Envy(147)

“Thank you.”

“The story about the transfer of power will run in my column tomorrow. Mr. Matherly asked me to hold it for a week. I agreed. Of course, when I did, I had no idea that… that he wouldn’t be here to read it.”

Maris had been further surprised to see tears in Nadia’s eyes that even her veil couldn’t conceal. “Your father was a gentleman, Maris. Even toward me.” She covered her mouth with her hand for several seconds before continuing. “I wish I had warned him not to go.”

“With Noah?”

She nodded. “Maybe even more than you, I know how treacherous Noah can be. I never thought he would go so far as to commit murder. But when I heard the circumstances of Mr. Matherly’s death, I wondered.”

“So did I.”

“Noah said as much.”

Maris then told her about hers and Noah’s meeting with the Massachusetts police. “If he did push Dad down those stairs, he got away with it.”

“That morning, as I told your father good-bye, I should have said something. Should have warned him.” Her eyes pleaded with Maris for absolution.

“I had a chance to warn him, too, Nadia. I didn’t, either.”

“I guess all of us underestimated Noah.”

“I guess.”

“By the way, he and I are history.”

“I don’t care.”

Nadia nodded, one woman understanding another’s scorn because it was deserved. “Just before coming here, I had the pleasure of telling him about the shift of power from your father to you. I don’t think he took it well. Be careful, Maris.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

Nadia looked at her closely and with admiration. “No. I don’t believe you are.” She ducked her head for a second, then looked bravely into Maris’s face again. “I never feel guilty over anything. This was a rare exception. Thank you for listening.”

Maris nodded and had turned toward the steps. But before reaching the stoop, she turned back. Morris Blume had stepped out of the limo and was holding the door for Nadia. He nodded politely to Maris, but it was Nadia whom she addressed.

“Why do you suppose Dad invited you to breakfast and gave you this story?”

“I asked myself that a thousand times. I finally reached a conclusion. Speculation, of course.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“He knew Noah had cheated on you, but Mr. Matherly was too old to defend your honor by beating him up. So he wanted to use my column to kick him in the teeth. He knew Noah would be publicly humiliated when the article appeared and it was there in black and white for all the world to see that publishing’s boy wonder had been stripped of his stripes.” Smiling over the irony, she added, “And no doubt your father saw the poetic justice in baiting Noah’s illicit lover with a story she couldn’t resist.”

“No doubt,” Maris said with a fond smile. It was her aged father they’d all underestimated.

“Maris, if it means anything to you…”

“Yes?”

“I think he had fun doing it. He was in great spirits that morning.”

“Thank you for telling me that. It means a great deal.”

She was in the townhouse less than half an hour and had arrived at the departure gate as they were boarding the flight to Nashville. She had checked into an inexpensive chain motel near the airport and collapsed into bed without even undressing. This morning she had eaten a lumberjack’s breakfast, then driven two hours to reach the university.

Now, as she strolled along the paved paths of the campus reviewing yesterday’s startling events, she could hardly believe she was here. She had strong feelings of déjà vu, which wasn’t surprising. She had been here before, through the pages of Parker’s book. Although he had assigned a fictitious name to the university, his descriptions had been dead-on.

She walked straight to the fraternity house, knowing precisely where it was located. It was exactly as Parker had described. The three-story brick building with the gabled windows and the Bradford pear trees lining the front walkway had been abandoned for the summer, but she could imagine how lively it would be when it reopened for occupation in the fall.

From the fraternity house, she followed the path that Roark had taken that blustery November morning two days before Thanksgiving holiday. Parker’s vivid narrative led her to the classroom building where Professor Hadley had his office. She ascended the stairs where Roark had been greeted by a classmate and invited to join a study group.

The second-floor corridor stretched out in front of her—long, dim, deserted, and silent. She passed only one office with an open door. A woman was working at a computer terminal, but she didn’t notice as Maris walked past.

She continued all the way down the hallway to the office numbered 207. The door was standing slightly ajar, as it had been that morning Roark approached it with his capstone manuscript inside his backpack. Her heart was thumping as hard as his as she gave the door a gentle push and it swung open.

A man was seated at a desk, his back to her. “Professor Hadley?”

He turned around. “Hello, Maris.”

She sagged against the doorjamb and snuffled a laugh of self-deprecation. “Mike.”

“Have a seat.”

He picked up a stack of books and magazines off the only other available chair and set it on the floor, alongside several other similar towers of reading material. Maris lowered herself into the chair, but her eyes never left him.