Never Happened by Debra Webb Page B

winced inwardly. That meant Shannon knew she’d been off her game, as well. It was a miracle her phone hadn’t rung already.
    As if reading her mind he said, “Shannon and her husband have that neighborhood watch meeting tonight.”
    Alex checked the clock. The meeting would be over by eight. Her phone would be ringing by eight-ten.
    The silence thickened between them. She could feel the weight of the Professor’s question bearing down on her. Both he and Shannon would know she’d been seriously distracted. She should just fess up and get it over with. The whole thing was bound to come out eventually.
    Assuming she lived long enough to see it through.
    A chill washed over her. Was her life really in danger? The excitement she’d heard in Henson’s voice last night nudged at her. All that Timothy O’Neill had said strong-armed into her worrisome thoughts, too.
    â€œSomething strange happened last night.” That was a whopping understatement. “It started with that suicide cleanup. You know, Charlie Crane?”
    The Professor nodded. His scarcely touched beer sat on the coffee table now. She had to start keeping some wine around the house for unexpected visitors who preferred something more refined than her favorite beer.
    â€œI found his left eyeball at the scene.” Now for the sci-fi bit. “There was an odd sort of…” She shifted.“It looked like a contact lens only larger and thicker. Kind of metallic-looking around the perimeter.”
    He crossed one leg over the other, showing a length of white sock along with a well-polished brown leather loafer. “I assume you gave this unusual item to the detective in charge of the case.”
    Her head was moving up and down before he finished his statement. “Rich Henson.”
    The Professor stroked his clean-shaven chin. His sandy-colored hair was more gray now than anything, but it was full and well kept. “This is why he called you last night?”
    She remembered saying that she’d just spoken to him the night before when she read the article in the Herald about his death. “He called to thank me. He thought it might actually be a computer chip or something. He’d taken it to a friend in Morningside who did the occasional unofficial analysis for him.”
    â€œI see.” He clasped his hands together on his knee. “This is why you were interested in the explosion over in Morningside.”
    Did her crew all sit around and discuss what Alex was up to whenever she was out of the office or was this just one of those days when no one had anything better to do?
    â€œYeah. I went over there. Talked to a few of the neighbors. The guy, Timothy O’Neill, was a computer geek who apparently worked out of his basement.”
    â€œHenson is killed in a freak one-car accident and his friend’s house blows up.” The Professor studied her a moment. “You think it somehow has something to do with the lens.”
    This was as far as she intended to go. He didn’t need to know that Timothy was still alive or that the chip-lens was hidden in her bathroom. “I’m certain of it. It’s too coincidental otherwise.” She heaved a woebegone sigh. “His partner thinks he just fell asleep at the wheel. But the accident occurred only a little while after he called me. He was wide-awake and hyped when I talked to him. There’s no way he fell asleep at the wheel.”
    â€œYou’ve told this to his partner?”
    Back to sticky territory. How much should she tell him? “Most of it,” she admitted.
    He twiddled his thumbs as he mulled over what she’d said so far. She hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions. She really hated to lie to the Professor.
    â€œThe way I see it,” he offered, “the only option you have is telling Henson’s partner the whole story and leaving it in his hands. Without Henson or thisTimothy fellow or