me.
“Alumni secretary. She’ll send the names over, maybe jog my memory.”
“And maybe some current addresses,” I said.
“I’m sure,” Lois said.
She was still looking at me, like an appraiser.
“You’re not a regular police detective,” she said.
“Private,” I said.
“So people hire you,” she said.
“If they’re wise,” I said.
“Who hired you to fi nd Brad Turner?”
“It’s sort of the outgrowth,” I said, “of something else I’m working on.”
“And you’re not going to tell me what that something else is,” she said.
“Try not to,” I said.
She got a pad of blue-lined white paper out of her drawer.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She kept looking at me.
“I suppose it’s not like on TV,” she said.
“Actually, it’s just like that,” I said.
She laughed.
“Sure it is,” she said.
She doodled a little smiley face on the pad.
“I have to say, though, you look like a private detective,” she said.
“What do they look like?” I said.
“Big, strong, intrepid, handsome, in a rough way.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s accurate.”
“And,” she said, “you’re fun.”
I nodded.
“Bubbly,” I said.
A pale young woman with red-framed eyeglasses came in and handed Lois a thick printout of names and addresses.
“Ms. Carter sent these over,” the young woman said, and hurried out as if she were escaping.
Lois looked at the paper.
“Well,” she said. “Let’s see.”