A Change of Worlds

Book 5 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 16

The smell of gunpowder hung in the air as I took my stance, feet shoulder-width apart, arms held out in front of my body at shoulder height. I aimed the gun at the target, tightened my finger on the trigger...and froze.

The last time I'd fired a gun I killed a man. That was three years ago, and it still haunted my dreams.

You have to do this, I told myself sternly. Novak wants you to have a gun, and in order to carry a gun you need to qualify.

Still, I couldn't pull the trigger.

It's just a paper target.

I'd barely slept the night before. Feeling unsettled after Novak set up my appointment, I went home to Adam. He, Kane, and Tad were just sitting down to dinner, so I joined them. I was fine while we were all together and talking, but as soon as my head hit the pillow later that night, I started dreading the test.

I'd arrived at the shooting range almost an hour before, hoping to get the test over with quickly, but that wasn't in the cards. Although I was on time to meet Lieutenant Donté Stark, Novak's buddy, he was running late. When he finally appeared, there was some confusion about whether I had to take the firearms safety course required by state law. After much discussion, he decided that since I'd taken a class when I was fifteen, I was exempt. I still had to be qualified, however, which was what I'd thought the meeting was about in the first place.

Then there was the whole gun issue. I had to be qualified with the type I'd be carrying. Since I hadn't purchased one yet, that posed a problem. I called Novak, who told me to rent a Smith and Wesson 9mm. When I passed the information along to Lt. Stark, he informed me he carried that very weapon, so I could just use his.

At long last we'd made our way to the actual range, and I'd frozen up. I stared at the target with a sick feeling in my stomach. I took a deep breath and held it, closed my eyes for a second, opened them again, and pulled the trigger.

I slowly released my breath. It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. There were no flashbacks, no sudden panic attacks.

I aimed and fired again.

"So how'd it go?" Novak asked the moment I walked in the office door.

"I qualified," I reported.

"What'd you score?"

"Ninety-six percent."

His mouth dropped open. "That's higher than I was shooting when I was still on the force."

I shrugged. "I've always been good with guns."

"Then why did you fight me on this?"

"My skill level had nothing to do with it. I just don't like guns. So I'm good with them. So what? What a useless skill. Maybe I missed my calling as a sniper."

"It's a skill that saved your life once and could very well save it again."

I looked away. "I took a life too."

Novak walked over and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Killian, it's admirable that you have such a high esteem for human life, but you can't keep beating yourself up over something that was beyond your control. You stopped a killer the only way you could. If you hadn't done what you did, he would have killed Jake and you too. You may have taken one life, but you saved two."

"I still... I just don't like guns."

"You don't have to like them to be proficient with them, and apparently you're practically a sharpshooter." I made a face. "Look at it this way: knowing you're carrying a weapon will make me feel better."

"At least one of us will feel better," I mumbled.

"I hope you'll never even have to use it, but if you need it, it'll be there." He ruffled my hair. "Was it really that bad?"

I sighed. "No, I guess not. It wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated, anyway."

"You probably built it up too much in your head. Guns are just tools, like anything else we use in this business."

"Now you sound like Judy."

"Changing the subject, you need to pick out your new desk. Come on into my office. I have a catalogue."

Grateful for the reprieve, I flipped through the pages of the office supply catalogue while Novak chattered on about my expertise with guns. I tuned him out and concentrated on making the difficult choice between wood-grain and chrome. I decided I was more of a wood-grained kind of guy.

"I like this one," I told Novak, pointing at a picture and cutting him off in midsentence.

He looked at it and frowned. "Isn't it kind of small?"

"I never pegged you as a size queen," I said dryly.

He ignored me. "And you don't want some cheesy imitation wood. Pick out something bigger in real wood."

"Right. Bigger wood. Got it." He rolled his eyes. I looked at some more pictures, but the prices were exorbitant. "The real wood ones are expensive."

"Ignore the price tags."

"Did you win the lottery and not tell me? You just bought the building and had it renovated, and now you want to buy me an expensive desk too?"

"How about if you leave the finances to me, huh?"

"Seriously, though, these things are pricy."

"Just pick the one you like. The agency has been doing very well lately, and that's largely thanks to you. I have quite a bit of savings besides. You want your office to look nice, don't you? That's what potential clients will see when they come to meet you."

