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 protégé.”

“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 he was attending the annual ceremony, and that their regularly scheduled dinner plans would have to be postponed.

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 I know the Baker boy? No.” Corian amended, “That is to say, I don’t think I ever had him in class. I know his parents, of course. The Bakers are socially prominent and active with the university. They own one of my pieces.” That last seemed to indicate Corian’s seal of approval.

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 did loathe it, actually. Something about all those thrusting phallic spears and knobs raised his hackles. It was so blunt, so belligerent. Like a fist to the face. It made him want to punch back. “How long did it take him?”

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.

“Far out.” Every now and then the vernacular of Roland’s youth crept into his vocabulary. Charlotte and Elliot shared fleeting, suppressed smiles as Roland approached the sculpture. He tilted his head from side to side, trying to get a different perspective on what appeared to be a barbed penis. “Look at the energy here. The passion. This kid’s got something.”