“Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting you’re a walker. You want me to drive you home? I can tell you’re sore.”
Katherine was sore. She was also wary of letting Megan know where she lived. Why?
“You don’t think I’m going to stalk you, do you? I already told you all about me. I don’t have anything to hide.”
It wasn’t fear—it was instinctive privacy and habit.
You’re a forty-seven-year-old woman with no friends, Katherine.
She took a deep breath and turned to Megan. “Would you like to come over to my house and have a glass of wine on the deck?”
Megan’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to!”
“Excellent.” She rebuckled her seat belt. “Just go north on Beach Street for a few blocks. I’ll point out the house.”
“Holy shit, you actually live right on the beach, don’t you?”
“The boardwalk runs right in front our house, and the back deck overlooks the ocean.”
“I am so insanely jealous right now.” She turned left and headed up North Beach Avenue.
“Why wouldn’t you call Toni a witch?” Katherine said. “Isn’t that how it works? Men are wizards and women are witches?”
Megan smiled. “I thought you didn’t think it was magic.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t read fantasy. I’ve been a card-carrying nerd for forty years, Megan. Of course I read fantasy.”
She laughed. “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of research online and witches—male and female—are practitioners of Wicca, which is a form of modern paganism. Wizards are just kind of general magic users.”
“So do you think we’re wizards?” Katherine was definitely not putting that on her business card.
The corner of Megan’s mouth turned up. “I know you think it’s all part of science we just can’t explain yet, but I think something else might be at work, Doc. All three of us experienced something extraordinary at the same time. Three is a tricky number, you know. It means something.”
“Mathematically elegant,” Katherine murmured, watching the cottages and bungalows of her neighbors creep by.
“What’s that?”
“Three.” She turned to Megan. “Three is a very mathematically elegant number.”
“I’ll go ahead and take your word on that.”
“Here.” Katherine pointed to the redwood-shingled bungalow tucked between two Monterey cypress trees.
“Oh!” Katherine’s mouth formed a nearly perfect O. “It’s perfect.”
“Well, my husband and our handyman would argue that point, but we love it.” It felt nice that Megan—who obviously had a great sense of style—liked her house. “It’s not big.”
“It doesn’t need to be.” Megan opened her car door. “Look at that view!” She swiveled to the pebbled stretch of North Beach extending in front of them. “See, when I imagined living in California, this was what I pictured. Not some weird modern Mediterranean mansion in the hills with rooms we’ll never use. What is a bonus room anyway? Right now it’s just where we keep the boxes we haven’t unpacked.”
Katherine got out and shut her door. “I’m guessing your husband picked out your house.”
“I didn’t even see it before we moved.” She frowned a little, still staring at the ocean. “It’s fine. It’s very large and luxurious. But it doesn’t have any personality. Our house in Atlanta had character.” She turned to Katherine’s house. “This has loads of charm. Ours is just kind of… blah.”
Katherine nodded to the stairs that led up to the broad front deck. “Come on in and let’s get some wine. You can tell me all about it.”
“Wine and ocean views? That’s what I call magic.”
Chapter 9
Katherine made her way to the Fred lab the following Monday. Physically, she felt much better than the week before, but mentally, she might have gotten worse. She’d experienced three more “microvisions” over the weekend. Two of them were mundane, but the third was a car accident she saw happen on the highway just seconds before a small sedan flipped on its side after being sideswiped by a pickup truck.
It was a stark reminder that while she might have been feeling better, life was still very much out of her control.
She walked across the campus, conscious of every student who sped past on a skateboard or bike. She saw a young man jogging in a university sweatshirt and felt an immediate increase in her heart rate.
By the time she reached the lab, she was a bundle of nerves.
“Professor B!” Kaylee looked up from behind her laptop with a giant smile. The young woman was in her midtwenties, but she still looked barely out of high school.
Appreciate it while you can.
Katherine had dealt with the frustration of a young face until her thirties. Then she seemed to go from “Are you a student here?” to “You look tired, Professor B” almost immediately. She knew she shouldn’t complain about aging, but she wished she’d had a slightly longer time to enjoy looking old enough to drink legally before she had to deal with wrinkles.
“How are things, Kaylee?”
The young woman jumped up and walked around the desk. “Can I help you with anything? You look like you’re limping a little.”
Katherine rubbed her knee. “I have one leg that’s still a little sore, but I’m so much better than I was last week. The walk felt good.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.” A thought tickled the back of her mind. “Kaylee, remember the girl you were talking about? The one who had the strange incident with the horse before Justin McCabe?”
“Yes.” Caution filled Kaylee’s eyes.
“I was wondering if you might have her phone number or know where I could get it.”
“I absolutely do not.” Kaylee shook her head. “I’m not even sure if I had her name right.”
Katherine narrowed her eyes. Kaylee was acting strange, and she was pretty obviously lying. She’d freely offered the name of the student the previous week—it was Sarah Jordan—and she’d spoken openly about the rodeo incident, which had been written up in the student paper six months before. Katherine had been able to find the article with a quick internet search.
