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Back in the car, she texted her uncle and asked if the neighborhood had been canvassed, especially those two houses after Meade’s body was discovered. She was surprised to see dots immediately show up on her phone’s screen, indicating he was typing a response. It was short.

Where are you?

Just leaving Summer Break after meeting with Lilly about my next assignment. I’ll be heading to the college next. I have Watson with me. Why?

He didn’t answer her question. And his answer was as curt and sparse as his question.

Stay out of my investigation.

Not her monkey, not her circus. She got it.

But until Natasha was off the possible suspect list, Uncle Troy was going to keep hearing from her.

Even if he didn’t respond, she knew he’d at least follow up on her suggestions.

Checking out the scene for possible witnesses was another rule of “The Sleuthing Guide for Amateurs.” She’d added it last night to the tips list.

She needed to find a way to investigate without Uncle Troy finding out. Stay out of the professionals’ way. Or else.

She should write that rule down, as well.

* * *

Meg got lucky. Not only did she get all the paperwork she needed to reenroll, but also her former adviser was having office hours and didn’t mind Watson being part of the discussion. Or at least in his office.

“I’m so glad you’re coming back. I wasn’t happy when you decided to leave school for the start-up. I hear that didn’t go well.” Professor Valmer had a way of getting right to the point of the conversation.

“No, it didn’t.” Meg didn’t want to go into all the whys and the wherefores. It was water under the bridge. “You can’t step into the same river twice.”

Professor Valmer blinked and nodded. “Well put. So what are you thinking of majoring in this time? History, English, business, and computer science I think were your top four during your last two years.”

“I’m thinking business and English. I’m working part-time for my mom’s bookstore and for the author L. C. Aster. I’m working on a nonfiction book, but I’m not sure I’m doing it right,” Meg replied.

Professor Valmer laughed as he pulled up her transcript. “Oh, my dear, no one is ever sure they’re writing what they should be or the right way. It’s called impostor syndrome.”

She waited as he looked at the classes she’d completed. Then he printed out her transcript.

“From this, I believe you could still complete an English major with a business minor in no time at all. You’ve been very eclectic in your course choices.

Almost like you planned this all along. I don’t think we can get you squared away full-time for the fall semester, but you could take a few classes and come in during the spring semester.

Check out the summer schedule and see if there’s anything that meets a requirement or sparks your fancy.

I’m excited to have you back.” He found the page in the degree requirements for a BA in English and then put a paper clip on the business minor requirements.

“It might take a bit longer than two years, but I’m sure you’ll finish this time.

If you keep your eye on the ball. And next year you might qualify for some scholarships. ”

Meg tucked the college entrance information books back into her tote and stood. “Thank you for fitting me in, Professor.”

The older man with salt-and-pepper hair stood to walk her the few feet out of his office.

He wore jeans with a tweed jacket over an old rock band T-shirt.

Meg had heard that they kept the air down to seventy degrees so the professors could wear suits, which caused the students who showed up in shorts and tanks to freeze during classes.

Maybe it was to keep them awake. “I meant it when I said it’s nice to have you back. You were one of my favorites.”

As she left the building, Meg took a deep breath of the cool air. The rain had stopped, and the campus looked like a sparkling jewel. The grass and shrubs gleamed, their wet leaves picking up the sunlight.

Being on campus always felt like existing in another world. A world where you could try out new things, figure out what you wanted to do with the rest of your life, and read all the books that helped you transition into the journey of adulthood.

Now Meg wanted to earn her degree and to finally have a career that she could count on. Maybe she should have picked a business major with an English minor. But she wasn’t sure she could pass the math classes. She’d been the failure-to-thrive child way too long for even her comfort level.

Meg Gates, private investigator. Or maybe she needed a different title. She didn’t want people to think she was the one to contact to find out if their husband was cheating. She wanted big cases. And if she solved Meade’s murder for her first case, that might even happen.

She and Watson headed home, but not before stopping at the Hungry Onion.

It was an old fifties hamburger joint that still had you park your car and wait for your waitress to come to you.

The place was a college hangout. It hadn’t been remodeled or changed in years, but the food was amazing. Especially the vanilla milkshakes.

As she waited for her cheeseburger and onion rings, her phone buzzed with a text.

Want to hit the bonfire tonight?

She checked the sender line. Dalton. He was talking to her again. But he hadn’t responded to the text in which she’d asked him about the picture of Emmett’s boat registration. He was good at ignoring things.

Fine. Two could play that game. She was about to respond when her food came. She sipped her milkshake as she looked at the text. Finally, she texted back.

Where should we meet?

I’ll pick you up at six for dinner. Bring the mutt.

She looked over at Watson, who was staring at her uneaten onion rings. “Dalton called you a mutt. You should bite him tonight.”

Watson looked up at her with full-blown desire in his gaze. He wanted to bite her cheeseburger instead.

She ripped off a bit of the bun that didn’t have any sauce on it and gave it to him. “That’s about all you can eat from this order. Sorry.”

As they prepared to go home, Meg didn’t think Watson believed she was sorry. Especially when she got out and threw away the sack with her leftovers. Back in the car, he barked twice at her to show his dismay before lying down in the seat, his back toward her.

Yep, she was getting the silent treatment.

She turned up the old rock station that her dad had hooked her on years ago.

Dad had wanted to be the next indie rock star.

A member of the Seattle grunge royalty. Instead, he’d gotten married and had two kids.

Then a successful accounting career and, finally, owning his own business.

And even now, on most weekends you’d find him not on a golf course but in his garage, playing guitar and writing songs.

Meg didn’t want that to be her life. She wanted to live her dreams. And if she failed again? At least it would be fast and painless. Not like the failed marriage that had tried to domesticate her father from rocker to family man.