Page 78 of To the Grave

Otis and Jace were silent, and I wondered if they were thinking about all the maybes too, if they were traveling the roads of their lives not lived, if they had any regrets.

I would try to remind them that it wasn’t too late. They had criminal records, but they could chart their own course from here on out. I’d be devastated if it took them away from me, but they’d saved my life by stepping between Blake and me, and I loved them enough to let them go if that was what it took for them to be happy.

A stream of students met us at the top of the stairs, all streaming from the door of one room halfway down the hall.

“Professor Alvarez must have let his class out early,” Otis said, walking quickly toward the open door of the classroom.

We got there just as an old man in a sport coat and slacks, an old-fashioned briefcase in one hand, was shutting the door. He had a full head of silver hair and wore the kind of loafers that were probably handed out to every professor when they were hired to teach at a college.

“Professor Alvarez?” Wolf asked.

The man turned and started walking. Between his classes and his position overseeing the law review, it was probablya daily occurrence for him to be accosted by students in the hallway.

"Office hours are Tuesday and Thursday from three to five,” he said.

“We’re not here for office hours,” Wolf said.

He took another look at us, his brown eyes sharp behind the metal frames of his glasses, then started for the stairs. “I have another class. You’ll have to walk with me.”

We started walking, hustling to keep up with his surprisingly brisk pace.

“We were wondering if we could ask you a question about a former pupil,” Wolf said. “Or maybe not a pupil, but someone who worked with you on the law review.”

“References are handled through the online portal,” he said, making his way lightly down the stairs.

“This isn’t about a reference,” I said, hoping to slow him down just a little. At the rate we were going he would reach his next class before we’d even asked our questions. “It’s about Michael White.”

I thought I caught the slightest halt in his step in the moment before he pushed through the glass doors.

“I don’t discuss former students.”

We continued down the stairs. “I know this is irregular, but… please.” I sounded as desperate as I felt, spinning through the pieces of our puzzle in my mind, trying to find something that might make the professor relent. “He knew my mom before she died.”

The words didn’t make him stop, but they did make him slow down, his brow furrowing as he turned to look at me. “Here at UPenn?”

I shook my head. “In high school.”

He inhaled. “Like I said, I don’t usually talk about former students.”

“I understand that,” I said. “And I respect it. It’s just that…”

“Some weird things are happening in White’s hometown.” I gaped at Jace, who’d finally spoken up with a zinger that almost stopped Professor Alvarez in his tracks.

“What kinds of weird things?” Professor Alvarez asked, pinning Jace with his shrewd gaze.

“Missing people,” Jace said.

I was still staring at Jace. We hadn’t talked about tying Michael White to the missing girls. But then I realized he might not be tying Michael White to the missing girls at all, or not to them alone anyway.

He may have been talking about his father.

Derrick Mayer said Michael had been tight with Arlo. Maybe Michael knew what had happened to Jace’s dad.

“I don’t like talking about this,” the professor said.

I was so surprised I almost stopped walking. because Professor Alvarez didn’t sound confused like I’d expected. NotI don’t know what you’re talking aboutorWhat could Michael White have to do with missing people?

I don’t like talking about this.

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