And yet she had planned to meet Elliot for dinner on this Wednesday. Was that because she knew Gordie wouldn’t be coming back? Or because she intended to make a point?
“In Seattle?” he verified.
“Yes.”
“How did he seem on Wednesday?”
“Fine.” Something in the way she said it didn’t ring true.
“Yes?”
“Yes.” She said it firmly, but then her shoulders slumped. “No. He was nervous about the upcoming show. Nervous but excited.”
“And?”
“We argued.”
“Over what?”
Her mouth tightened. “It doesn’t matter. It was stupid.”
“What did you argue over?”
“I don’t appreciate being interrogated, Elliot.”
Maybe she had a point. For a minute or two there he’d been back in G-man mode. “Sorry. I’m concerned, that’s all.” He couldn’t help adding, “Why did you and Gordie argue?”
Anne’s face quivered. For an instant he thought she was going to break down, but instead she said calmly, “He said he thought we should…” Her voice wobbled. “Take a break. From each other.”
Elliot had no idea how to respond. This wasn’t a normal interview situation. Anne was a friend and a colleague, and he was deep within no man’s land.
“I’m sorry.”
“He didn’t mean it.”
“No?”
She shook her head.
“Did he give a reason?”
She shook her head again. “It doesn’t matter. He didn’t mean it.” After a moment she said dully, “I think he was seeing someone else.”
“Any idea who?”
“No.”
“And you haven’t had any contact with him since? You have no idea where he might have gone?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t.”
“Sorry. His aunt’s very worried.”
“She doesn’t need to be. Gordie’s fine. He’ll be back for the show on Thursday.”
“That’s what Andrew Corian says.”
“Andrew should know,” she said tartly. “Gordie’s his protege.”
“Yeah? Well, it should be interesting,” Elliot said, dropping interview mode as the waiter brought their desserts. “I look forward to meeting the kid.”
* * *
But Gordie was a no show at Thursday’s art exhibit.
Originally Elliot hadn’t planned to attend the afternoon opening at Kingman Library, but so many people seemed convinced Gordie would turn up, it seemed a good idea to go. Roland had cemented that decision by informing Elliot that
Last year, Elliot’s knee had not been up to standing for hours of chitchatting and oohing and aahing over student projects. He’d forgotten what a very big deal the annual student art show was. Everyone was there.
To Elliot’s mild amusement, Roland was greeted like returning royalty by students and faculty alike. Even Andrew Corian treated him with deference.
One thing the two of them shared was apparent irresistibility to women. Even in his late sixties, Roland was a chick magnet. Elliot smothered a grin, watching him in action. Otherwise-staid lady professors were flushed and giggling.
It reminded Elliot of Pauline Baker, and his smile faded.
Charlotte Oppenheimer approached them. “Ah, the Professors Mills.” She and Roland bumped cheeks. “How are you, Roland? How is the book coming?”
“Excellent, Charlotte. The book is coming along right on schedule.”
“Should I fear for the university’s reputation?”
Roland laughed cheerfully and noncommittally, and Elliot thought that if he were Charlotte, he would not be reassured. But then no one really expected Roland to finish the book.
“No Gordie?” he inquired of Corian as Roland and Charlotte drifted, talking.
“Apparently not.” Corian grimaced. “You’re dying to say I told you so, aren’t you?”
Elliot could say with honesty, “No.”
“Go ahead. I admit I’m surprised he isn’t here. He worked hard for the privilege.” Corian smiled mechanically and nodded to a beaming couple who could only be student parents. When he turned back to Elliot, his expression was uncharacteristically grave. “This is hard for me, but…perhaps you’re right to be concerned.”
“Did you know Terry Baker?”
“Did
The Bakers could afford one of Corian’s sculptures. When Elliot had once heard in passing what Corian charged for his work, he’d been genuinely shocked. Not that Corian wasn’t talented and well-respected, but you didn’t expect your fellow instructors to be so independently celebrated in their field that teaching was elective.
“Did Gordie have any friends who might know where he would go if he wanted to get away from it all?”
“Get away from what all? Gordie was looking forward to this show. He worked hard for the privilege of having his work included.”
“One of his friends mentioned that he occasionally needed to take a time out.”
