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“In a way.” He frowned. “But that’s a terrible story. The waste of a promising young man’s life…it’s better off left in the past. Don’t dwell on it, for God’s sake. What got you interested in that person?”
She grinned, teeth clenched. Damn. She’d been afraid he was going to ask her this, and she had no good answer ready, so she just used the one she’d overheard Miles suggest to Connor on the phone.
“Actually, I found one of his personal notebooks,” she explained. “I’ve been studying it. It’s incredible. He was such a genius, you know?”
“That he was,” Porky muttered.
“Anyhow, I thought there might be a book in it,” she went on. “I thought I might investigate into why he might have offed himself.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the truth is sad and obvious. I suspect he might have been afflicted by his own extreme intelligence. Many geniuses are, sadly. History abounds with them.”
Porky was relaxing, warming up again. Back in the saddle.
“Oh, so, you remember a lot about him, then?” She beamed.
Porky blinked rapidly. “It’s, ah, coming back to me. You know how it is. Pull a memory in the database, and you find the connected ones.”
Dewy, hopeful eyes. “So could you answer some questions, then?”
His smile faltered. “I hate to disappoint such a lovely creature, but I don’t know what else I could tell you. He’s been gone for a long time.”
“Well, a couple things in the notebook puzzled me,” Cindy said. She steepled her hands and put on the cute-little-girl-recites-her-lesson look. “It referred to work he was doing at the Colfax Building.”
Porky’s brow looked shiny. “Ah. Well. I…I don’t really know what he did with his time when he wasn’t teaching.”
“Have you ever heard of anything called the Midnight Project?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It, ah, might have had to do with neurological research. I believe the project folded long ago. Dried up due to lack of funding. The Colfax belongs to the college now.”
“Oh, I know that. I’m working up there this summer,” she confided. “Band camp. I teach saxophone to the kids.”
“Really?” He rallied, grinning weakly. “So you’re a musician, as well as a writer. A young woman of many talents. I’m dazzled.”
Cindy glowed and fluttered for as long as she could string it, and gave it one last college try. “Do you know who funded the research?”
“I’m so sorry, Cynthia. I’m afraid I don’t.” Porky grabbed a device that was clipped to his belt, and pushed a button. “Emiliana? Would you bring us some iced tea and a plate of your pecan puffs?”
He replaced the thing on his belt, and cleared his throat nervously. Cindy cast around for some bubbly noise she could pump into the silence before the guy freaked out on her. “Love your house,” she offered lamely. “Gorgeous place. It’s so big.”
He looked around, like he’d never seen the house. “Ah. Yes.”
The Hispanic lady appeared, tightlipped as ever, bearing a tray with a frosty glass pitcher, two glasses and a plate of cookies. Porky was grateful for the interruption. “Ah, thank you.” He held out the plate. “Emiliana is new to me. Her predecessor just retired, but not before finding someone excellent to replace herself. There’s a network of people out there that you would never find at an employment agency. Try the pecan puffs. It’s clear you don’t have any problems with your figure.”
The cookies were fab, the tea was cold and sweet and good, and Porky kept gamely on with the sticky stream of compliments, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He almost leaped for joy when she said she had to scoot. He saw her promptly out, not touching her at all.
She hopped on her bike and took off for the campus. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, that she’d gleaned from that, other than that the mention of Kev McCloud made old Porky so tense, he actually stopped hitting on her. Which was to say, severely tense. Hmm.
She stopped at the Colfax to get her sax from the practice room, and turned when she heard somebody calling her name. It was Bolivar, Javier’s uncle, the janitor at the Colfax. He had a huge grin on his face.
“Javier came by here a little while ago. Told me you got him a good demo recorded,” he said. “He just sent off his application.”
“That’s great,” she said. “Keep your fingers crossed. He’s got a good chance at the scholarship. It would be great experience for him.”
Bolivar beamed. “The music, it’s good for him. Keeps him steady. He’s a good boy, Javier.” He paused. “Thank you for helping him.”
She was embarrassed. “Nah. It’s no big deal, really—”
“You helped him get the sax. You give him extra lessons free. His lessons go two hours sometime, he tells me. He’s a lucky boy, and you are a nice lady,” Bolivar announced, as if daring her to contradict him.
