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She stood and smoothed her navy skirt. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “Of course, Savannah. This is too important to put off.”

She handed him the folder. “This is what I found.”

He perused it silently, then handed it back. “He also ordered a ream of history department letterhead.”

“He’s a law guy. What reason did Ellison give for the order?”

Beckett shrugged. “I doubt anyone questioned him. Most people know better.”

She held up the folder. “Should we call the police?”

“I think we should confront him first. We’d look pretty stupid if he has a perfectly good explanation for all of it.”

“What explanation could there be?”

“I have no idea, but you know Ellison. He’s quick on his feet. I’m ready to go now if you are.”

Beckett swiped his pass at the door and opened it.

The door to the presidential office suite wasn’t quite shut. Beckett frowned. “It’s usually closed until his secretary arrives.” He pushed it open and walked in. The small secretarial office in front of the president’s office was empty. Beyond it, the door to the president’s office stood ajar. “Ellison?”

Savannah grabbed Beckett’s arm. “Something’s wrong, Beckett. I can feel it. We should call campus security.”

She scrambled back on her haunches, not aware of the keening sound erupting from her throat until Beckett called her name.

Breathe. In and out.

Then her gaze fell on the note pinned to his lapel. She leaned down to take a better look.

Something Wicked This Way Comes.

***

Pelican Harbor provided police services to the university under a century-old agreement. Savannah wished she could call her best friend, Nora Craft, for moral support, but Nora was a forensics tech in the Pelican Harbor Police Department, and Savannah didn’t want to place her friend in the middle of this mess. Besides, Nora was out of town for the next couple of weeks.

“Did you call the police and report it? Or campus security?”

“No, the provost, Beckett Harrison, suggested we should confront Abernathy ourselves first and see if there was a good explanation.”

“It sounds like you don’t really like him.”

Richards wrote in her notebook. “Did he have any good friends among the professors?”

“Your family has deep ties to the university, is that correct? Did your family start it?”

“Well, not exactly. It was originally named Universitates Nova Cambridge Willardius when it was founded after the Civil War.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“And this Joseph Willard is the one who amassed the pre-Columbian artifacts that seem to be disappearing?”

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you for that clarification. Would you mind coming to the station for a little longer chat?”

“I’d be happy to come down.” Though happy wasn’t really what she felt, she didn’t have any choice but to agree.

Richards left, and Savannah sank into her chair. Was it her imagination that the detective had looked at her with suspicion?