breast like a long-lost lover. As she shoved out the door, she speared me with an accusatory finger: “Register. Today.”
I did as I was told, schlepping down to the Dickerson registrar’s office. Thankfully, the school played fast and loose with registration for community members who weren’t seeking a degree. If you were willing to pay the tuition, they’d let you register.
My hand shook as I wrote the check. After nine months, the A-la-mode had finally drifted into the black, and I had money in my checking account. But not much. As I scrawled the zeros on the tuition check, I couldn’t help but envision all the things I wouldn’t be buying for another few months. The professional sign to replace the one Bree and Alice had painted freehand. The new waffle cone press I coveted. The brake job for my wretched old van.
But family came first.
First and second, as it happened.
After I got myself officially enrolled in Reggie Hawking’s American lit class, I met Cal by the entrance to the Gish-Tunny Center. He’d set up a meeting with Jonas Landry and George Gunderson to discuss the benefit for Bryan’s scholarship.
Before we got down to the specifics of the party, though, Cal decided to take me to the woodshed.
“Dammit, Tally, what sort of nonsense are you and Bree cooking up now?”
“It’s not nonsense, Cal.” I explained our logic about why we thought Emily had been murdered. “If someone killed both Bryan and Emily and if that someone thinks Alice is a threat, she’s in danger. I’m not about to sit by and let someone hurt our baby.”
“Those are some mighty big ‘ifs,’ ” Cal said.
“Maybe. But it’s mighty big trouble if we’re right.”
He sighed. “Listen, I would ride you more about this, but there’s nothing left for you to meddle in. It’s not official, but it looks like the detectives are closing the book on Bryan’s murder and there won’t be much of an investigation into Emily’s suicide.”
I noticed he didn’t qualify that word at all. As far as Cal and the cops were concerned, Emily definitely killed herself.
“If there’s no official investigation,” he continued, “there’s nothing for you to muck up. You may be a busybody, but you’re not a criminal.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said.
He tipped an imaginary hat. “No problem, darlin’.”
The two professors joined us as we picked up paper cups of sweet tea from the Jump and Java. They both bought coffee, waving their identification cards in front of the little red eye the way Reggie had done, and then they led us up to the third-floor ballroom.
“This is the space,” Landry said. “We can drape the whole room in crimson and gold bunting, and we have a parquet dance floor we can lay over the carpet there.”
The room stretched before us, empty and a bit forlorn, but with the enormous crystal chandeliers blazing and the space softened with furniture, fabric, and music, I could imagine how lovely it would be.
Cal nodded. “We’re planning on a silent auction,” he said, “so we could set up the items along that wall.”
I piped up. “Deena Silver is pretty busy with her daughter’s wedding, but Crystal and Jason knew Bryan, so she’s willing to do the catering at cost as long as we don’t hold the event the weekend of the wedding, which is the third weekend in June. And I’d like to provide dessert, if that’s okay. Since it’s a more formal dinner, I thought I could do an ice cream cake.”
A faint smile graced Cal’s lips. “That would be just fine, Tally. Since Bryan came to Dickerson, he’s been focused on the finer things, but when he was a kid, he had an ice cream cake from the Tasty-Swirl for every birthday party.”
He cleared his throat. “So how’s the second weekend in June look? That would work with the college baseball season and still leave Deena free the weekend of Crystal’s wedding.”
Landry pulled a face. “Unfortunately, I’ll be away that weekend. I have to attend the IAFS conference in Vancouver.” He looked at me. “Sorry, that’s the International Association of Film Scholarship.”
“Is it official, then?” Gunderson asked.
Landry chuckled. “As of Friday. I indulged in the osso buco at Fra Cirilo to celebrate.”
Gunderson explained. “Jonas’s most recent book was nominated for the IAFS Tamke Award, their highest honor. It seems he’s won.”
“Congratulations,” Cal and I said.
It must have been a big deal to rate a dinner at Fra Cirilo, north Texas’s poshest Italian restaurant.
“Yes, well, it means I’ll have to miss