I glanced around and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Then how do you explain your office?"

"What's wrong with my office?" He was getting a little defensive.

"Nothing...if you like caves."

"My office is not a cave!"

"I guess it suits your personality."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I grinned. "Nothing at all. Just, maybe, while you're throwing all this money around, you should consider hiring your girlfriend to redecorate your office."

He frowned deeply. "I don't think Judy would appreciate being called my girlfriend. That sounds a little undignified for a grown woman."

"You'd prefer lady friend?"

"Just pick a desk," he growled.

Smirking, I went back to the catalogue. A bit more shopping turned up one I liked that wasn't too expensive, which I showed to Novak.

After giving it his approval, he asked, "So what are you going to do today?"

"I was planning on talking to the archaeology team."

"Good idea. Will you be taking Jacy along?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

"He wanted to be involved, didn't he?"

"Yes, but I'm still not sure it's such a good idea."

"In my opinion, you should think of him as an asset. You're dealing with a culture you don't know much about, but he's a part of it. He could be helpful."

I nodded, considering what he'd said. I hated to admit he might have a point. Even though Fletcher had specifically asked me to keep Jacy out of it, he was, as Novak had pointed out before, old enough to make his own decisions. I sighed and decided to call him. If he was available, I'd take it as a sign that he was supposed to be involved.

I pulled out my cell phone and walked into the outer office to dial Fletcher's number. It rang several times before he answered.

"Hi, Fletcher. It's Killian."

"Killian! How goes the investigation?"

"I think maybe I'm starting to get somewhere. I have a few leads I'm following up."

"That's great news. How can I help you?"

"Actually, I was calling for Jacy. Is he there?"

"Jacy?" I sensed a bit of hesitation in his voice. "Just a moment."

There were some rustling sounds, then I heard Fletcher calling for his grandson.

A minute later, Jacy came on the line. "Hello?"

"Hey, Jacy, it's Killian. I'm going to go do some interviews with the dig crew this afternoon. Would you like to come with me?"

"I thought you said it was a bad idea for me to give you a hand."

"I reconsidered. It could be helpful to have someone along who understands your culture more than I do. Are you still interested in being part of the investigation?"

"Yeah, I am. I'll need to clean up first. I was out working on my bike. Where should I meet you?"

"Do you know where my office is?"

He didn't, so I gave him directions.

As soon as we said goodbye, I started having second thoughts. I sure hoped that Novak was right about this...and that Fletcher wouldn't be too upset with me.

While I waited for Jacy, I looked up directions online to the addresses Elyse had given me. I could use the GPS on my phone to find them, but this way I could map out the best route to avoid driving all over for nothing.

"So this is your office," Jacy said after he got there and had taken a moment to look around. He didn't seem especially impressed.

"For now. I'll be moving soon. Our new assistant will inherit this room."

"My sympathies to that poor soul. Where are you moving?"

I pointed at the newly installed door. "Right through there."

He laughed. "That's convenient."

Novak's office door opened, and his head popped out. "Ah, hello. I thought I heard voices."

"Novak, this is Jacy Elliott. Jacy, this is my mentor and boss, Shane Novak."

They shook hands and exchanged nice-to-meet-yous. Then Jacy turned to me expectantly.

"Are you ready?" I asked him.

"Are you kidding? I was born ready!"

Laughing, I grabbed my list of names and addresses printed out in the order we'd be visiting them and started for the door. "All right, Watson, let's hit it."

"If you're going to use Sherlockian references, you should say 'the game is afoot,' not 'let's hit it,'" Novak commented dryly.

I shrugged. "Welcome to the 21st century, Novak." I sailed out the door with Jacy on my heels.

When we reached the parking lot, Jacy caught my arm. "Hey, Sherlock, you want to take my bike?"

I bit my lip. The offer was tempting, but I knew it wasn't a good idea. "Not this time. We'd better use my car."

"That's cool. I was just offering."

I handed Jacy the list and my phone. "You can be the navigator. I've put everyone in the order I want to interview them. You just have to enter the address into my GPS and tell me where to go. The first one should be Bridget Foxwell."

Since I already had a pretty good idea where Bridget lived, we arrived there quickly.

