14

"Oh."

"Linda."

She wore a vermillion cardigan, the sleeves rolled back. The cinnabar lip gloss embraced light, offset by the gentle curve of teeth. Her hair bobbed in a pony tail.

I didn't know what to say.

She blocked the exit. "You're keeping well?"

I nodded, the specter of a question taking shape somewhere in my brainpan. I knew I wanted to ask her something, but...

She locked her eyes on mine, the tips of her mouth arcing wide. My mouth was a desert.

"Dobbs," I blurted. That was it, springing out like a copperhead. I couldn't believe that I didn't make the connection sooner.

Linda pursed her lips. "It's the same as the fellow that was murdered, right?" She lent a pause. "No relation." A loose end, tied up just like that.

The doorway was still plugged, but I couldn't move. Nor did I want to. "I, hmm."

I shifted; she stood monolithic. "You're going to buy me coffee some night, aren't you?"

"OK."

"We can talk. Learn some things."

"Yes." I clung to my book bag straps like a paratrooper. "Yes. OK."

The overhead light peered through her hair, light through sandstone crevices in a canyon. She started moving, leaving the doorway, and we circled in an awkward roundabout, me with shuffled loafers and her with precise heel clicks.

She halted, her back toward the activities office. "Is your band ready?"

"We're working on it."

"Please do." Vermillion sashayed. "There will be rewards."