It's Never too Late

CHAPTER EIGHT

ADDY PULLED OUT of the parking lot and headed straight home, forcing herself to focus all of her mental energy on the task at hand—on a question raised by some numbers she’d come across before falling asleep on her couch the evening before.

A question that preceded the nightmare and all that had come after.

She’d been looking through professor rating statistics—a series of measurements collated from performance reviews and anonymous student ratings. Near the top of a chart showing the rankings of all the professors to have taught a full semester at Montford over the past fifteen years was a woman named Christine Evans. The woman had taught English. Her performance reviews were excellent. Student ratings placed her at the top of the chart. And she had only taught for one semester.

Why? Had Will Parsons found something untoward about the woman? Fired her? And was there a paper trail, documentation, to support his decision?

Proof of wrongdoing in case the woman was somehow involved in the threat against Will?

Or had the woman quit? And if so, why?

It might be nothing. Probably was nothing. But her job over the next four months was to pursue every single lead that raised any question at all in her mind, from a legal standpoint.

The fact that Mark’s scholarship had shown up without any effort from him at all was also odd. Nonnie had to have applied. She’d know all of Mark’s pertinent information, including his social security number, but still, the circumstances were curious.

She was going to have to look him up—find out where the scholarship came from. She had to look at scholarships, anyway, albeit just a sampling. But she couldn’t ignore this. Not if she was going to do right by Will.

If she was still in contact with Will, she’d have called him to ask about the scholarship—and the professor. But not only was she staying away to avoid risking her cover, she and the sheriff had also determined that Addy’s work would be more valid, less likely to be influenced, if she worked separate and apart from Will. She didn’t want her research tainted by bias.

“Psst.”

Climbing the couple of steps to her front door, Addy stopped at the sound and glanced around.

“It’s me.” Nonnie Heber’s voice sailed loud and clear through the screen door next to her. “You got a minute?”

“Sure.” She stepped up to the door and peered into a room barely discernible from her vantage point, standing as she was in the bright sunshine. Nonnie was in her wheelchair, but Addy couldn’t make out the expression on the older woman’s face. “Can I get you something?”

“No, got all I need. ’Cept someone to chat with.”

Addy had work to do. She wrestled with silent thoughts, searching for words to excuse herself without hurting the older woman’s feelings.

“Door’s open. Come in.”

Addy pulled on the handle.

Fifteen minutes later, she was pouring iced tea for herself and her elderly neighbor.

“I told Mark he didn’t have to stop off at home between school and work at the plant,” Nonnie said as Addy carried the cold glass into the living room. “I’m fine here. But he insists. At home in Bierly, folks were always stopping by to see me, and Doris, next door, I’ve known her since she was born. She came in every morning whether I wanted her to or not.” Nonnie’s diatribe stopped long enough for her to sip.

“I did something this morning,” she continued shortly. “I don’t want Mark to know.” She lowered her voice, leaning toward Addy. “Not yet. But I have to tell someone.”

“What did you do?” The older woman appeared to be fine. The kitchen looked normal.

“I sold my house.”

“Your house?”

“Was my grandparents’ place to begin with. Grandpa built it on a piece of land his daddy gave him when he married Grandma. My daddy was born there. And so was I.”

“And you sold it?” Was Nonnie getting senile? She didn’t seem to be, but it wasn’t like Addy had had multiple conversations with the woman.

“Yep. This morning.” She named a price that sounded decent to Addy, but not knowing the area, or the size of the home or land, she couldn’t be sure.

This wasn’t her business.

“You said Mark doesn’t know?”