“Fiancé, yes, I heard you,” Thyne replied. “I do hope the detective comes home safely. But seeing as I have already told the police everything I know about Dr. Newell, this is not a conversation I need to repeat. Especially with someone whoisn’ta cop.”
“Dr. Thyne!” I tried.
“And might I also suggest that you allow the professionals to do their job. That’s why we pay city taxes.” Thyne sniffed again. “Good day.” He began walking away, adding over his shoulder without sparing a glance, “I believe you have work to tend to, Ms. Gould?”
I looked at Gould, still standing in front of me without Thyne to block her, an expression of heartbreak on her face. “Thanks,” I said coolly. “For trying. I hope I haven’t gotten you into trouble.”
“That detective,” she began, scratching nervously at the skin below her collarbone, visible from the V-cut of her blouse. “He’s really been kidnapped?”
I nodded, silently pocketing my phone.
“He was really nice,” Gould murmured. “When he was here to help Dr. Newell.” She smiled that cute sunshiny smile from earlier. “My colleagues seem to forget half the time that I have a PhD just like theirs…. That detective used my title, though.”
“He’s good like that.”
“What’s his first name?”
“Calvin.”
She stepped closer and whispered, “Do you think Dr. Newell is…dead?”
“I don’t… I don’t know,” I replied.
“But you don’t think it’s good.” Not a question.
“No.”
She pulled back the sleeve of her sweater and glanced at her wristwatch. Gould looked up at me again. “I don’t know if I’ll be of much help. Your detective spoke with Dr. Thyne and Dr. Newell in private. But I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Meet me outside in about fifteen minutes by the food carts.”
“I’LL HAVEa hot dog!” Gould said cheerily to the man operating one of the dozen carts strategically parked outside.
“Pretzel,” I said, when he looked to me next.
I took out my wallet and dropped a five on the cart shelf. I knew my street food, and that covered both orders and left a small tip. I wasn’t about to get robbed by a shady, dirty-water dog operator thinking I was a tourist. We took our food, thanked the vendor, and sat on the freezing-cold steps outside of the museum.
“Thanks for the early lunch,” Gould said before taking a big bite.
“Sure. I’m all about cheap dates.”
She chuckled and asked around the dog, “How long have you been engaged?”
“Two months.” I broke off a piece of the hot pretzel and forced myself to eat. Despite my stomach growling and hangry tendencies beginning to show, it was hard to get the food down when my guts were in knots.
“How’d you meet?” Gould asked next.
I glanced sideways at her.
“I’m a romantic,” she said with a serious expression.
“We met during a homicide investigation.”
Her eyes grew. “Oh! Different strokes for different folks. Isn’t that the saying?”
Sure. I guessed. I supposed it was better than saying I took out a personal ad to find the love of my life.
