Invasion of Privacy

without written authorization, universities keep their information pretty close to the vest?”
    “Exactly.”
    A huffing breath. “Well, why do I make money if not to spend some on a wild-goose chase? You’re the investigator. If you think the trip makes sense, I’m good for it.”
    “I’ll contact you when I get back.”
    My travel agent was able to arrange the bookings. Then I tried the DA’s office. Nancy was in conference, so I left a detailed message, saying I’d call her that night if I could. I locked up the office and headed home to pack.

    Both my flight to Denver and the connection to Spokane were on United Airlines. The Denver leg was long, but Libby, the woman sitting next to me, turned out to be both pleasant and talkative. A student at a Baptist college in southern Colorado , she was returning from a monthlong “mission” in Spain and shared with me the charm of a foreign country as seen through the unjaded eyes of a twenty-year-old.
    When the flight attendant served us lunch, my seatmate bent at the waist toward her tray and closed her eyes. A minute later, Libby opened her eyes again and reached for the plastic bag of utensils.
    “Were you saying grace?”
    “Yessir.”
    I thought, “Usually I pray after eating airline food,” but kept it to myself.

    The leg to Spokane was shorter, but by now I’d been sitting cramped for longer than anyone could be comfortable. The guy next to me, “western states sales manager” for an appliance company, said our destination was pronounced “Spo -ken.”
    As the plane started its approach to the airport, the senior flight attendant came on the PA system, speaking in a whisper. “Today’s the captain’s birthday, so when we arrive at the gate, I sure would appreciate it if you all could sing ‘Happy Birthday, Don,’ on my count of three.” After the laughter died down, my seatmate said, “See what happens when employees take over the company?” But ten minutes later, on the attendant’s signal, he joined in with the rest of us.
    * * *

    At the Spokane terminal, I stopped in the men’s room. On a wall of the stall, somebody had used a honed point to scratch:

    Got no paper,
    Got no towel.
    Wipe your ass
    With a Spotted Owl.

    which made me remember I might be approaching logging country.
    From the restroom, I headed toward baggage claim. Killing time waiting for the carousel to start, I stood near a glass case. Its caption read: EVERYTHING IN THIS CASE WAS TAKEN AT THIS AIRPORT. The case itself contained revolvers, semiautomatics, switchblades, boot knives, brass knuckles, even ninja throwing stars and a hand grenade. The poem on the men’s-room wall seemed less out of place, somehow.
    After picking up my suitcase, I found the rent-a-car booths. A young woman with sunny hair and a “We’re No. 1” smile asked if she could help me.
    “About how far to Moscow ?”
    The smile got wider. “If you really mean ‘Moss-cow, ‘ about fifteen thousand miles. If you mean ‘Moss-co,’ about ninety.”
    I returned the smile. “Thanks. Any other tips?”
    “It’s a real pretty drive, but only one lane a lot of places, so be patient if you get stuck behind a tractor or stock truck.”
    “What would you recommend for a vehicle?”
    “Business or pleasure?”
    “Business.”
    “Too bad,” she said, starting the paperwork on a four-door sedan. “There’s just the most beautiful lake at Coeur d’Alene. Named after the Indian tribe. The French called them ‘Heart of an Awl’ because they were tough bargainers in the fur-trading days. Now there’s this big resort with speedboats for hire and a golf course that even has one hole on an island in the water.”
    “In the lake, you mean?”
    “Uh-huh. If you like golf, I guess it’s a real kick. If not, there’s companies that run Jetboats up the Snake River south to Hells Canyon .”
    “South up the river?”
    “Yessir. The Snake runs south to north—as the border between Oregon and Idaho down there—and those Jetboats just fly around and over the rapids. You get to see bighorn sheep, mule deer, maybe even a cougar if you’re lucky.”
    “I don’t think I’ll have time. Any place to stay in ‘ Moss- co’?”
    “Only one I know is the Best Western University Inn, but that’s where everybody seems to stay anyway.”
    I wasn’t sure about the logic of that sentence, and I decided to pass on any other questions.

    The sedan came with a good map of the area, the best route