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“Maybe a few times.” The tempo of Ryan’s hand rubbing increased. “Honestly, I was probably a pretty needy client.”
“We’re talking about the lunches and coffee dates during the last two months.” Those were the ones Ginny cared about. The ones people at the deli and coffee cart near Stewart Park noticed. All the phone calls. What looked like constant contact even after the business ended. “Which, according to you and your property records, was monthsafteryou bought your house.”
Ryan didn’t blink, but his hands had stopped moving. He sat there, watching his interrogators with his gaze skipping between them.
Maybe she needed to reassess her thoughts about witness blathering, because this silence proved pretty damning. Thecharming, otherwise accessible professor appeared to be at a loss for words.
“You got really quiet,” she pointed out.
“Water issues.”
She hadn’t expected the blurt. From thewhat the hell?look on Pete’s face, he hadn’t either.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“The house had water damage not found in the inspection.” As soon as Ryan started talking, his cadence went right back to what it had been before—smooth and consistent. Not a hint of floundering. “Lila has been working with me to get reimbursed without having to sue the inspector or the previous owner for nondisclosure.”
As comebacks went, this was a good one. Ginny had to admit he sold the lines. If he could prove them was another question. “And you can verify this?”
“She can. She has all the paperwork. I was too angry to deal with the couple myself.” He leaned back in his chair, fully in control and smiling now. “I wanted move-in-ready, and, instead, my house is under construction.”
“You’re saying you don’t have a relationship with Lila?” Pete asked.
The delivery made Ginny wince. Too amateur to get the right reaction.
Ryan nodded. “I do. I just told you. She’s been working on my behalf.”
“Are you sleeping together?”
Ryan’s smile widened. “That’s an odd question. No.”
Direct hits like that wouldn’t work. Ryan was too smart to step in shit. He needed to be led around it then fall in. Ginny tried to steer them in that direction. “You teach sociology?”
Obvious, maybe, since they were in the sociology department, but getting him to talk about his work might trigger something. She knew from her husband that Ryan was considered a bit of a folk hero on campus. Roland didn’t know him, but he knew of him. Said Ryan taught one of the must-take classes on campus.
“Yes. I analyze crimes, some unsolved cold cases. The goal is to break down preconceived notions of—”
“You also write true crime.” Pete nodded toward the bookshelves. “Your name is on a few of these.”
“I teach about crime and write about it, yes.”
For some reason Ryan found that distinction important, and Ginny wanted to know if it was a case of professorial snobbery or something else. “What classes do you teach?”
“The most popular one is The Sociology of Violence.”
There it was. Ginny felt the heat of Pete’s stare and ignored it.
“I’m guessing you’re well aware of my teaching and research background.” Ryan leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, calm as could be. “Are you looking for assistance on this case?”
A memory hit her. She’d seen him on television, offering bits of wisdom about Karen Blue. “Do you consider yourself an expert on crime?”
“Not on committing it, no. But analyzing motivations and backgrounds, looking for patterns. Yes.”
He probably thought that was funny. Ginny didn’t. “Did you talk with Lila about your work?”
“In passing.” He flicked a hand in the air as if to sayno big deal.
“What does that mean?” Pete asked.
