What He Saw by Stacy M. Jones

Author:Stacy M. Jones [Jones, Stacy M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stacy M. Jones
Published: 2023-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed only to receive a text from Tim asking if we could meet later in the day. I allowed myself another hour of sleep and then went about my day. The first thing I wanted to do was track down Lance Donovan. After a few internet searches, it seemed he was retired and living not far from campus. I stopped for coffee and a breakfast sandwich and then made my way to his house. He lived a few blocks back from Elm Street.

From the outside, it looked like he owned one of the few remaining old single-family Victorian houses in the neighborhood. Most had been chopped up to make smaller apartments. His house looked like something out of a magazine with a wide rounded porch off to the right side, steeply pitched roof, textured shingles, and stunning oversized windows. The blue house had maroon and white accents. The pathway was clear from the sidewalk to the porch, which was good because I didn’t dare step on the perfectly manicured lawn.

I walked up the steps and rang the bell. A moment later, an older man with wrinkled khakis, a ballcap, and a brown cardigan over a blue tee-shirt answered the door. “Can I help you?”

“Lance Donovan?” I asked before introducing myself.

“That’s me, young lady. You’re too old to be selling candy bars.” There was a glint in his eyes when the corners of his mouth turned up in a laugh.

I introduced myself and asked if I could come in and speak with him. “It’s about Alex McCormick.”

Lance straightened his stance and frowned. “Come on in. I’d be happy to talk about Alex.” As I walked into the home, which was as neatly and perfectly maintained as the outside, he got a better look at my face. “Aren’t you her old roommate?”

“I am. I never had you for any classes but my understanding is that you taught Alex.”

He gave a solemn nod. “It was a bit more than that.” He moved past me in the foyer and asked me to follow him down the hall to the back of the house to the kitchen. It was warm and bright in blue and beige tones. It reminded me of my mother’s kitchen. “Sit and let me get us some tea or coffee if you prefer.”

“Tea is fine,” I said as I sat. I didn’t want him to go to any extra trouble considering I was there to question him about having a fling with a student and possibly being her killer. I try not to make snap judgments or underestimate people, but nothing about Lance Donovan said anything to me other than a nice old man. “You taught art history, right?”

“I taught several art history classes and was the department chair for the last fifteen years before I retired.” He still had his back to me while he was fixing our tea.

“That’s why I never met you. I don’t think I took one art class while I was at Geneseo.

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