“What friend was this? Gordie was a loner. There were girls, of course, but he wouldn’t have confided in them.”
“Why not?”
Corian smiled almost pityingly, but instead of responding said, “Have you seen Gordie’s exhibit yet?”
“Not yet, no.”
“You must.” Corian led the way through the chattering crowd and a maze of pillars and bookshelves to a large corner with a towering construction of wire and forged metal on a square pillar. “If you hope to understand Gordie, you must first understand his work.”
Elliot stared up at the dull gleam of coils and tubes both ceramic and metal. It appeared to be two intertwined bodies. Were they supposed to be human? He wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to ask. Instead, he peered at the name tag at the foot of the structure. “Titan?”
“Yes. Riveting, isn’t it?”
“Literally.”
Corian laughed. “The very response I’d expect. You loathe it, don’t you?”
“No.” Elliot
Corian laughed again, seeing through Elliot’s social lie. “Gordie has been working on this piece for nearly two years. He put everything he had into it.”
Clearly he’d had a lot of one thing.
“Impressive.” Elliot leaned closer to inspect the forged iron plate of the figure’s thigh. If that was a thigh. Maybe it was another figure’s arm. Were they fighting or fucking? Or both? “Did he use an anvil on this?”
When Corian didn’t respond, he glanced back and saw the other man was staring across the room. Following the line of Corian’s gaze, Elliot saw that he was watching Anne Gold, who had just arrived. Were there rumors about a former affair between Corian and Anne? Elliot couldn’t recall. If that were the case could Corian have viewed Lyle as a romantic rival? It seemed unlikely given Corian’s supreme confidence in his own attractions.
“Did you say something?” Corian inquired vaguely. He looked back at Elliot.
“Did Gordie use an anvil to forge some of these sections?”
“Yes.” Corian raised his brows. “Why?”
“No particular reason. Where is this anvil?”
Corian’s black brows drew together. “Ah. I see where you’re going with this. In the ceramics building. But it’s not the kind of anvil you’re thinking of.” He glanced across the room again. “Excuse me, Mills.” Without waiting for Elliot’s response, he started across the crowded room, however he was stopped midway by another couple.
“An interesting work,” Charlotte murmured as she and Roland joined Elliot.
“
energy
This kid’s got something.”
“A lot of anger and frustration, I should say.” Charlotte’s comment was dry.
“Frustration doesn’t seem to be one of his problems.” Corian was still talking to the couple, so Elliot was unsure if he’d been attempting to speak to Anne or simply trying to get away from Elliot and his incessant questions. “Not sexual anyway. Not by all accounts.”
“Yes, well, a very interesting young man,” Charlotte observed. Clearly “interesting” equaled “dubious” in her mind.
Elliot asked, “Do you know him?”
“No,” she said without hesitation. It seemed pretty comprehensive: past, present and future.
The three of them studied Gordie’s sculpture in polite silence.
“He still hasn’t shown up?” Elliot knew the answer. He’d been keeping an eye out for Gordie since his own arrival.
“Not that I’m aware.” Charlotte’s smile was slightly pained. “Students, even gifted students, do elect to leave us. Rarely are the reasons sinister.”
That was certainly true. Most people who disappeared chose to do so. It wasn’t a crime to be a missing person. No matter how much it hurt the people who loved you.
Elliot murmured something noncommittal as Roland moved around to the back of the sculpture.
Charlotte added quietly, “His aunt isn’t here either. That’s interesting, don’t you think?”
Interesting. Mildly. Hardly conclusive. Elliot had talked to Zahra after his dinner with Anne, in an effort to find out what she and Gordie had argued about the morning Gordie had disappeared. Zahra had initially denied arguing with Gordie, then she had claimed she had been worried he would make trouble for himself by pursuing a relationship with a professor.
He’d been unable to get a straight answer as to what Gordie’s response had been. But maybe that was because Gordie’s reaction to Zahra’s concern had not been clear cut. It seemed to Elliot, that for all Gordie’s reported bad temper, he had restrained himself with Zahra. Gordie appeared to be genuinely fond of his aunt, which lent some credence to her belief that he wouldn’t take off without a word to her.
He made a so-so gesture to Charlotte.
She chuckled as though he was deliberately being stubborn. “You do enjoy your mysteries.”
He did? Maybe he did.
