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“So you’ll be solo?” Mr. Banks wonders.
“Looks like it.”
“You know…if you need help in that respect, I’m your guy. I can set you up with a date.”
Professor Barclay replies with a short laugh and nothing else.
My hands have turned into mutinous little fists at my sides. The idea of Professor Barclay with a date, someone new for him to prance around with, has my blood boiling.
Zach edges slightly closer so he can speak quietly, oblivious to the conversation taking place one row forward.
“I didn’t know you were a Dartmouth girl,” he says, pointing down to my old college tote bag sitting at my feet. It barely gets any use anymore, but I brought it with me today to carry all my stuff for the construction site.
“Dartmouth?” Mr. Banks asks, turning back to look at me inquisitively. “When did you graduate?”
I tell him then try with all my might to keep my gaze from slipping to Professor Barclay.
Mr. Banks frowns and looks at his partner. “You were there still, weren’t you? Did you two know each other?” He turns back to me. “Did you take his course?”
“No.”
I have that word locked and loaded. It’s shot out so quickly and vehemently that I leave no room for Professor Barclay to contradict it.
Mr. Banks’ thick brown eyebrows furrow in confusion. “That’s odd…given your major.”
I shrug and look out the window. “It’s a big campus.”
“Even if we had crossed paths, I can’t possibly keep track of all my students,” Professor Barclay adds.
The statement stings, and I have to remind myself that it’s a lie. He does remember me; he proved that yesterday on the elevator. He’s simply corroborating my story.Don’t let it hurt.
“It takes something trulymemorablefor a student to really stand out.”
His words sound eerily familiar…and then my brain puts two and two together. It’s easy enough to do. Our last conversation at Dartmouth is branded in my memory.
Immediately, my hackles go up, and before I know it, I’ve spoken.
“And what would a student have to do to gain your attention? Bow down at your feet?”
The air in the vehicle suddenly feels like it’s sparking with electricity when Professor Barclay slowly turns to look back at me over his shoulder.
I forgot just how blue his eyes can be. Glacier blue. Unfeeling blue. Tear-you-in-two blue.
I barely manage to hide my gulp.
What have I done firing off a statement like that?
One of his dark brows barely rises, and yet my gaze hits the floor, all that strength gone instantly.
Zach laughs awkwardly and scoots a little closer to me, as if trying to protect me from our boss. “She was just kidding.”
Mr. Banks laughs. “She’s right, you know. Your god complex is showing.”
I don’t say another word for the remainder of the trip, which is blessedly short.
We arrive outside the Belle Haven Estate to find it’s a property rimmed with overgrown hedges. A security guard waves us past a rusty wrought iron gate. Its intricate design arches toward the sky, and it’s clear a craftsman—orteamof craftsmen—put a great deal of effort into the showpiece. I lament the fact that it’s been so poorly looked after all these years, then I remind myself of where I am. Everything about this estate is going to be decaying and old and in poor condition. That’s why we’re here.
It’s immediately obvious that the property stands apart from others in the area. For one, it spans almost five acres, a good swath of which is waterfront and has direct access to Long Island Sound. Once we’re past the gate, we wind through dense forest that was never cleared, even when work was underway on the estate in the early 1900s. The forest is the main reason the home was never discovered before now. Even using drones to capture aerial views of the land, it would have been impossible to make out the road and estate buried beneath the canopy of trees.
