Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead by Janice Kay Johnson Page A

her hairstyle, she hurried to open the front
door. On the other side of it, Troy was imposing, as always, his tall, solid
body dwarfing hers. But her heart bumped in alarm at her first sight of his
face, haggard and grim.
    “Something is wrong.”
    “Yeah, I guess it is.” He raised his eyebrows. “Can I come
in?”
    “Oh. Sure.” She backed up. “I’m sorry.”
    “No, I’m sorry to be mysterious with you.” Having followed her
in, he glanced around her living room.
    She felt a little self-conscious, since the home she’d created
for herself was bound to give away facets of her personality she hadn’t yet
shared. He could probably tell right off that, while she wouldn’t describe
herself as a slob, she had rebelled in her modest way after moving out on her
own by refusing to be fixated on perfect order either. A couple of magazines lay
on a sofa cushion; books and the Sunday newspaper littered the coffee table.
Books were jammed into the pair of bookcases flanking the fireplace, too, not
arranged with restraint or even—her father would shudder—alphabetically. But the
house was basically clean, and she liked the paintings she’d hung, the
combination of bright colors that, to her eyes, worked. She’d done classic decor
in her office at the college. Here at home, she’d suited herself.
    Funny—more than once she’d had the thought that Dad wouldn’t
like it. But then, he never visited her here. She always went to Seattle to see
him.
    “Please, have a seat,” she said, scooping the magazines off the
sofa and adding them to the heap on the table. “Would you like a cup of
coffee?”
    “Maybe in a little bit.” His grimness hadn’t abated. “I have
something I need to tell you.”
    She sank onto one end of the sofa, a leg curled under her, and
he chose a chair facing her. For the first time, she saw that he had a manila
envelope clenched in his hand.
    “Is that your father’s...?” she asked hesitantly.
    “Yeah.” His gray eyes held hers. “It’s a shocker, Madison. I
want you to read what he wrote.”
    Her heart was hammering. He sounded so serious. Not only as if
he’d had a shock, but also as if whatever was in that envelope would affect her . The only reason it could was if it had to
do with her father.
    “All right.” She was proud of her steady voice.
    He opened the envelope and half rose to hand her a single sheet
of paper. His storm-cloud eyes held something powerful—she had the odd sense
that it might be grief. Then he sat down and watched her, impassive but for the
spasm of a muscle in his jaw.
    Stiff with apprehension, she bent her head and began to
read.
    I’ve kept a secret that I probably
shouldn’t have.
    * * *
    “T HIS IS A LIE ! ”
Madison threw the piece of paper away. It fluttered to the surface of the coffee
table. “It can’t possibly be Dad he saw. If he saw anybody. Has it occurred to
you this could be fiction? Some kind of practical joke on my dad?”
    She saw nothing but pity on his face.
    “No. That’s—” Troy nodded at the paper “—my father’s voice.
There’s nothing self-conscious about what he wrote. He’s too miserable, too
obviously battling his conscience. If that was a successful joke, it was written
by a master, not a college kid.”
    Frantic as she was, Madison heard the truth in what he
said.
    I don’t want to make trouble for a friend.
And I keep telling myself what I’m thinking is all in my head. Guy of all
people wouldn’t do something like this—
    There was nothing slyly humorous about his language, nothing
that said sardonically, Gotcha!
    She pressed on. “He admits he barely caught a glimpse of Dad’s
face. He mistook him for someone else. That has to be it.”
    “Of course it’s possible. Dad could have been wrong and your
father really did fall asleep and never showed up.” Troy paused, that disturbing
gaze never leaving her face. “It’s also possible your father was there and had
nothing to do with the murder but