Dreaming of the Bones

right? She seems to be feeling a bit off-color.”
    Laura made a face as she scorched her tongue on the hot tea. ”I’ve been nagging at her the last two days to see someone about her headache, but she’s that stubborn.” She glanced at Dr. Winslow’s door and lowered her voice further. ”To tell the truth, I’ve been worried about her since Dr. Whitecliff’s death last June. It seemed to take the starch out of her, if you know what I mean, and she hasn’t been the same since. We were always teasing her about trying one of Vic’s teas—” She broke off, looking stricken, and her eyes filled with tears. ”Oh, damn and blast,” she muttered, scrabbling in her desk drawer for a tissue.
    ”Tell me about Vic’s teas,” Kincaid said when she’d blown her nose.
    Laura smiled and dabbed at the comers of her eyes. ”She drank this awful stuff—lovage, which is some sort of herbal diuretic, because she had trouble with... you know... water retention.”
    Kincaid thought her hesitation rather quaintly old-fashioned. ”I think I get the picture,” he said, grinning.
    ”Well, we teased her mercilessly because we could always tell what time of the month it was by what kind of tea she was drinking. I suppose it all sounds a bit silly now.”
    ”Did she drink any of the special tea on Tuesday?”
    ”I don’t know,” said Laura, her eyes widening. ”You don’t think—”
    ”I don’t think anything at this point,” said Kincaid reassuringly. ”I’m just curious.”
    ”Vic left early, so we didn’t have tea together that day. We usually do—did—round the middle of the afternoon.”
    ”Could she have had some on her own?”
    ”She kept an electric kettle in her office. She might have had a cup with her lunch, if not earlier.”
    ”She didn’t go out for her lunch?” Kincaid asked.
    Laura shook her head. ”We’d planned to go out that day, but that morning she said she’d changed her mind. She needed to work through lunch because she meant to leave early.” Kincaid felt a pulse of excitement, and an irrational urge to free his hands. He found a bare spot on Laura’s desk for his cup. ”Where did she go? When did you last see her?”
    ”I’m sure it wasn’t anything,” said Laura, distressed. ”I got the impression she was a bit miffed about something that had happened at Kit’s school, that’s all.”
    ”She didn’t say what?”
    ”Vic didn’t like to talk about things until she’d worked them out herself. You know, like with Ian. She never said a word about having problems, then one day she walked in and said, ‘Oh, by the way, Ian’s moved out.’ You could have knocked me over with a feather.”
    Kincaid remembered that trait of Vic’s all too well, except in his case it had been she who had moved out. ”Well, maybe we can come at this from the other end,” he said. ”What time did she leave here?”
    Laura frowned and stared into her cup for a moment, then looked up. ”Half past two. I remember because Darcy’s supervision was late.”
    ”Matthews?”
    She smiled. ”Matthews. Poor boy.”
    ”Did Vic actually say she was going to Kit’s school?” Kincaid asked.
    ”No, not in so many words. But I could call the Head and find out if she did.” Laura brightened at the prospect of doing something. When Kincaid nodded, she picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory.
    He listened to the one-sided conversation with increasing disappointment, then Laura said an apologetic good-bye and rang off.
    She stared at him blankly. ”I don’t understand. I could’ve sworn that’s what she meant to do, but the Head says he not only didn’t see her, but he has absolutely no idea what she might have been upset about.”
    ”Perhaps something happened to change her mind?” Kincaid offered. ”Did she say anything else when she left?”
    Laura closed her eyes, remembering, and when she opened them again a flush stained her cheeks. ”She came downstairs all in a rush, getting into her coat and trying to balance her briefcase at the same time, and she said, ‘Men. They’re all bloody great infants, aren’t they? Too bad we can’t do away with them altogether.’ Then she waved and said, ‘Cheerio, ducks. See you in the morning.’ ”
    He smiled at the vivid picture. ”Sounds like vintage Vic, in good form. Had she heard something from Ian, do you suppose? Anything odd in her mail?”
    ”Not that I noticed when I took the post up to her. And her phone is a