"Does she know we're coming?" Jacy asked.

"No, and I prefer it that way. We might not catch everyone home, but the element of surprise usually works to my advantage."

"Right. So what's the game plan?"

"I'm going to do all the talking. You're just here to observe."

"Suits me. I don't want to stick my foot in my mouth and screw things up."

I nodded my approval and handed him a blank notebook. "If you hear something you think I need to ask them about, feel free to interrupt or pass me a message. Otherwise, just take notes and we'll discuss it after we leave."

We walked up to the door, and I knocked.

Before long, a blonde woman in her late forties opened it. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, we're looking for Bridget Foxwell," I informed her in my most professional voice.

"May I ask who you are?"

"My name is Killian Kendall, and this is Jacy Elliott. I'm investigating the thefts at the archaeological excavation Bridget is working on, and I wanted to ask her some questions."

The blonde woman nodded. "Just a minute. I'll see if Bridget is available."

She closed the door, and we waited patiently on the front steps.

After a brief delay, the door reopened, and a wary Bridget peered out at us, her eyes darting between Jacy and me. "Am I in some sort of trouble?"

"Not at all," I assured her. "We just need to ask you some questions. Would that be okay?"

"I don't know. How did you find out where I lived?"

"Elyse Pike gave me your address."

"Oh, well if Elyse gave it to you, I guess it's okay. Come on in." She stood back to allow us to pass, then led us into a formal living room. "Have a seat," she said, dropping into a cream-upholstered armchair and tucked her feet beneath her.

Jacy and I sat on an uncomfortably hard floral-patterned sofa. "Thanks for talking to us," I began.

She nodded. "I guess you're trying to find out who killed Professor Healy?"

Her lower lip trembled a little. For a second I thought she might cry, but she regained her composure.

"I'm primarily looking into the thefts from the site."

"There have been thefts?"

"Most likely. You didn't know about that?"

"Well, I mean, I knew someone had been messing around the excavation during the night, but I didn't know anything was stolen."

"We believe it's likely that some artifacts were taken."

"Do you think that's why Professor Healy was killed?"

"It's possible."

"I just can't believe someone killed him!" she suddenly wailed, as the tears that had threatened moments before spilled down her cheeks. "I mean, we were just there with him earlier that day and then..." She gestured helplessly.

"I know this must be hard," I said awkwardly.

"I've never known anyone who was murdered before." She wiped at her eyes and sniffled noisily.

"Do you still think you could answer some questions?"

She nodded and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her tears had already stopped for the most part.

"What were your impressions of Professor Healy?"

She looked confused. "My impressions? What do you mean?"

"What did you think of him?"

"Oh. As a person or as a teacher?"

"Well, both."

"I guess I respected him." She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "He was very smart. You could tell he knew what he was talking about, and he definitely loved his work. This was my first dig, so I didn't really have anything to compare it to, but I thought everything was great. Some other people said things were weird, but I didn't know what they were talking about. I guess maybe they meant those thefts you mentioned."

"Do you remember who said things were weird?"

"I think it was Ricky and Israel. They weren't actually talking to me. I just overheard them."

"Was anyone else on the crew acting oddly that you noticed? Did anyone seem suspicious?"

She shook her head emphatically. "Everyone is so nice. I can't imagine anyone stealing anything."

It was obvious Bridget was not a star witness. We weren't going to learn anything important from her. If she wasn't even aware of the thefts, chances were she hadn't been observant enough to notice much else either. Still, she could have seen or heard something whose significance she didn't realize, so I doggedly kept going.

"What about Professor Healy? Had he been acting any differently? Did he say anything that didn't make sense at the time? Did he change how he treated anyone?"

She shook her head to each question. "Not that I noticed," she said when I ran out of things to ask.

I tried one more. "Do you have any idea why someone might have wanted to kill the professor?"

Her lip poked out again, and the tears started up. "No," she blubbered. "I just can't imagine."

"Well, I'm sorry to have upset you." I pulled out my card and handed it to her. "If you think of something, could you give me a call?"

She nodded through her tears and took the card.

"Wow, that was intense!" Jacy exclaimed after we'd let ourselves out.

"It was?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

"Well, I mean, all the crying..."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess I was just thinking about how little we learned. I hope we get more from the rest of these guys."

