“It’s not like Maryland is a diploma mill or something,” Glen observed mildly.
“You’re right. I’m sure it’ll work out. Where did you go to college?”
“UC Santa Barbara. It’s a big-time party school, but I managed to get my degree.”
“And how did a biology major end up as an actor?” The second game had started—the Sabertooths took the first one—and I kept half an eye on it as we talked. Someone behind us was munching on a candy bar and the smell of chocolate made my tummy gurgle.
“I was ‘discovered,’ ” he said with air quotes.
“Really?” I didn’t know that happened in the real world.
He nodded. “I was working at Sea World the summer after I graduated, doing the show with the walruses and sea lions, when an agent came up to me and said she could get me work in commercials. I did a deodorant ad and a spot for Home Depot and then I landed a movie.”
“Quite the fairy tale,” I said.
“More like a black comedy,” he said ruefully. “A couple of my movies went straight to DVD and one was never released because something got screwed up with the distribution deal, and—But you don’t want to hear about all that.” He waved a hand. “Teaching is a much more stable career,” he said, eyes tracking the volleyball as a Sabertooth served it, “and I get a lot of satisfaction out of helping the kids achieve their goals, whatever they are.”
“Why Georgia?” I asked, mindful of Hank’s cautionary story about Glen. “Why not stay in California?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and I wondered if something in my voice let him know my question wasn’t as casual as it seemed. After a moment, he said with a forced laugh, “Ever seen the traffic in LA?”
I laughed with him, but I noted that he hadn’t really answered my question.
GLEN DROPPED ME BACK IN THE ROTHMERE PARKING lot—now empty except for my Fiesta—a little before seven. The Sabertooths had won the match and we mostly talked high school sports on our way back to St. Elizabeth.
“Don’t bother getting out,” I said as he cut the motor.
Ignoring me, he came around to my door and opened it. I stepped out and found my face only inches from his as I stood. “I’d take you to dinner,” he said, “but I’ve got to get on with the grading.” He leaned forward as if to kiss me, but I reared back, bumping my back painfully against the door frame.
“Why did you kiss me the other day? In front of Hank?”
It was almost pitch-black out here with only a couple of small spotlights casting fantastical shadows from a topiary stag and unicorn, and I found it hard to read Glen’s face. His eyes seemed to hold a speculative look as he studied me. “Can’t a guy kiss an attractive woman without getting the third degree about it?”
“You just made up that bit about me inviting you in.”
“Guilty.” He backed away from the door and I stepped around it. He closed it behind me with a thunk. “Let’s just say cops aren’t my favorite breed and he was obviously so jealous that I couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t fair of me to put you in an awkward position—did I?—and I’m sorry.”
Honest contrition sounded in his voice and I found myself confused by him. He was handsome and fun, but he was pushing things too quickly, and even though he’d now apologized, his using me to needle Hank was off-putting. “Where were you Sunday night?” I asked.
“So, now I’m a suspect because I don’t like cops?” His voice hovered between irritation and amusement and I wished I could read his face better in the darkness.
“No, you’re a suspect because you were at Rothmere when Braden was pushed.”
“I was home—alone—grading papers. What about you?”
“Home—alone—watching a DVD,” I admitted. “I enjoyed the game.” I offered my hand. “Thanks for asking me.”
He shook my hand with mock solemnity, but there was a glint in his eyes. “You’re welcome. Maybe next time we can go to a Jaguars game, if you like football.”
“I like football.” Smiling noncommittally, I crunched across the gravel to my Fiesta and unlocked it. A bat zipped by, no more than a foot over my head. Glen waited until I was in the car with the door locked before beeping his horn in farewell and taking off.
LIGHTS WERE ON IN MRS. JONES’s HOUSE WHEN I pulled up to the curb, and I debated going in to see how she was doing. I was tired, though—maybe from my early morning swim—and I elected to skip the socializing in favor of some scrambled eggs and toast. I couldn’t remember when I last ate, and I felt light-headed as I approached my door. A glimmer of white attracted my attention and I moved faster when I realized someone had left a note on my door. As I stepped onto the stoop, something squished underfoot.