What was going on now?
“Okay. I was just wondering if I’d had her as a student. The name sounds familiar.” The name didn’t sound familiar, but Katherine couldn’t figure out why Kaylee was suddenly so cagey. “I’ll ask around. I was wondering if she and Justin McCabe might have had a connection.”
“Did you have Justin McCabe as a student?”
“I did.” Katherine hardly thought Kaylee was a gossip. She was mainly interested in human neurons. “I had Mr. McCabe in an Elements of Cosmology class.” It was the most common general-education class she taught. “But he wasn’t in my department.”
“He was an ag business major.”
“Correct.”
Kaylee bit her lip and frowned. “You should ask Professor Shaver about Justin. I think he might have known him.”
“You think I should ask Ansel about Justin McCabe?” Ansel Shaver was a psychologist with a specialty in cognitive science who was assisting in the Fred lab, primarily on the sensor readings for their cephalopod test subjects.
He didn’t particularly like working with the animals, and the animals knew it. They regularly squirted him with water.
“Yeah.” Kaylee’s face told Katherine that something else was going on. Something significant. “But you don’t need to tell him I told you that, okay?” Kaylee’s eyes were trying to send Katherine a message she was woefully obtuse on.
“Okay. I’ll ask. And I’ll leave you out of it completely.”
Kaylee let out a breath and smiled. “Awesome.”
Katherine didn’t care for Ansel Shaver much more than the four octopi did. Maybe it was her own experiences with psychologists when she was younger, but something about the man seemed cold. Her own counselor had been a warm and practical woman who guided Katherine through unders
tanding her social anxiety. Ansel didn’t have warmth.
How would he have known an agricultural business student? Why would he ever come in contact with him unless—?
Oh.
Ohhhhh. No wonder Kaylee wanted her name left out of it.
The only reason Katherine could think of for Professor Ansel Shaver to have interacted with Justin McCabe was because of his student study the year before. It was entirely confidential, but Katherine had been generally aware of a large study Ansel had directed the previous academic year. He’d teamed up with four other behavioral sciences professors to administer it if she remembered correctly. If Justin McCabe had been a participant in the study, Ansel might know him. Or he might have been one of a hundred numbers in a computer. It really depended on the study.
Which led to so many other questions.
What was the study about?
Could something involved in it have been the catalyst for Justin McCabe’s attempted violence?
Unfortunately for her insatiable curiosity, there was no way for Katherine to access the information. The university was a vault when it came to the privacy of students who participated in clinical research.
Of course, this was Central Coast State. Officially, the participants wouldn’t even use their names. Unofficially… it was a pretty small school. Inevitably, some students would know the professors or graduate students involved.
Katherine wandered back to her closet of an office at the Fred lab and looked at the stack of papers on her desk. They could all wait. Everyone could wait. She felt a sense of urgency come over her. Instinct? Magic? Something else entirely?
Something about Kaylee’s urgency prodded her to find out more.
If Justin McCabe had been part of that study, what had been the objective?
Ansel Shaver was a psychologist. Had there been a pharmaceutical component? Central Coast didn’t have a med school. Who else would have been involved?
Could something about a psychological experiment conducted the year before have had an effect on his behavior months later?
At least the pharmaceutical question could be easily answered. She looked through her bag, found the detective’s business card, and picked up the phone to call the Moonstone Cove Police Department.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Professor Katherine Bassi at Central Coast State. I’d like to speak to Detective Drew Bisset.”
“Let me see if he’s available. I’m going to put you on hold a minute.”
“That’s fine.” She waited on the line a few minutes before the phone clicked and Detective Bisset’s voice came over the line.
“Professor Bassi,” he said. “This is Drew Bisset. How can I help you? How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling pretty well. That’s kind of you to ask. A little sore, but no permanent damage.”
“That’s good news.”
“I had a question about Justin McCabe.”
“I’m not sure how much I can answer, but okay.”
“Did he have any drugs in his system when he committed the crime?” Katherine asked. “I’m specifically thinking about prescribed medications, not illegal drugs. I promise I am asking for a nonfrivolous reason.”
“Be that as it may,” Detective Bisset said, “I can’t tell you that.”
“I’m asking because it’s possible that Mr. McCabe—”
“Ma’am, I really can’t tell you anything about the case.”
She tried not to mutter the words she was thinking. Katherine had a voracious appetite for knowledge. Learning she didn’t know something was not a surprise. Being told she wasn’t allowed to know something was an entirely different level of frustration. Her bullheaded side had been roused.
“Can I have his family’s contact information?”
“No.”
“How about his lawyer’s name?”
“Absolutely not. It’s not a good idea for you to be asking anything about—”
“What about the name Sarah Jordan?” she asked. “Do you know anything about—?”
“Did you say Sarah Jordan?” Detective Bisset’s voice had a sharp edge.
