Split Second (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 1)

The professor came to the door, flinched when he saw them and cast a suspicious glance over their shoulders. “Is that your Lexus at the curb?” King nodded. “I didn’t see anyone in it when I passed by. And I didn’t see either of you on the sidewalk.”

“Well, I was stretched out in the backseat waiting for you to come home,” said King. “And Michelle had gone to one of your neighbors’ homes to see if they knew when you’d be back.”

Jorst didn’t look like he believed the story, but he ushered them in, and they settled in the living room.

“So you talked to Kate?” he asked.

“Yeah, she said you gave her the heads-up about us.”

“Did you expect that I wouldn’t?”

“I’m sure you two are very close.”

Jorst stared intently at King. “She was a colleague’s daughter, and then she was a student of mine. Implying anything else would be a mistake.”

“Well, considering that you and her mother were talking about getting married, you’d at least be her stepfather,” said King. “And here we didn’t even know you were dating.”

Jorst looked very uncomfortable. “And why should you, since it’s none of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m rather busy.”

“Right, the book you’re writing. What’s it about, by the way?”

“You’re interested in political science, Mr. King?”

“I’m interested in lots of things.”

“I see. Well, if you have to know, it’s a study of voting patterns in the South, post–World War II to the present, and their impact on national elections. My theory is that the South today is no longer the ‘Old South.’ That, in fact, it’s one of the most heterogeneous, teeming pools of immigrants this country has seen since the turn of the last century. I won’t say that it’s quite yet a bastion of liberalism or even radical thought, but it’s not the South depicted in Gone with the Wind, or even in To Kill a Mockingbird. In fact, the fastest-growing population element in Georgia right now is Middle Eastern.”

“I can see how the Hindus and Muslims coexisting with the bubbas and the Baptists must be fascinating,” opined King.

“That’s good,” said Jorst. “Bubbas and Baptists. Mind if I use that line for one of my chapter headings?”

“Feel free. You didn’t know the Ramseys before Atticus, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. Arnold Ramsey was at Atticus about two years before I arrived. I’d been a professor at a college in Kentucky before coming here.”

“When I said the Ramseys, I meant both Arnold and Regina.”

“My answer is the same. I didn’t know either until I came here. Why, did Kate say otherwise?”

“No,” Michelle said quickly. “She did tell us that her mother was good friends with you.”

“They both were friends of mine. I think Regina saw me as a hopeless bachelor and took it upon herself to make me feel welcome and comfortable. She was a truly remarkable woman. She worked with the drama class at the college and even performed in some of the productions. She was an astonishing actress, she really was. I’d heard Arnold talk about her talents, especially when she was younger, and assumed he was merely exaggerating. But when you saw her up there onstage, she was mesmerizing. And she was as kind and as good as she was talented. She was loved by many people.”

“I’m sure she was,” said King. “And after Arnold died, the two of you—”

“It wasn’t like that,” Jorst interrupted. “Arnold had been dead a very long time before we started seeing each other as anything more than friends.”

“And it got to the point where you were talking marriage.”

“I’d proposed and she’d accepted,” he said coldly.

“And then she died?”

Jorst’s features became pained. “Yes.”

“In fact, she committed suicide?”

“So they say.”