Booker's third and final class wasn't until 2:00 in the afternoon, so he had a couple of hours to kill in the meantime.
He sat in his car, thinking.
He was disappointed in the lack of results thus far. His two suspects had to be in the third class, unless Donna was wrong about who to look for…
Dennis closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the headrest on the driver's seat of his car. He conjured up an image of Donna in his mind, smiling to himself as he imagined her sweet voice in his ears.
They'd been fifteen when they met. She tutored him in Algebra, and he'd taught her what love was. They were inseparable for two years, until suddenly they were ripped apart by Dennis' own doing. He had made the worst mistake of his life when he torched Jeff Ferris' car in the school parking lot halfway through his senior year.
Dennis Booker wasn't a criminal; he was just a seventeen-year-old kid desperate to keep some other guy from stealing his girl. But his lapse in judgment had sent Dennis straight to juvenile lockup for three months, and Donna into the arms of the very guy he had been trying to keep away from her.
He got out of juvenile hall when he turned eighteen, but the damage was done and he returned home to find that Donna wasn't his anymore. Making things worse for him, her parents had gotten a court order to keep him away permanently.
Dennis sighed, opening his eyes.
Those high school years seemed so long ago, and yet so recent at the same time. And now, ironically, events were almost reversing themselves.
Now Jeff was the one who was gone, and Dennis was the one left to pick up the pieces of Donna's broken heart.
Needing to clear his head, Booker started the car. He went for lunch at a small café near the college, then called his secretary at Teshima from his car phone.
"Dennis Booker's office," a female voice came through the line.
"Suzanne, it's me."
"Hey, how's our college boy?"
"Getting nowhere," Dennis responded seriously. "First two classes turned up nothing. I'm putting my hopes on number three."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed," she promised.
"Thanks." He smiled, though his assistant couldn't see it through the phone. "Hey, um…Donna didn't happen to call, or anything…did she?"
"Nope," Suzanne answered. "Was she supposed to?"
"No, I just thought…maybe she might have."
"Sorry, Romeo."
"Yeah. Okay, thanks." He popped the carphone's handset back into its cradle between the two bucket seats.
He drove back to the college campus and parked in a different spot than before.
God, he hated waiting around. Sometimes he thought he'd rather face a room full of gunmen than wait around for something to happen.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel a moment, then checked his wristwatch. Still half an hour to go.
He puffed his cheeks out in a breath and grabbed the campus map he'd been given earlier that day.
Maybe he'd go check out the library.
He sauntered aimlessly through the aisles and rows and shelves, picking up a book here, thumbing through it, setting it down there.
Finally, he went to the 2:00 Marketing Solutions class.
Instead of choosing the far back corner like he did with the previous classroom, Dennis sat down at a desk in the very center of the room.
The desks in this class were actually tables, twice the width of a normal desk with two chairs placed under each.
Dennis watched the other seats fill up, looking at each and every face that entered the room. This was his last shot at finding his suspects here.
"That's Jeff's seat."
Dennis looked up at the face that accompanied the voice. "I'm sorry?"
The blonde-haired girl pointed at the seat Dennis was occupying. "That's Jeff's seat," she repeated neutrally. "We usually share this table."
"Will Jeff be coming to claim it?" he asked innocently, giving the girl a friendly smile.
She blushed, smiling back. "Probably not, actually. He's skipped a whole week of class now."
Apparently his classmates didn't know he was dead, Booker thought wryly.
"Well, my name's not Jeff," he began playfully, laying on the charm. "But I'll still let you sit at my table if you want."
The girl gave a small laugh, playing along. "What a gentleman, inviting me to sit in my own seat."
He grinned shamelessly. "Dennis Bowman," he introduced himself with his undercover name, holding a hand out for her to shake.
She accepted it. "Gina Blackwell." She sat down in the chair beside him, setting her books on her half of the table.
"So," Dennis cut to the chase. "Is Jeff your boyfriend or something?" If the guy had been cheating on Donna with this girl…well, Jeff would be lucky that he was already dead.
"Oh, god no," Gina answered in a put-off tone. "No, he's just a good partner to work with in class. A lot of good ideas in his brain."
Dennis nodded. "Gotcha."
"What about you?" Gina asked, as if she and Dennis were great pals already. "Got a girlfriend?"
She was flirting.
Well, Dennis had started it…now he would finish it.
He gave a casual shrug. "Sometimes."
"Got one now?"
He let her down easy, although it was a lie. "Yeah, I do."
But she didn't appear disappointed. "Fair enough," Gina accepted easily. "So what brings Dennis Bowman to Marketing Solutions class two months into the semester?"
This girl didn't beat around the bush. Dennis kind of appreciated that; if she had something useful to say he wouldn't have to pry it out of her like he usually did with people.
He'd also have to be careful about not revealing anything to her, if she was as friendly with everyone as she was with him. He didn't need his cover blown already.
"Just exploring options," was all Dennis said in response to her question.
The instructor began the class, but Gina and Dennis continued their sporadic conversation in whispers.
Adopting a casual tone, Booker changed the subject. "So, Gina…who's who in this class?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I like to know who my classmates are," he explained with a grin. "And you've been here longer than I have…I'm sure you know everyone by now."
"Okay, well…um…" she pointed at one occupied desk across the room and whispered, "That's the McCarthy sisters over there; they're trying to get clients for their dog-walking business, but they haven't a clue how…hence the need for this class. Behind us is Brian Rogers, who's the newest employee at his father's architecture firm..."
She glanced at the other half of the room, apparently picking out the 'important' people and skipping the rest. "Oh, Jimmy Wills and Frank Porter own that new little restaurant on Third Street."
Wills…not Willis or Williams. Jimmy Wills. And Frank Porter. There they were.
Gina went on with a few more names, but Dennis secretly tuned her out.
He'd found his two suspects. But it was too early to jump on anything just yet.
For now, he'd only observe them.
