Always Kiss the Corpse by Sandy Frances Duncan Page A

others?”
    â€œMmm.” Rudy finished his burrito and drink. “You know, I just don’t know.” He looked at his watch. “I gotta go. Gotta rough in five more this afternoon.”
    â€œKeep our card,” Noel said. “In case anything comes up.”
    Rudy took it, said, “See ya,” and walked away without looking back.
    â‰ˆÂ Â â‰ˆÂ Â â‰ˆ
    A couple of hours till their conversation with Ursula Bunche. Kyra found a phone book, looked up Cora Lipton-Norton, dialed the number. A machine. Okay, head over to Skagit Valley College and track her down.
    Oak Harbor had some fine-looking fast-food places, seemed to be frequented by young families from the Naval Air Station. “Too bad we’ve just eaten,” Kyra mourned, “we could’ve grabbed a souvlaki at that Greek takeout.”
    â€œToo messy to eat while driving. You need a picnic table and eight minutes to chomp down any serious souvlaki.”
    They headed to Pioneer Way. The college campus was several buildings on nearly treeless land overlooking the Oak Harbor Marina. It took four askings, people of all ages, to find the registrar’s office. Three women at four desks. Six computers, forty or fifty file cabinets four drawers high, over a dozen shelves filled with catalogues and loose-leaf binders: the record-keeping branch of the college. Noel approached the woman at the nearest desk, forties, blondish-grayish curled hair, a matronly bosom.
    An instant smile. “May I help you?”
    Noel introduced himself and Kyra and handed her a Triple-I card. When he explained they were private detectives, the two other women tuned in. He and Ms. Rachel needed to locate a student here, Cora Lipton-Norton. “Does she have any classes today, Ms.—?”
    â€œI’m not sure I can help you, we—” She glanced over her shoulder. “Sheila, this gentleman wants to know about a student here?”
    Sheila looked up from her keyboard. “What would this be about?”
    Triple-I’s tactics normally called for Kyra to begin when they dealt with men, Noel with women. But maybe this time, Kyra thought, she should’ve started the interview. Oh well.
    Noel said, “It’s important we talk with Ms. Lipton-Norton.”
    â€œIt’s the college’s responsibility to protect the students from outside intrusion. While they’re here on campus, I mean. What do you want her for?” Sheila, a woman in her fifties, gray eyes that looked hard through lightly tinted glasses, glanced from Noel to Kyra.
    Kyra, recognized, decided to step in. “We need to talk to her about another student. Well, possibly ex-student, as you may know. Sandro Vasiliadis.”
    â€œEx, you say? Did he graduate?”
    â€œNo,” and Kyra made full eye contact with Sheila, “we have reason to believe he may have died. Last week.”
    â€œOne of our students? Was he in the Navy?”
    â€œNo, he lived on the south end. Used to work at the hospital.”
    â€œOh dear, no, we hadn’t heard.” Sheila’s hardness dropped away. “The poor man.”
    Noel asked, “Did you know him?” and caught Kyra’s glance: Let me play it. Okay, she was right on this.
    â€œNo, I didn’t. We have many students.” She turned to the others. “Did you know him?”
    â€œNo,” and “Nope.” Sheila said, “But what do you want from—?”
    â€œCora Lipton-Norton,” said Kyra. Triple-I protected client confidentiality as much as possible, but in this case Kyra could see no way of doing so. In the hope that at least one of these women was a mother, she told the sad story of Sandro’s mother’s doubts, despite other identifications. “Mrs. Vasiliadis is clinging to the hope it’s not her son who died. But certainly someone’s son is dead.”
    â€œOh, that’s terrible,” said Sheila. The others’