After Grace left us to go to her next class, Max turned to me, voice low. “What are you thinking?”
“I’d like to talk to her. She’s all over Maya’s planner. Drinks, coffee. Young or not, I still think it’s a little weird that she was spending so much time with her.”
Max rubbed callused hands against his jeans. Ranch work had done a number on them. During the investigation, he had to run back home to direct the hands working on his horses. It was his dream to own his own ranch one day, but until then (and since getting fired from his last ranch job for fighting), he made his living training horses. “Maybe she and Maya were sleeping together. She finds out about Dani, gets pissed, casts a hex on Dani to get her out of the picture. She gets revenge and skirts the blame. Two birds with one stone.”
I considered it. “The body does resemble something that would occur from a crime of passion. Maybe Maya felt guilty, tried to call it off ‘the last time.’ Maybe Oswold didn’t like that one bit.”
Dr. Oswold was in her office. My first impression of her was that she was pretty, with dark, loose curls tied up in a bun, and soft brown eyes. My second impression was that this wasn’t the girl in the pictures. That girl could’ve been Maya’s twin, with the same tanned skin and blue eyes. And yet, there was a definite resemblance here. Same bone structure, same posture. Still, the contrast was jarring.
“Dr. Oswold?” Max asked, ambling inside.
“Yes?”
“Dr.RoseOswold?” I asked.
“That’s me,” she said brightly. “How can I help you two?”
Something about the new look, the perfectly tailored, mature professor in tweed trousers and brown loafers, made her look years older than Maya, and years older than the Rose Oswold in the pictures, even though they were only taken a few months ago.
Max didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, though. “We’re here to ask you just a few questions about Maya Hagood, if that’s alright.”
“Certainly. Though I didn’t have her in any of my classes, so I’m not sure how helpful I may be.”
“It’s just standard procedure, ma’am; we’re asking most of the faculty. Just want to cover all our bases.”
“Of course,” she said, and it was handy that I could listen to people’s objects because though Rose looked completely at ease, if a little annoyed at the interruption, I could hear her objects loud as day. And they were not nearly as calm and collected as the woman sitting in front of us.
“You were friends, weren’t you?” Max asked.
“I wouldn’t really say that.”
“You’re in quite a few pictures with her. You met on several occasions outside of school. Do you make it a habit of spending that much time with all of your students?”
One of her objects was in her pocket; the other I could tell was in a drawer, but I couldn’t tell what they were, which was unusual. Her third object, the Etch-a-Sketch on the shelf behind her, was doodling away, but seemed at war with itself; every time it started drawing something, it deleted it halfway through, shaking itself up in frustration.
Her objects betrayed a frazzled mind, the likes of which I’d never witnessed before. It seemed like they couldn’t quite decide what they wanted to be, frantically flitting from one thought to the next like bugs about to be squashed. All of this was at total odds with the calm, collected professor in front of me who seemed perfectly at ease with herself.
My second impression of Dr. Oswold was that she was a skilled observer. From the moment we walked into the classroom, I noticed her watching each and every thing we did. How Max stepped aside so I could take the chair closest to the door, every slight movement and decision on which we didn’t converse with each other because we knew each other so well. It was subtle, the way she mirrored our movements to put us at ease. Max leaned forward on one elbow, and she matched him. When I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, she did the same thing.
“Maya and I were from the same hometown, so we knew some of the same people. We liked the same kind of music, both cheered through high school. I was terribly sad to hear of her passing.”
“Did you two have a falling out?” asked Max.
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” she said, her shiny teeth gleaming at us. “We never got close enough for that. We were more acquaintances than anything.”
“Kept it strictly professional, then,” Max said.
“Exactly.”
“Anything odd you noticed last time you were together?”
She shrugged innocently. “Not that I can think of.”
“And when was that, about?”
“Oh, I don’t recall the exact date. It had to be some months ago. I believe we went out for celebratory drinks. A mutual friend was getting engaged.”
“Another student?”
