Dear Irene by Jan Burke

me that for several years before her mother died, she had felt helpless to ease her mother’s pain. She had watched her suffer and waste away. She hadn’t realized what a toll it was taking on her until after her mother died. But she was lonely without her mom around.”
    “So she put time into her teaching and writing.”
    “Exactly. And yes, she went through a time of involving herself sexually with some of her graduate students. The
Express
has made quite a big deal out of that,” he said bitterly.
    I held up my hands. “Wait a minute. I’ve told you. I’m not here to dig up dirt on her. Quite frankly, I don’t blame the other reporter for mentioning it, but it’s old news at this point. I just thought you’d like to help me discover who had something against her, or what she might share in common with whoever this Thalia may turn out to be. I’m just trying to find the link between Thanatos, Thalia, and Dr. Blaylock.”
    “I’m sorry. Mr. Baker, the other reporter, wasn’t rude to me or anything. It’s just that afterward, I felt angry. I guess I was just upset about some of the coverage.”
    “I can understand that,” I said gently. “It’s an upsetting time for you anyway.”
    It was either the wrong thing to say or the wrong tone to use. He was better off a little angry. To keep him from getting all choked up on that teaspoon of sympathy, I said, “When I was in college, it seemed to me that professors who were very popular with students were distinctly unpopular with most other faculty members.”
    He spread his fingers on the table top and pressed down on them. “Yes, there was some of that. But there has been for years.”
    “Anyone in particular?”
    He shook his head. “You should talk to other faculty members. It would be hard to find a faculty group in any academic institution that didn’t suffer some in-fighting. But I don’t know of anyone who was especially upset with E.J. She didn’t have any sworn enemies, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Is anyone else on the history faculty very popular with students? Someone who is very cheerful all the time, perhaps?”
    His brows knitted. “You think someone has a grudge against the history department?”
    “Stranger things have happened.”
    He relaxed his hands. “Well, let’s see. To be honest, I can’t think of anyone who would fit that description. They’re not a somber lot, but no one is a really happy-go-lucky type.”
    “I’m trying to come up with someone who might fit Thalia. How about someone in another department on campus? Drama? Communications? Theater? Anyone else who’s very popular?”
    He thought for a moment, then said, “I hate to admit this, but I’m not a very good person to ask about this. I’m a graduate student — all my classes are in history now. And the reason I’m a graduate student in history is because all my favorite classes as an undergraduate were in that department. I’m sorry.”
    “What about this ex-husband? Was there a lot of bitterness? Or something that might have become important between them?”
    He shook his head. “Highly doubtful. Like I said, I don’t even remember his last name. There was never any rancor in her voice when she spoke of him, which wasn’t often.”
    I was stewing over this when a young woman strolled up to our table. The hem of her black leather skirt just made it past her skinny behind. She had long, straight blond hair and saucer-like brown eyes. Her cherry red lips formed a moue, and she cocked her head to one side in an affected way. On Sunset Boulevard, it could have earned her an hour’s work.
    “Steven,” she said on a sigh that made it a much longer name. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at it like it was a leech, and she removed it.
    “Hello, Lindsey,” he said then. She eyed me but he didn’t introduce us. She looked back at him.
    “Are you okay, Steven? Is there
anything
I can do for you?”
    “I’m doing fine,