"I'm sure we will. She didn't seem like the brightest star in the sky, if you know what I mean — sweet and all, but definitely not bright."

I laughed. "True — a little catty, but true, nonetheless. So who's next on the list?"

Jacy read off the next name: "Alexander James."

Soon we were pulling up in front of a slightly rundown one-story house. Someone had once painted it a dull gray, but the paint had oxidized in places so that the structure appeared to have a pale, flaky rash. The white trim was peeling, revealing the wood underneath. The yard was weed-ridden and badly in need of cutting.

I parked the car on the street. We walked up the cracked pavement to the front door and I knocked.

A minute later Alexander opened it, eying us uncertainly. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair stuck up in several places, making him look as if we might have woken him from a nap. He was wearing a faded black T-shirt and cutoff sweatpants. "You're the detective from the excavation," he said by way of greeting.

"Yes, Killian Kendall." I extended my hand, which he shook with a decided lack of enthusiasm. "And this is Jacy Elliott. You may have seen him around the site." Alexander nodded. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?"

"About what?"

I noticed he still hadn't invited us in. "As you may have heard, I've been hired to investigate the thefts. We're hoping someone on the crew can help."

"Professor Healy didn't want us talking to you."

"I know, but Professor Healy is no longer in charge of the investigation. Professor Pike is, and she's cooperating fully. In fact, she gave us your address."

"Oh. Then I guess it's okay." He still didn't sound convinced, and he certainly wasn't happy about it. "I doubt I can help much though. What do you want to know?"

"Were you aware that someone was looting the excavation?"

"Of course. We all were. Professor Healy was upset about it and talked about it often."

"Did he say anything specific?"

"Only that he was mad and wanted it to stop."

"Did he have any suspects?"

He shrugged and shifted his weight. "He didn't talk to me directly. I just overheard him talking to Professor Pike."

I remembered Alexander listening intently when I was at the site. I had a feeling he didn't miss much that went on around him. He could be an excellent source of information — if I could gain his trust and get him talking. So far, he wasn't exactly forthcoming.

"Do you recall exactly what he said?"

He shook his head.

"Was anyone on the crew acting suspiciously?"

"I'm not even sure what that means. Everyone was acting normal as far as I know."

"What about Professor Healy?"

"What about him?"

"What were your impressions of him?"

Another shrug. "I guess he was good at what he did. I wouldn't really know. This isn't my area of study." He was becoming increasingly agitated. "I needed credits to maintain my scholarship, and I thought archaeology would be a fun class to take. God, was I wrong! I wish I'd never volunteered for this stupid dig! Now things are being stolen and people are being killed—" He stopped and glared at me as if it was entirely my fault. "You know what? I don't really want to talk about this anymore."

"Alexander, wait!" I called, but he stepped back inside and shut the door firmly in my face.

"Right," Jacy said after a few seconds. "I think that went well."

I snorted and started walking towards the car. "I wonder what his problem is."

"He seems a bit high strung."

"Yes, but he's also very observant. I bet he knows more than he's saying."

"Good luck getting it out of him." Jacy picked up my list. "Israel Meeks is next."

Israel lived alone in an apartment complex primarily rented to students. He explained he was keeping the apartment on his own during the summer until his roommates returned for the fall semester. He didn't seem particularly surprised to see us and invited us in immediately. I was expecting the typical college-student apartment complete with hand-me-down furniture, so I was surprised to find a brand-new sofa and recliner facing a fully equipped entertainment center with a giant Smart TV. High-quality art reproductions hung on the walls.

"Nice place," I complimented him.

"Thanks." He motioned for us to have a seat on the sofa, while he dropped into the recliner. "My girl did a lot of it. She helped me pick out the sofa and stuff."

"She has good taste."

"Hey, she picked me, didn't she?" He grinned, and so did I.

"You don't seem surprised to find us here." I decided to confront the obvious.

His grin grew wider. "I got my sources."

"Bridget or Alexander?"

He laughed. "Bridget. She called me up bawling, saying you think she killed Healy. I figured it was just a matter of time until you showed up here — unless, of course, you got Bridget pegged for the culprit."

You couldn't help liking this guy. "We want to be thorough. Are you friends with Bridget?"

