Gretchen tilts her head. “That’s the four-year study, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh,” Kyle says.
“Then no. Not since, what?” She glances at Kyle. “Maybe the beginning of the summer?”
Kyle nods. “Yeah, we were looking at the eighteen-month data.” He stretches his long legs in front of him. “I haven’t been in there since then, either. Because dissertation.” His intonation suggests the narrator of a horror film. Everyone laughs and nods in sympathy.
Jackie pokes around in her salad as if she’s being picky about what to eat next. Without raising her head, she says, “What about you, Nasira?” and stabs a chunk of feta.
“I don’t remember the exact day, but yes. I’ve been looking at which behaviors seem to change the most from six to twelve months, and that’s one of the data sets I was reviewing.”
Nasira doesn’t seem bothered by the question, so Jackie probes deeper. “Were you in the formula sheets?”
Nasira puts down her sandwich. “No. I just wanted the analyzed data.” She thinks a moment. “Were the formulas changed?”
“Not sure.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
Jackie shrugs. “I really can’t guess.”
“By mistake?” Gretchen says.
“It’s got separate password protection.” Nasira folds the wrapping around her sandwich. “I’ve got a meeting at the medical center. Jackie, I hope you find out what’s going on with your data.”
“I’m sure I will. Maybe you could reflect on it, and let me know which day you accessed that spreadsheet.”
Kyle scrapes his chair back to allow Nasira to pass. As he does, he sends Jackie a quizzical and somewhat worried look.
“Bye, everyone.” Nasira slips out.
From her seat near the door, Jackie watches her postdoc retreat down the hall without a sound. Kyle and Gretchen are getting ready to return to work. Jackie carries her chair back to its place, and the meaning behind Kyle’s look dawns on her.
Nasira wouldn’t know the formula sheet was password protected unless she attempted to access it. Maybe she clicked on it by mistake. Maybe not.
CHAPTER 15
A week later, Jackie is holding extended office hours in honor of the end-of-the-semester crunch. She didn’t count, but guesses she answered questions for (and held the hands of) more than two dozen undergraduates.
She ushers the last student out the door. “Good luck on the exam.” Jackie forgives herself for having forgotten his name as there are more than a hundred students in the class.
The tall young man waves as he lopes down the hall. “Thank you, Dr. Strelitz.”
Jackie’s phone pings, and a notification appears on the screen: Endowed Chairs Reception, Dabner House, 5:30 p.m.
“Crap.”
She completely forgot. The stress of waiting to hear from Vince Leeds about the source and scope of the data problem is turning her mind into a colander. She was eager to get home. Miles flew in from Houston earlier, and she hoped they could relax together—or bitch and moan together—anything other than continue to dance their strained minuet. But one of the visiting professors at the reception is Lindsay Michener, a disabilities activist and expert on developmental disorders. Jackie is eager to talk with her, even if only to set up a time for a more in-depth conversation. The Dabner House is on her way to her car; she’ll stop by briefly.
She checks her outfit, a camel-colored sweaterdress and brown suede boots, and deems it spiffy enough for a glass of wine with academics.
The Dabner House is a Gothic outlier on a campus dominated by Georgian stateliness and glass-and-steel modernity. Dwarfed by the surrounding buildings, it has an otherworldly aura, as if the university sprang up unexpectedly around it, its original purpose forgotten. Jackie knows Dabner House is not the oldest building on campus, but the feeling sticks.
A man emerges and holds open the thick wooden door with black strap hinges.
“Thanks.” Jackie unbuttons her coat and hangs it on the rack in the foyer.
The main room is vaulted, but the walnut paneling and oversize paintings bring the walls in close. On the far wall, the fireplace—roomy enough to cook a steer in—is ablaze, rendering the air stifling. Jackie scans the people nearest to her for Dr. Michener, whom she knows only from her headshot, then proceeds to a table in the corner where, judging from the clot of bodies, drinks are being served.
A chilled glass of sauvignon blanc in hand, Jackie greets faculty she knows, keeping a lookout for Dr. Michener. Perhaps she decided to skip the reception.
“Jackie.”
She startles. Harlan is at her elbow, along with a man, somewhat younger than Harlan, sporting a tweed blazer and a neatly trimmed mustache.
“Hello, Harlan.” She offers a terse smile, unable to completely mask the tension he evokes. Two weeks ago, she left him the stay-out-of-my-life message, and she’s only seen him in passing since.
“Let me introduce Peter Durbin. He’s visiting from Nottingham as the McIntyre chair in English. We met a week or so ago at the president’s house—something Chen asked me to attend. Boring as hell save for Peter.”
Jackie shakes hands with Durbin. His smile is warm but he keeps his chin elevated. Jackie never cares about being a woman of average height except when men look down at her like this. She doesn’t judge him for it, though. For some it’s habitual.
“Welcome. Although by now you must have settled in.”
“I have indeed.” His accent is pure BBC. “The students are quite refreshing.”
Jackie smiles. Before she can speak again, Harlan does.
“I wanted you to meet Peter because we’ve discovered the most extraordinary coincidence.”
The twinkle in Harlan’s eyes is captivating, as ever, but Jackie is wary. Something is afoot. “Really?”
“Yes. It turns out that Peter went to prep school—public school, I guess you’d call it, Peter—with Miles.”
Jackie looks from Harlan to Peter. “You knew Miles at Felsted?”
“I did.”
“That really is a coincidence.” Jackie sips her wine, calculating the probabilities. “How did you two happen to uncover it?”
Peter shrugs. “At the previous function we wandered into the topic of American football, and I mentioned the structural similarities to rugby, wondering if Harlan here was familiar with it.”
Harlan eagerly picks up the story. “Naturally, I am quite familiar. In explaining how, I mentioned Miles by name.” He grins broadly, looking from Jackie to Peter and back to Jackie. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
Jackie puzzles over why Harlan is so gleeful. “Such a small world.”
“Indeed.” Peter is staring at her, still smiling, examining her while pretending not to do so. Jackie is confused and a little unnerved. “And you and Miles are married, I hear.”
“Yes, two years in February. I’m sure Harlan would have said.”
“He did, of course.”
“I might be mistaken, but you sound surprised.” Jackie is sure of the latent message in his tone and is annoyed enough to confront him, albeit politely.
“Do I? Well, I—”