All She Ever Wanted - Barbara Freethy [110]
A couple of girls turned the corner and came down the sidewalk toward them. They were completely dressed in red—sweaters, T-shirts, scarves, hats, all with university logos. As they passed by, Laura heard them laughing and talking. "Do you think he really likes me ... I know he does, but he doesn't think you like him ... Oh, my God, how could he not know that I like him ..."
Laura looked at Madison, and they both laughed. "That was us," Laura said.
"We were never that stupid, were we?"
"I was."
"Yeah, you were," Madison agreed with a soft smile. "That was a million years ago."
"At least," Laura agreed, feeling old. What she wouldn't give to be that young and carefree again.
The front door to the sorority house opened and another group of girls came out wearing similar shades of red. They paused, catching sight of Madison and Laura. One of them came forward. "Hi, are you alumni here for the homecoming game?"
"Uh—yes," Laura said, grabbing at an answer. "As a matter of fact we are. We used to live here."
"Cool. Everyone has gone to the game, though. We're having the alumni open house starting at seven tonight, if you want to come back then."
"Thanks." Laura turned to Madison as they left. "I forgot it was homecoming weekend."
"That explains the clothes. I was beginning to think these girls had no fashion sense. Actually, this might work out to our advantage. I'd rather take a stroll through the house while it's relatively empty."
"I think we should wait for Natalie," Laura said. "This is something we need to do together."
* * *
Natalie's body tensed as they drove down the street toward the sorority house. Each roll of the wheels brought her closer to her past, a past she still wasn't sure she knew how to face.
"There they are," she said, spying Madison and Laura standing on the corner. "They look like they're waiting to rush. We stood in exactly that spot the first day we came to the house, waiting for the girls to invite us in."
"I wish they never had," Cole said.
"I know you do." She realized this trip might be even more difficult for Cole than for her. His only visits to the house had been to see Emily. And if Emily had never moved into the house, she might still be alive.
Cole pulled up in front of Madison and Laura. Natalie rolled down the window. "Get in," she said. "We found Malone. I'll explain on the way."
Madison opened the door to the backseat, and they climbed in. "What's going on?" she asked.
Natalie turned in her seat as Cole made a U-turn and headed toward the campus. "Cole's investigator tracked Malone's corporation to a man named Jerry Williams. It turns out Mr. Williams is an old man suffering from Alzheimer's and living in a retirement home. It quickly became clear he could not be the author of the book. However, in his drawer I found a book of poetry with a name stamped in it—Greg Martin, professor, Santa Cruz University."
"Professor Martin?" Laura echoed. "Emily and I took a class from him fall semester of our sophomore year."
Natalie felt a rush of excitement at that information. "I thought I remembered Emily mentioning his name. Was it a small class?"
"No, it was in a lecture hall. There had to be a hundred students or more," Laura replied. "Do you really think Professor Martin is Garrett Malone? How would he have been able to write a book about us?"
"That's what we need to ask him," Natalie said. "At the very least, the professor should be able to give us more information on this Jerry Williams and if he's tied in any way to someone else who might have written the book."
After parking the car in a nearby lot, they walked into the building housing the English department. Professor Martin's office was on the third floor. Bypassing the elevator, they took the stairs.
"It's so deserted," Natalie commented. "I wonder where everyone is."
"At the football game," Laura replied. "It's homecoming weekend. Kind of ironic, isn't it?"
Natalie didn't bother to answer that as they paused in front of a door marked with the professor's name. Cole knocked, then tried the door. No