Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

explanation from the college president? I had visited the widow of a recently deceased man not forty-eight hours before, so probably. But before I could formulate my questions for Etheridge, I heard a knock at my door, and freshman number one had arrived.
    I spent the rest of the day explaining the origins of my black eye, my Ace bandage, and the course requirements for freshmen entering the college and planning on an English major at some point in their academic careers. I had almost forgotten about Kevin.
    Almost.
    Once the last freshman had left, the sun starting its descent over the river, and I was safely in my car away from the prying eyes of Dottie, I pulled out my cell phone. Stored in the phone was the number of Kevin’s extremely handsome and single brother, Jack, a former almost paramour, who liked me way more than I could ever explain. He also possessed the most perfect set of teeth on a human being and they were his. None of these veneers or implants. I had checked. With my tongue.
    He answered after a few rings, surprised that I was calling. “Alison? Hi!”
    I cut to the chase. “Jack, where’s Kevin?”
    “I’m fine. How are you?” he said, clearly not realizing my reason for calling.
    “I’m serious. Where’s your brother?”
    “I’m assuming he’s at school. You haven’t seen him?”
    I decided not to alarm Jack until I knew more. “No. I was wondering if he was back from Paris?” This lying thing was working out well for me; I would just have to keep track of all of the half-truths that I had told in the last forty-eight hours.
    “You’re his best friend, Alison. If you don’t know, then I surely don’t,” he said, chuckling.
    That was concerning. I made a little more chitchat with Jack, talking about the New York Rangers—my favorite hockey team and Jack’s employer—and finagling two tickets to a game in December from him. Before we hung up, Jack asked me a question.
    “You’re not concerned about him, are you, Alison?”
    “No!” I said, a little too brightly.
    Jack hesitated. “Well, okay. If you hear from him, tell him his brother wants to take him out to eat.”
    I hung up and dropped the phone into my lap. I stared at the dashboard of my car, watching minute dust particles swirl around in the humid air, trying to figure out where to look next for my missing priest. The phone vibrated in my lap, scaring the heck out of me but giving me a sensation that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. “Hello?”
    “It’s me,” Crawford said. “Are you still at school?” When he heard that I was, he asked, “Want to grab some dinner?”
    I left school with a spring in my step; although I had suspected that he was a little peeved with me over the failure to answer the proposal question, he wanted to have dinner with me. How mad could he be? Ten minutes later, I met him at a pub close to school that had better food than its name—Poindexter’s—and ambiance—early fake medieval—would imply. That’s the beauty of dating a homicide detective who works in your precinct: we can be together in mere minutes if the planets align. Fortunately, he is not a picky eater since he eats at his filthy desk or in a car most of the time. I had to drive home and he was technically still on duty so we both had Diet Cokes, which we sipped in silence until we got a little caffeine rush after our long workdays. I started. We had a lot to talk about.
    “George Miller was arraigned today in White Plains.” I had looked at the county paper on my computer before I had left school to see what the update was.
    Crawford was unimpressed. He had probably been to a thousand arraignments, and more to the point, he didn’t really care about George Miller, black eye notwithstanding.
    “What do you think will happen to him?”
    “He’ll either have his bail set or be released on his own recognizance. I’d imagine it’s the latter if he doesn’t have a record. What did they get him on? I’m thinking manslaughter.”
    “Manslaughter, it is then. You’re usually pretty accurate about these things.” I scanned the menu and decided on my dinner, snapping the leather-bound book shut. “And I thought the new resident director at Siena dorm asked me out today when, in fact, he just wanted to have a cup of coffee and talk about the job.”
    Crawford winced.
    “It gets worse.”
    He raised an eyebrow.
    “Kevin’s missing.”
    That got his attention. “Missing?”
    I explained how I went to his