Painted Ladies

11

The Department of Art and Art History at Walford was located on the first floor of a brick building with Georgian pillars beside a pond. The pond looked to me as if it didn’t belong there and had recently been created. But maybe I was being picky. Ponds are nice. The main office was right inside the front doorway, to the right. There were three women there. The presiding woman was tall and gray-haired, with thin lips and grim eyes. On her desk was a nameplate that said Agnes Phelen. Her desk was beside a door that led to the office of the department chairman. I knew that at once, because I am a trained investigator and the sign on the pebbled-glass door said Office of the Department Chairman. The other two women were much younger and looked more optimistic. Agnes looked at me with what appeared to be scorn, though it could have been suspicion.

“May I help you?” she said.

She didn’t look as though she meant it.

“You may,” I said.

She looked annoyed.

“What would you like?” she said.

“My name is Spenser,” I said. “I’m a detective looking into the death of Ashton Prince.”

“Dr. Prince,” she said. “A terrible shame.”

“What can you tell me about him?” I said.

“A fine scholar and a fine gentleman,” she said.

“Anything unusual about him?” I said.

“No,” she said.

From the corner of my eye I saw the two other women look at each other.

“You ladies tell me anything about Dr. Prince?”

They both shook their heads, but there was a mutual smirk hidden somewhere in the head shakes.

“He get along with everyone?” I said.

One of the younger women said, “Uh-huh.”

But it didn’t sound as though she meant it.

“Never any trouble.”

“Of course not,” Agnes said. “This is an academic office.”

“Well,” I said. “He had trouble with someone.”

“You know who killed him?” one of the younger women said.

Agnes gave her the gimlet eye.

“You girls have work to do,” Agnes said.

They both turned back to their computers, sneaking sidelong looks at each other.

“And I have work to do, too, if you’ll excuse me.”

“You’re excused,” I said. “Is there a place around here to get lunch?”

“We all use the faculty café,” one of the young women said. “In the basement of Sarkassian.”

“Unless you are faculty or staff,” Agnes said, “I don’t believe you’re allowed.”

“Thanks,” I said.

The younger women looked at me. I winked at them and left the office.