“You could be a spy, Dr. Webber.”
I inched back in awe and wonder. When Tinkie was at work, the male of the species didn’t stand a chance. A man with an ego the size of Webber’s would be easy plucking for her.
“When I was a Boy Scout, I practiced these skills.” He crooked up one side of his lips, Errol Flynn–style. “I used to daydream about being a spy. I’d never repeat this to my peers, but I was hooked on Robert Ludlum’s books. And Ian Fleming. James Bond, what a character.” His demeanor took on gravitas. “Webber. Richard Webber.”
“I’ll bet you have a way with the ladies just like 007. Your classes are probably the most popular on the campus.” Tinkie served up that line with enough sincerity to keep me straight-faced.
“I’ve had a few colleagues and even some of the older graduate students imply they might be interested in more intimate studies, but such things are a violation of ethics. While I find them flattering, I would never act upon them.”
“I could tell you were a man of character.” Tinkie slipped her hand through his arm and took possession. “Are you here to commiserate with Dr. Twist or just nosy like me and Sarah Booth?”
“Actually, I’m here to speak with Ms. Delaney.” He finally realized I was still there. “Could we have a moment alone?”
“Tinkie is my partner,” I said. “She’s the brains behind the operation. And the fashion sense.”
“She is certainly the most stylish person in the room.” His baritone chuckle was rather sexy. “On a more serious note, I have evidence in Boswell’s murder.”
Tinkie shifted away from him. She was all business. “What kind of evidence?”
“I’m afraid it implicates Dr. Twist.” His glee was impossible to hide.
“You think she murdered her assistant? Why?” Olive was hard to swallow, but everyone was jumping to the conclusion that she’d killed Boswell. It made me wonder if she was too easy a target.
“I know she killed him. Boswell tried to blackmail her, and she took the expedient route. She poisoned him.” Webber spoke with great authority. “I watched the complex interaction between Twist and Boswell. She was the authority figure, and she belittled Boswell and then praised him to keep him in line. Classic manipulation by an abuser. I have to say, I’m not shocked to discover Boswell wanted to bring her down or that Twist is capable of murder.”
And I wasn’t shocked to hear Webber point the finger at his competition. “This doesn’t make a lot of sense. What was Boswell attempting to blackmail her about?”
“He’d been videotaping every moment of Twist’s life.”
“I know it and so did Twist. She ordered him to do it,” I pointed out.
“But he taped her when she wasn’t aware. From what he told me, he had some outrageous footage. Temper tantrums, sloth, greed, lust, gluttony, cruelty—pretty much a rundown of the seven deadly sins. She’s a binge eater and bulimic. He captured her in all her mental disorder. She wanted to star in her own documentary, but Boswell said the things he’d recorded would paint her as a sociopath.”
“Are you certain this is true?” Tinkie threw in. “Boswell seemed … devoted. Or at least totally cowed by Twist.”
“Even the most humble man can take only so much,” Webber said.
“Where’s the film?” I asked.
Webber frowned. “I don’t actually have it.”
“Have you seen it?” I asked.
“Not exactly. Boswell told me about it, though. He confided in me because he felt Olive had wronged me. He all but said Olive heard about my research and climbed on top of it to make her own name. According to him, she hacked into my computer and stole my research.”
“Can you prove it?” The accusation Webber leveled was serious, and also unsubstantiated. “If you have evidence, you should turn it in to the sheriff. But tread carefully, Dr. Webber. Slander applies.”
Coleman came out of Olive’s room as if on cue. He saw me and
I inched back in awe and wonder. When Tinkie was at work, the male of the species didn’t stand a chance. A man with an ego the size of Webber’s would be easy plucking for her.
“When I was a Boy Scout, I practiced these skills.” He crooked up one side of his lips, Errol Flynn–style. “I used to daydream about being a spy. I’d never repeat this to my peers, but I was hooked on Robert Ludlum’s books. And Ian Fleming. James Bond, what a character.” His demeanor took on gravitas. “Webber. Richard Webber.”
“I’ll bet you have a way with the ladies just like 007. Your classes are probably the most popular on the campus.” Tinkie served up that line with enough sincerity to keep me straight-faced.
“I’ve had a few colleagues and even some of the older graduate students imply they might be interested in more intimate studies, but such things are a violation of ethics. While I find them flattering, I would never act upon them.”
“I could tell you were a man of character.” Tinkie slipped her hand through his arm and took possession. “Are you here to commiserate with Dr. Twist or just nosy like me and Sarah Booth?”
“Actually, I’m here to speak with Ms. Delaney.” He finally realized I was still there. “Could we have a moment alone?”
“Tinkie is my partner,” I said. “She’s the brains behind the operation. And the fashion sense.”
“She is certainly the most stylish person in the room.” His baritone chuckle was rather sexy. “On a more serious note, I have evidence in Boswell’s murder.”
Tinkie shifted away from him. She was all business. “What kind of evidence?”
“I’m afraid it implicates Dr. Twist.” His glee was impossible to hide.
“You think she murdered her assistant? Why?” Olive was hard to swallow, but everyone was jumping to the conclusion that she’d killed Boswell. It made me wonder if she was too easy a target.
“I know she killed him. Boswell tried to blackmail her, and she took the expedient route. She poisoned him.” Webber spoke with great authority. “I watched the complex interaction between Twist and Boswell. She was the authority figure, and she belittled Boswell and then praised him to keep him in line. Classic manipulation by an abuser. I have to say, I’m not shocked to discover Boswell wanted to bring her down or that Twist is capable of murder.”
And I wasn’t shocked to hear Webber point the finger at his competition. “This doesn’t make a lot of sense. What was Boswell attempting to blackmail her about?”
“He’d been videotaping every moment of Twist’s life.”
“I know it and so did Twist. She ordered him to do it,” I pointed out.
“But he taped her when she wasn’t aware. From what he told me, he had some outrageous footage. Temper tantrums, sloth, greed, lust, gluttony, cruelty—pretty much a rundown of the seven deadly sins. She’s a binge eater and bulimic. He captured her in all her mental disorder. She wanted to star in her own documentary, but Boswell said the things he’d recorded would paint her as a sociopath.”
“Are you certain this is true?” Tinkie threw in. “Boswell seemed … devoted. Or at least totally cowed by Twist.”
“Even the most humble man can take only so much,” Webber said.
“Where’s the film?” I asked.
Webber frowned. “I don’t actually have it.”
“Have you seen it?” I asked.
“Not exactly. Boswell told me about it, though. He confided in me because he felt Olive had wronged me. He all but said Olive heard about my research and climbed on top of it to make her own name. According to him, she hacked into my computer and stole my research.”
“Can you prove it?” The accusation Webber leveled was serious, and also unsubstantiated. “If you have evidence, you should turn it in to the sheriff. But tread carefully, Dr. Webber. Slander applies.”
Coleman came out of Olive’s room as if on cue. He saw me and
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