Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(97)

“Actually, ah, my friend is a musician,” he improvised.

“Ah. I see. Well, I’m sending the file. Do you want the photo?”

He was startled. “You have a photo?”

“We have a photo on file of all our students. Do you want it?”

“Uh, why, yes,” he said distractedly. “Please, send it along.”

And there it was, in his inbox. He opened the jpg, and stared at Cynthia’s pretty face. He thought of how warm the skin of her shoulders had been. How in a couple of days, that warm skin would be stone cold.

That curvy, slender body, laid out on a coroner’s table.

He was going to hell anyway. It didn’t matter anymore what sins he committed. And besides, no one had forced that idiot girl to ask her stupid questions. He’d done nothing. She’d brought it all on herself.

He dialed. The phone was promptly answered. “Beck?”

“Yes! Dr. Osterman? How are you? I haven’t heard from you in—”

“Cut right to it, Beck,” Osterman said. “I’m very busy.”

Beck swallowed his anger at the man’s arrogance. “Ah. Yes.” He cleared his throat, and laughed nervously. “I thought you might like to know about an odd visit I got, from a former student of mine. She was asking questions about Kevin McCloud.”

Osterman waited. “What questions? Who is she? Spit it out.”

“She asked about the Midnight Project,” Beck blurted out.

The quality of Osterman’s silence changed. It made Beck feel guilty. As if this mess were his fault. “She said she found his notebook. She wants to write a book.” He laughed again. “I doubt her interest runs very deep, knowing the young lady in question,” he babbled. “Not the brightest bulb, though she does compensate in other ways—”

“Her name, Beck. Don’t waste my time.”

He stared at the girl’s bright smile and took another step towards the crackling flames. “Cynthia Riggs. She’s teaching up at the Colfax. Probably staying in student summer housing. I…I have a photo.”

“Send it. What else do you have?”

Beck studied the files. “Academic records, parents’ address—”

“Send it all.” Osterman had a smug, satisfied tone. “I don’t have to tell you how important discretion is, do I?”

Beck forwarded the files to the appropriate address, hit send and gulped back a rush of bile. “No,” he said hoarsely.

Osterman paused, sensing the conflict in the other man. “You are contributing to crucial, life-enhancing research,” he lectured. “There are always ethical conundrums to be faced. Hard decisions to be made.”

“Of course.” Beck’s voice felt strangled.

“You do enjoy your tenure? Your position? Your interest income?”

“What a question.” Beck tried to laugh. “I’m very appreciative of—”

“Good. Have a good day, Professor.”

The line went dead. Leaving him sitting there, empty, staring and staring at the smiling face of the girl who was about to die.

Far off, in the back of his mind, he could hear her screaming.



Osterman studied the photograph, then clicked through the files. He was buzzing with excitement. About time that sack of lard he’d invested so much money in made himself marginally useful.

So she’d found his notebook, had she? Colfax Building, Midnight Project, it had to be the famous lost notebook at last, but who else had seen it? And who was she? How could McCloud’s notebook have fallen into the hands of some random female? It was incomprehensible.

He would normally have called Jared to do the Internet research, but he couldn’t wait. He typed her name into the search engine and began to sort through the hits. Spin, a music review mag. “…the third cut, “Wild Card,” an exceptional solo flight by sax player Cynthia Riggs, creating a blazing counterpart to the lead guitar…” Folk Music Today, “…of particular mention, the title song, “Falling Away,” by Cynthia Riggs, is the strongest piece in this overall strong debut album…the Vicious Rumors have shown themselves to be a band to watch…”

Yes, yes. Beck had mentioned that she was a musician. He flicked over the other references to her musical career until he found La Pineta Folk Festival, which had a photograph attached. He clicked to enlarge.

It was a shot of the band playing on stage. He recognized the girl in Beck’s photo instantly, blowing into her instrument with almost sexual abandon.

Hmm. Gordon was going to enjoy this assignment.

The next hit caught his eye, from the Endicott Falls Sentinel, dated last year. He clicked on the article and read it, heart pounding.

“…Erin Riggs, daughter of Edward and Barbara Riggs of Seattle, to Connor McCloud, son of the late Eamon and Jeannie McCloud of Endicott Falls. Attending the bride was her sister, Cynthia Riggs…”

He clicked to enlarge the attached photo, and started to laugh.

The girl in the photo was an older, plumper version of Cynthia. And the grinning man who clutched her bore a striking resemblance to Kevin McCloud. The girl was the sister of Kevin’s sister-in-law. Well, then. Perhaps the matter was still more contained than he had feared.

Still, Cynthia could not be allowed to run around babbling about the Midnight Project. She had to disappear. And if all else failed, she was an excellent lever to draw in the real prize. Sean McCloud.