"I wouldn't say we're friends. We've hung out a few times. She's tight with my girlfriend. You know how it is. I'm just the only person on the crew she knows outside of work, so I guess that's why she called me."

"Would you be willing to answer some questions about what's been going on at the excavation?"

"Hey, man, I got nothing to hide."

Unfortunately, it seemed he didn't have much to offer either. As he kept up his congenial banter, I began to notice he wasn't giving us any real information. His steady stream of quips masked the fact that he was avoiding my questions. Did he just not want to implicate the other members of the crew, or was he hiding something? I couldn't very well come out and ask him directly.

The one time he seemed to give me a completely candid answer was when we were talking about Healy. "He was a jerk. The only people that man cared about were long dead. He didn't know how to deal with the living. He wasn't the easiest person to work with, but he definitely knew his shit. I've worked with him on a couple of different sites and been in a couple of his classes. The man lived and breathed archaeology. That's the only reason I kept signing up for his projects. You could learn a hella lot if you knew how to handle him. Of course, he expected a shitload from his students too. He was hard on anybody who didn't live up to his high expectations. The only thing that made digs like this bearable was Elyse. She's a cool lady. I'm glad she's taking over now that Healy's gone."

"You don't seem that upset about Healy's death," I observed.

He grew serious. "Look, I ain't gonna lie. He wasn't my favorite person, you know? But still, I didn't wish him any harm. I was shocked when I heard what happened. I got cousins up in Philly, and there's always stabbings and shootings and stuff, but this is the fucking Eastern Shore of Maryland. You don't expect that kind of crazy shit here." He shook his head. "It freaked me out to be so close to it."

"Do you have any ideas about who might have been stealing the artifacts or who might have had something against Professor Healy?"

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Sorry, man. All I know is, the less I know the better off I am. I learned that from my cousins."

"So you're saying you do know something," I insisted.

"No. I'm saying I go out of my way to not know anything." I stared at him blankly. "If it ain't my business, I don't pay attention. I look the other way. I ignore it."

"Wouldn't that mean there's something to look away from, to ignore?"

He shrugged. "I couldn't say. I'm too busy minding my own business."

I could see that was about as far as I would get with Mr. Meeks, at least for the time being. Despite how unsatisfactory the situation was, I would accomplish nothing by pushing. Bridget had warned him of our arrival. If he'd known anything to begin with, he'd had plenty of time to figure out how he would handle us. Then again, it was entirely possible that he really did mind his own business to the point of ignoring what was going on around him. The most frustrating part was that I had no way of knowing which it was.

I thanked Israel for talking to us, gave him a card, and we left.

"Is it always like this?" Jacy asked as soon as we were outside.

"Always like what?"

"This boring? Does it always feel like such a colossal waste of time?"

I laughed. "Usually. Sometimes you get lucky, but most of the time it's like this. However, you never know when something that seems completely insignificant will take on a different light based on new information."

"I guess. I just don't understand how you do this day in and day out."

"There's more to the job than doing interviews, although I suppose that's the bulk of it."

"I'm starting to think I'm not cut out to be a detective."

"After just a few interviews? Man, you have no stamina."

"Hey, I have plenty of stamina, just not for stuff like this. I mean, what have we learned in the last two hours? That Healy was a jerk? I knew that before we started."

"We've learned a lot, actually. We learned that Bridget Foxwell lives with her parents and is well-off. We learned that Alexander James doesn't have a lot of money and is scared of something. We learned that Israel Meeks came into some money recently and is very tightlipped."

Jacy stopped walking and stared at me. "We learned all that today? Where was I?"

"You just have to learn to be observant and read between the lines. Sometimes you can find out more from what people don't say than from what actually comes out of their mouths."

"Okay." He started walking again. "I get the Bridget stuff. She had a nice house, and the blonde woman who answered the door was obviously her mom. And anybody could see that Alexander's house was kind of neglected, so you assumed they don't have much money, although maybe they just don't care."

"He's also depending on his scholarship to get through school," I pointed out.

"So are a lot of people in college, but I'll concede your point, just because you're probably right. I don't get how you know Israel just came into some money, though."

"His apartment. Everything was brand new, plus he's paying rent for the summer on his own. Those places aren't cheap."

