“Who was that?” Janie asked. “Not the Travises?”
“It was Nathan. The call was about your boss, Patricia Reynolds. They found her body about an hour ago.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE SECOND FLOOR of Adobe Hills Community College housed many of the faculty’s offices. Right now the whole floor was in panic mode. As Rafe and Janie arrived, the dean of students and a police officer stood guard at the door to the elevator, ever so careful not to cross the cordon tape.
“Everyone knew she was allergic to nuts,” was all the dean had a chance to say to Rafe before his cell phone rang. The police officer had both Rafe and Janie sign their names in his notebook.
Rafe pointed Janie to a chair in an empty student waiting area off to the side which had already been set up as a command post. She continued to amaze him. Tears shimmered in her eyes but she didn’t let them fall. She clenched her fingers, and he knew she wanted to hit something or scream at the injustice of it all, but instead she stayed calm, intent on helping, on making a difference.
On their way to the school, he’d called the Travises to say he and Janie wouldn’t make it over, and as he talked, Janie had been checking her calendar to find time to go there, even if she went by herself.
Not that he’d let her.
He didn’t even like leaving her alone now. But at the moment, Patricia Reynolds was his priority.
He ducked under the tape, heading down the hall to Patricia’s office. Thanks to Janie, Rafe probably knew as much, if not more, about Patricia Reynolds than Nathan. On the drive over, she’d chattered—as people in shock are prone to do—almost nonstop about her boss.
She’d told him Patricia’s real age, how long she’d been chair and that beloved didn’t begin to describe how her students viewed her. She was also severely allergic to nuts and she’d made everyone aware of that.
Including, it seemed, the person who’d left her a plate of brownies.
Rafe didn’t even attempt to enter Patricia’s office. He rattled off the most important questions to the officer at the door, and then glanced in and groaned. As far as crime scenes went, this one was a nightmare. Usually the floor offered the most in way of evidence. But he couldn’t even see Patricia’s floor. Books, canvasses, boxes of supplies—some open, some not—and other paraphernalia took up all the space except for a narrow walkway to her desk.
And that’s where he found Patricia, slumped back in her chair.
Rafe took in every detail, from the position of her office window to the type of light on the ceiling. He’d just started examining the pictures on her wall—mostly abstract art but a few personal photos—when Nathan appeared.
“You’re not part of the immediate investigation, Rafe,” Nathan said.
“You’re stuck with me. I didn’t enter, didn’t disturb anything, and I have Janie with me.”
“Good, I want to talk with her.”
Nathan looked like a man on a mission. Rafe had seen other cops take cases too personally—himself included. Nathan was doing that now. He was so tightly wound that those around him gave him a wide berth. Rafe had watched the man bring suspects to their knees, but even then he’d never displayed this much intense determination.