Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead by Janice Kay Johnson Page A

Can’t say I really knew him, but I’ve followed his career
recently.”
    “He wrote a check for a million dollars.”
    “He can afford it,” her father said. “I put a check in the
mail, by the way. Have you received it yet?”
    “No. Thank you, Dad. I appreciate your support.” She thought
about asking how much the check was for, but stole a glance at Troy and closed
her mouth. Dad wouldn’t be stingy—he’d never bother with something like a
fifty-dollar contribution, but she didn’t suppose he would be supporting his
alma mater to the tune of a million bucks, either. Dad’s memories of his time at
Wakefield didn’t seem to be that fond.
    Her eyes met Troy’s, which a minute ago had glinted with
amusement when she’d been so obviously indulging in the self-satisfaction of her
success. Now his eyes were resolute.
    “Dad, there was a lot of talk this weekend about that murder
here on the campus your senior year. You never said much about it.”
    The silence was longer than it ought to have been. Madison
caught herself leaning forward until she practically hung over the phone. Troy
stared at it, too, lines deepening on his forehead.
    “It didn’t have anything to do with me,” her father said,
sounding abrupt. “Shook everybody up, of course. Sure as hell, nobody took a
sauna by himself again the rest of that academic year. Having the police on
campus day after day asking questions guaranteed one hell of a finals week, I
can tell you.”
    “Did Mitchell King have a girlfriend?”
    He made a humming sound as though he really was thinking back.
“I seem to remember they’d broken up not that long before. The police must have
looked in that direction, but word was she had a solid alibi. Some all-night
study thing, I think.”
    “It doesn’t sound like a woman’s kind of crime,” Madison
suggested tentatively.
    Troy nodded his approval at her.
    “No, it doesn’t, but if you make someone mad enough, who knows
what can happen.”
    “The few times you’ve mentioned him, you didn’t sound as if you
liked Mitchell King.”
    “I don’t remember ever talking about him.” Clipped and
forbidding, this was her father’s
I’m-going-to-shut-down-this-whole-topic-of-conversation voice.
    “After I took the job here, we talked a little bit about
it.”
    Madison would never have believed the atmosphere could be felt
so intensely through an open phone line. But during that silence, she changed
her mind. Maybe it was so charged because they couldn’t see each other’s
expressions. Or, gee, maybe it had something to do with her own gigantic
omission, the words unsaid: Dad, just so you know, there’s
a cop here next to me listening to everything you say .
    You think?
    “I guess we did,” her father said after the prolonged pause.
“No, Mitch was a sly little asshole.”
    Surprised, Madison raised her eyebrows. Her father was always
blunt, but rarely crude.
    “I don’t think anyone liked him,” he continued, “except for the
girlfriend, I guess. Temporarily.”
    Troy mouthed a question.
    “Sly? What’s that mean?” she asked, obedient to the
prompting.
    “We lived on the same hall freshman year. I caught him a couple
of times listening at closed doors.” Distaste tightened her father’s voice. “He
liked knowing things. Then he could make use of what he knew. Get jabs in.”
    “Into you?”
    “Of course not,” her father snapped. “He got a reputation,
though.”
    “Do you think that’s why he was killed? Because he learned
something he shouldn’t have about somebody?”
    “What’s with the questions, Madison?” He suddenly sounded very
controlled and cold. “The investigation isn’t being reopened, is it?”
    She looked at Troy, who nodded.
    “There are rumors it might be. I’m guessing the college would
encourage it if the police decide to. You’d think people would have forgotten
about it, but they haven’t. Even the admissions officers still have to tap dance
around questions