"Maybe his family has money. Or maybe his roomies are paying him for the summer rent even though they aren't living there. That happens sometimes with college kids."

"You could be right. It's something to look into. For now, who's next on the list?"

"Susan Urban."

Susan lived nearby in another apartment complex. She answered my knock and, like Israel, didn't seem overly surprised to see us.

"Elyse said she'd given you my address," she explained after we'd sat down in her modestly furnished living room.

"You've spoken to Elyse?" I was a little surprised that she would tell the crew.

"We're friends. We've been working together for a long time."

"How long?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure exactly. Years now."

"Please don't take offense, but I couldn't help noticing that you seem older than most of the crew."

She smiled. "Why take offense at the truth? I am older. I'm a grad student. Quinn Healy was my professor. I've worked under him on many projects. The man was a genius, plain and simple. I'll miss him."

"So you knew Professor Healy pretty well?"

"I don't know if anyone knew him well. He was a very private man. I had nothing but respect for him. He'd made me a sort of unofficial second assistant on excavations, after Elyse. We were both active in the state archaeological society. He served on the board."

"Were you aware of the looting?"

"Yes, pretty much everyone on the project knew about that."

"Bridget Foxwell said she didn't."

Susan quirked her mouth to one side in an effort not to smile. "I sometimes think Bridget doesn't know what day it is. She's not all that aware of her surroundings."

"Do you know if Professor Healy had any suspects for the lootings?"

"He wouldn't have told me if he did. Like I said, he was very private."

"Who might he have told?"

"I wouldn't know."

"What about Elyse Pike?"

"He may have told her."

"No, I'm sorry. I mean, how well do you know her? You said you were friends."

"Yes. She's every bit as brilliant as Quinn was, just not as showy. If the school chooses her to replace Quinn, she'll do a good job."

"What about the other crew members? What can you tell me about them?"

She thought for a minute. "I don't know any of them very well. I've been with Israel Meeks and Ricky Wong on other projects. They're good workers and take archaeology seriously — unlike Bridget and Alexander James. Alexander only signed up for the course to fulfill the requirements for his scholarship. He's not made any secret of that. Lord only knows why he volunteered for the dig. He's been miserable from the first day.

"Bridget...well, she tries. This is her first year, and I'd be willing to bet her last. I've seen her type before. Her attention span is about as big as her IQ. For now, she's gung-ho about being an archaeologist. Tomorrow, it'll be a marine biologist or an elementary-school teacher."

"You seem a little cynical."

She shrugged. "I've seen it too many times before. She gets everything handed to her on a silver platter. Her parents have spoiled her rotten. I'll give her this, though — she's not afraid to get dirty, and she's a good worker. She does whatever you tell her. I just don't think she'll stick with it for long."

"Do you have any ideas about who the looter could be?"

"My guess would be a private collector. They can be pretty unscrupulous in how they obtain their artifacts. I honestly don't think you'll find anything with the crew."

"Do you know anyone who would have wished Professor Healy harm?"

"I can't think of anyone. He was a brilliant man. Everyone who knew him respected him. It's an honor to have worked with him."

Later, on our way to the last crew member's home, Jacy observed, "For someone who claimed to like the professor so much, she certainly didn't seem terribly broken up about his death."

I nodded in approval. "You're catching on. No, she didn't, although everyone deals with grief differently. Not everybody expresses what they're feeling inside. Still, she didn't have any problem saying how she felt about Bridget. Of course, deep emotions are different from petty annoyance."

"I think she protested too much."

"What do you mean?"

"She went on and on about how much she respected him and what an honor it was to work with him. It almost sounded more like she was covering for something: how much she hated him, for instance."

"Good thinking. We should keep that in mind."

I filed Jacy's hunch away for future reference.

Our last interview of the day was with Ricky Wong. He lived near the campus in a house converted into student apartments. His was on the second floor at the top of a spindly staircase. He answered our knock and stared at us blankly for a moment before recognition set in. A strange little smile flickered across his face as he invited us in. I wondered what, if anything, it meant.

His apartment was filled with an eclectic mix of electronics, comic books, and plants.

"My roommate is a horticulturalist," he explained. "He's at work right now. Won't you have a seat?"