“Yes. She was another student at Central Coast, and five months ago she killed her horse. No warning. Everyone was shocked by the act. They said it was very out of character, just like they’re saying about Justin McCabe and—”
“Professor Bassi.” Detective Bisset cut her off. “I need to go.”
Katherine felt a bit deflated but mostly annoyed. She wasn’t accustomed to being dismissed so quickly. “Obviously I’m not a police detective, but if you could just tell me if the police conducted any investigation into—”
“I really do need to go.” His voice was brusque. “I’m very glad you’re feeling better after your ordeal, and if there’s any information I need from the university, I’ll be sure to let you know. Thank you so much for your offer of help.”
Had she offered to help? The detective hung up the phone before she could ask.
“Irritating man.” She set her phone down on her desk and glanced at the calendar blotter that was more doodles than appointments.
Let’s meet this same time next week.
The week before, Katherine and Megan had poured two glasses of local pinot noir into aluminum travel mugs and walked along the beach for over an hour. Megan chattered about her house, her three children, and when they were well away from any onlookers, she tried moving some rocks on the shore with little success. They shifted a bit, but nothing as dramatic and powerful as the gun.
After that lovely afternoon, Megan had nailed Katherine down to meeting regularly for a glass of wine on Wednesdays. Now it was two days away and Katherine was looking forward to it.
She smiled as she jotted down a note for Wednesday afternoon on the calendar.
Drinks with Megan.
She could tell Megan about Sarah and Justin and her suspicions about the study and see what the other woman thought. Her mind was nimble, and she had a keen understanding of human nature; she might make connections that Katherine didn’t see.
She glanced at the schedule for the week and noted that Ansel Shaver would be in by two o’clock that afternoon to take routine sensor readings for their four cephalopod test subjects.
Excellent. She could talk to him then.
* * *
She walked to the student center at one o’clock that afternoon to find something to eat. She settled on a chicken salad, the blandest of all midweek lunches but better than the dry-looking sandwiches.
She picked up the salad and stared at the clear plastic shell.
“We have a culinary school at this university.” A voice sounded beside her.
She looked up. The young man speaking to her looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember his name. “I know. We have an entire food science program too. It’s baffling that we can’t get better options.”
The man also took a boring chicken salad. “At least the dressing is okay.”
“I’d still be willing to be a test subject for the culinary school,” Katherine said. “As long as flavor was part of the study.”
“Agreed.” He put the chicken salad on his plastic tray and held out his hand. “You forgot my name, didn’t you? It’s Greg Hammond.”
“Yes!” He, like Kaylee, was another of Ansel Shaver’s grad students, but not one she usually saw at the Fred lab. “I knew you looked familiar, but I’m horrible with names.”
“If I had to see as many students as you do every day, I doubt I’d remember anyone.”
She waved a hand. “I don’t do well with my lecture classes, but there’s no excuse for not remembering someone who works so closely with Professor Shaver. I knew I’d seen you at the Fred lab. Is Professor Shaver your thesis advisor?”
“Yes. I fill in over at Fred occasionally, but I work at the behavioral science lab mainly. Though I’m also consulting with Alice Kraft in computer sciences on some things since my thesis has a tech focus, so I hang out over
there too.”
“You’re a busy young man. Psychology and technology?”
“I want to focus on how data from wearable devices could potentially transform how mental health professionals evaluate patients.”
“That’s very interesting.”
“Yeah. I mean…” He shrugged. “Everyone lies, right? But our bodies don’t.”
“That’s definitely one perspective.” A cynical one. “Good luck with that.”
“Thanks. I’ll probably… see you around the Fred lab.”
“I’m sure you will.” She knew Ansel depended heavily on his grad students.
In fact…
If Ansel was running a clinical study, Greg could very well have been the one inputting names into the computer, especially if he was active at the behavioral science lab.
She couldn’t ask.
Could she?
Not directly, but…
Greg smiled and lifted a hand in a wave as he walked away. “Have a good day, Professor Bassi.”
“You too.” Should she? It was worth a try. “Greg?”
“Yes?” He turned back toward her.
“I was wondering if you’d heard about Justin McCabe.”
His eyes flickered for just a second; then the young man’s face settled into a careful mask. “I think everyone’s heard about him.”
“Did you know that I was actually at the gym that day?”
His eyes went wide. “I hadn’t heard that part.”
You’re lying. Why would he lie? To avoid the appearance of listening to gossip? That was a definite possibility.
“Yes, it was a strange experience.”
Whatever Greg had been thinking, the blank expression fled, and warmth filled his face. “I’m so glad you and everyone involved are okay.”
“Me too.” Greg had recognized the name, and she didn’t think it was because of what happened at the gym. “But you didn’t know him personally?”
“Who?”
You know who. “The young man who had the gun. Justin McCabe.”
“Not at all.” He held his tray in front of him. “I really need to get going, but I’m glad you’re okay, Professor Bassi.”
“Thank you.”
Runaway Fate: Moonstone Cove Book One Page 7
