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Her hair was a long fall of sunlight to her waist, her face equally striking with its wide mouth and deeply indented top lip. Her long nose tipped up at the end, and her wide eyes were a vivid shade of purple.
Eve recognized her as the model for the white statue in the entrance area.
“Excuse my appearance.” She smiled in the way a woman smiled when she knew she made an impression. “I was posing for my companion. Why don’t we sit, have something cool, and you can tell me what brings the police to my door.”
“You have a student. Rachel Howard?”
“I have a number of students.” She arranged herself on a pop
py colored sofa, as cannily, Eve thought, as the art was arranged on the wall. And for the same purpose. Look at me, and admire. “But yes,” she continued, “I know Rachel. She’s the sort of student who is easily remembered. Such a bright young thing, and eager to learn. Though she’s only taking my course as a filler, she does good work.”
Her smile was lazy. “I hope she’s not in any trouble—though I must admit, I think it’s a pity if young girls don’t get in some trouble now and then.”
“She’s in a great deal of trouble, Professor Browning. She’s dead.”
The smile vanished as Leeanne pushed herself straight. “Dead? But how did this happen? She’s just a child. Was there an accident?”
“No. When did you see her last?”
“At class, last night. God, I can’t quite think.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Rodney! Rodney, bring us something . . . something cold. I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry to hear this.”
The flirtation, the smug female arrogance was gone now. Her hand dropped into her lap, then lifted helplessly. “I can’t believe it. I honestly can’t believe it. You’re certain it’s Rachel Howard?”
“Yes. What was your relationship with her?”
“She was a student. I saw her once a week, and she attended a workshop I give the second Saturday of each month. I liked her. She was, as I said, bright and eager. A pretty young thing with her life ahead of her. The sort you see on campus year after year, but she was just a little brighter, just a bit more eager and appealing. God, this is horrible. Was it a mugging? A boyfriend?”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. I really didn’t know very much about her personal life. A young man picked her up after class once, I recall. She was often in a clutch of young people—she was the sort who was. But I did notice her with another boy on campus a couple of times—that struck me because they looked so striking together. The Young American Hope. Thank you, Rodney,” she said as the droid set a tray with three glasses of frothy pink liquid on the table.
“Is there anything else, madam?”
“Yes, would you tell Ms. Brightstar I need her.”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember her mentioning anyone named Diego?”
“No. Honestly, we were not confidantes. She was a student, one I noticed particularly because of her looks and her vitality. But I don’t know what she did outside of class.”
“Professor, can you tell me what you did last night, after class?”
There was a hesitation, and a sigh. “I suppose that’s the sort of thing you need to ask.” She picked up her glass. “I came straight home, so I’d have gotten here about nine-twenty. Angie and I had a late supper, talked about work. I had no classes today, so we stayed up until nearly one. We listened to music, we made love, we went to sleep. We didn’t get up this morning until after ten. Neither of us has been out today. It’s so bloody hot, and she’s working in the studio.”
She shifted, held out a hand as Angela Brightstar came into the room. She wore a blue smock that fell to mid-calf and was a rainbow of paint splotches. Her hair was a curling mass, the color of port wine, and currently bundled on top of her hair and anchored with a trailing scarf.
Her face was delicate, fine-boned with a pink, doll-like mouth and vague gray eyes. Her body seemed very small and lost inside the baggy smock.
“Angie, one of my students was killed.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Angie took her hand, and despite the paint splotches, sat beside her. “Who was it? How did it happen?”
“A young girl, I’m sure I mentioned her to you. Rachel Howard.”
“I don’t know. I’m so bad with names.” She brought Leeanne’s hand to her cheek, rubbed it there. “You’re the police?” she asked Eve.
“Yes. Lieutenant Dallas.”