I moved a stack of comic books off a chair and sat down. Once again, I noticed he didn't seem especially surprised to see us. I was getting used to that reaction.

"Were you expecting us?"

"Not exactly. I just figured that, with Healy out of the picture, it was only a matter of time before you tried to pump us for information. So, pump away." He smirked in my direction.

"Right. Well..." I wasn't sure how to take Ricky Wong and, therefore, I was uncertain how to proceed.

"Are you looking into the looting or the murder?" he asked, taking the lead.

"Both, actually. I'm mostly investigating the looting, and the murder to the extent it plays into that."

He nodded. "So you want to know who I think the looter is."

"Do you suspect someone?"

"Not really. It could be anyone on the crew, maybe even the Great Professor himself."

"Even though he was murdered?"

"Maybe his accomplice offed him. Or his fence. He had to be selling the artifacts to someone."

"You don't seem too upset over Professor Healy's death."

"I couldn't stand him while he was alive. I'm not going to pretend to like him now that he's dead."

"If you didn't like him, why did you volunteer for the excavation?"

"There aren't a lot of options at this school. In case you haven't noticed, the archaeology department is miniscule. There's Healy and Pike. That's pretty much it. And Healy was in charge of everything. That's the only way he'd have it. He was an arrogant, misogynist pig — and maybe even bigoted."

"Why do you say he was bigoted?"

"He treated minority students differently than the other kids. He gave Israel and me harder assignments than Alexander and Bridget."

"Aren't you and Israel more experienced?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he wasn't bigoted."

I couldn't fault his logic, or lack thereof, so I moved on. "Was Healy a good professor?"

Ricky pursed his lips. "He was an excellent archaeologist," he agreed slowly, as if it pained him to say something nice about Healy. "I don't think he was a good professor. There's a difference."

"You've worked with him before, right?"

"Yes, on several digs."

"Were there ever any problems with looting before?"

"No," he admitted grudgingly. "Not that I was aware of."

"Do you know anyone who might have wished to harm Professor Healy?"

"Everyone who ever met him?"

"Anyone in particular?"

"No, sorry."

"What are your impressions of the other crew members?"

"Pike is competent. She might be more than competent, but Healy kept her under his thumb, so it's hard to say. Susan Urban is an ass-kisser, extremely ambitious. She decided that the way to get what she wants is to ingratiate herself with whoever is in charge. Israel is a good guy. We've worked together on several projects. I don't really know Alexander and Bridget that well. Alexander is a little weird — standoffish and twitchy. Bridget seems nice enough, but on the dim side."

"Can you recall anything else that might have some bearing on the case?"

He thought a minute, and that strange little smile from earlier returned. "I suspect Susan was banging the professor."

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure they were having an affair. A couple of times I went by his office kind of late at night and she'd be leaving the building. I also overheard them talking once. He was saying something about how their relationship was wrong and had to end."

"Do you remember their exact words?"

"Um...pretty much 'the relationship is inappropriate and it has to end.'"

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. Healy noticed me at the door and asked me what I wanted."

"And that's all?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I never caught them in the act, if that's what you mean."

I decided I didn't care for Ricky very much. I had a niggling feeling I was missing something, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what.

"Then if that's all, I guess we'll get going." I stood up and handed him a card. "If you think of anything else, give me a call."

He let us out, and just as he went to close the door, I realized what had seemed out of place. I caught the door. "Oh, one more question. Where's your watch?"

Ricky narrowed his eyes. "My watch?"

"Yeah. I don't think I've ever seen you without it, but you're not wearing it now."

"I don't usually wear it around the house. It's in my bedroom. Why?"

I shrugged. "No reason. Just curious."

The corner of Ricky's mouth turned up. "You know what they say about curiosity and cats."

I grinned. "Good thing I'm not a cat."

"You rushed out of there," Jacy observed as we got back into my car.

"He gave me the heebie-jeebies. I'm not sure how much we can trust what he says."

"So you're not going to look into Susan's possible affair with Healy?"

"Oh, I'll look into it, but I won't take Ricky's word until I have something else to back it up. My instincts are telling me Healy's murder is connected to the thefts, not personal, but I can't ignore the possibility."

"So where to now?"

"Back to the office. We're finished for today."

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