She squeezed his arm affectionately and moved away as Roland rounded the pedestal. He rejoined Elliot.
“What was that all about?”
“I agreed to look for the Lyle kid. Charlotte thinks I’m wasting my time and energy.”
“Oh yes? I saw the mother making an appeal on TV. On the KONG station. Very touching.”
“That was his aunt. According to her, he’s been missing for about a week. She’s worried.”
“The boy’s a student of yours?”
“No.”
“Then why are you getting involved?” Roland’s tone was curious.
“I wish I knew. Maybe it pisses me off the way everyone is so ready to dismiss this kid’s disappearance—and his aunt’s concern. My experience has been that most people aren’t concerned
atta boys.
Elliot sighed. “Dad, go tell it to your pal Andrew Corian. I get enough of that rhetoric from him.”
“Corian’s all right. Maybe a pinch over-opinionated.”
He left Elliot chewing over that sweeping irony, and Elliot moved to the next exhibit, a very well-done male nude in limestone.
“I may not know a lot about art, but I know what I like. I like
“Terry’s funeral is Sunday.”
“I’d heard.”
“Are you going?”
“I haven’t decided. I’m not sure that’s what Terry’s parents would want.”
“I’m going.”
“You should go,” Elliot assured him. “I didn’t know Terry. You did. You cared about him.”
Feder took a deep breath. “I was wondering,” he began very casually, “if you would want—”
“Elliot,” Roland said, strolling up to them. “A few of us are going to dinner at Giacometti’s. Are you coming?”
“I’ll be right there.” He gave it a moment, and then turned to Jim. “It’s nice seeing you again, Jim. Take care.”
Good food, good wine, good company. They had always ranked high on Elliot’s list of life’s pleasures, but he found himself restless and unable to concentrate as he sat in Giacometti’s restaurant after the art exhibition listening to the usual professional gabble about funding and screening and online social networking.
The food
“I believe most of our faculty make the effort to preserve their private lives, but professors really have responsibilities twenty-four-seven.” Charlotte’s voice drifted to him across the table. “We all have to be conscious of that. The university is drafting a social media policy for those of our faculty who choose to engage in online interaction. We have to be conscious all the time of the boundaries between student and staff.”
Was Charlotte directing that comment toward him? Elliot wondered as he met her gaze over the candles and wine glasses and filled plates. Maybe she’d seen him talking to Jim Feder and misread the dynamic? Or maybe she was thinking about Zahra Lyle’s allegations. Not much went on around campus that Charlotte wasn’t aware of. Did she have her suspicions as to which professor Gordie had been involved with? It wouldn’t be too difficult to pin down. There were only about five female professors who were unattached and in the right age bracket.
Assuming Gordie limited himself to a particular age bracket.
Come to think of it, maybe he shouldn’t make any assumptions about that.
“It’s always been a consideration,” Roland responded, “but things were looser in my day. At the same time we didn’t have so many tiger traps. Blogs, Facebooks, Twitters.”
“No,” agreed another older lady professor whose name Elliot had missed. “We seduced our students the old-fashioned way.”
The others laughed, but Elliot could see Charlotte was not amused.
“Are you going to Andrew’s opening next Friday?” Anne asked from next to him, her voice startling Elliot out of his thoughts. He could understand why she was hoping for a change of subject.
“Andrew?”
“Corian.” Anne’s smile was deriding. “You remember Andrew? World famous artist? His office is in the same building as ours.”
“I remember Andrew.”
“You two don’t care much for each other, do you?”
“I never thought much about it.”
She chuckled. “Proof positive. That dismissing tone says it all. But next to your father he’s probably our most famous alumni. Well, not counting Charlotte.”
Charlotte had written two highly respected books on women poets of the Romantic period, but she was not a local celebrity in the way of Roland or Andrew Corian. Elliot said, “I didn’t realize Corian was having another exhibition.”
“I don’t know how you could miss it. The flyers are plastered everywhere.”
He bit back an uncharitable comment. “Are you going?”
“I suppose so. We have to support each other. It makes Charlotte happy.”
Elliot glanced across the table at Charlotte. She was sipping her wine and smiling serenely as her gaze rested on the faces of her staff. She reminded him of a queen benignly observing her obedient courtiers.