Painted Ladies

19

I got Missy Minor’s campus address from Crosby, and in the mid-morning I fell into step with her when she came out.

“You’re that detective,” she said.

“Spenser’s the name,” I said. “Law and order’s the game.”

“I told you yesterday that I don’t know anything about Dr. Prince, except that he was an okay teacher and an easy grader.”

“I heard you were his girlfriend,” I said.

She was silent for a beat.

Then she said, “That’s crazy. Where’d you hear that.”

“I’m a detective, “I said. “I have my sources.”

“Speaking of which,” she said, “let me see your badge.”

I took a business card from my pocket and handed it to her.

“Private,” I said. “Working with the police.”

“ ‘Private’?” she said, looking at my card. “A private detective? I don’t have to talk with you.”

“But why wouldn’t you?” I said. “I’m a lot of fun.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I can see that.”

“Plus,” I said, “we have a connection.”

“What?” she said.

“I know your mother,” I said.

Again, a short silence.

Then she said, “You know Winifred?”

“I do,” I said.

“You been talking to her about me and Dr. Prince?”

“No,” I said. “If I did, what would I say?”

“My mother’s a worrier,” Missy said. “She heard any of your bullshit theory about me being his girlfriend, she’d go crazy.”

“Even though there’s no truth to it.”

“She’s a worrier,” Missy said.

“How about your father?” I said.

“Don’t have one,” Missy said.

“Ever?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t want to discuss it,” she said.

“Did you have any sort of relationship with Ashton Prince?” I said.

She shook her head again.

“Why do you suppose people had the idea that you did?” I said.

“You’re the detective,” she said. “You figure it out.”

“He hit on you?”

“He was my professor,” she said. “That’s all. I don’t see why you’re harassing me like this. It’s not my fault I was in his class, and it’s not my fault somebody blew him up with his damn painting.”

The other girls hadn’t mentioned the painting. It wasn’t secret. But you needed to be interested to remember that the infernal device had been the painting, or something everyone thought was the painting.

“I’m going to be late,” Missy said. “I wish you wouldn’t bother me about this anymore.”

“I’m sure I won’t need to,” I said.

She scooted off into the science building. I watched her go. Liar, liar, pants on fire.