“To be fair—” But Shaw cut off because a floorboard creaked violently above them.

  “Somebody came home from PE early?” North whispered.

  Shaw shook his head.

  North pointed to himself and then to the front of the house. He pointed to Shaw and to the servants’ stairs. Then he headed out of the kitchen, making surprisingly little noise for a man wearing the equivalent of leather buckets on his feet.

  Shaw had visited this residence as a student, but he’d never had to learn its ins and outs the way he’d known the Jefferson building. Still, he remembered a few tricks, like keeping to the edge of the stair treads and testing his weight before moving up. It was slow going, but it allowed him to move quietly.

  Then another board groaned above Shaw, and a man said, “Shit.”

  Shaw grabbed the canister of pepper gel from his pocket and got a good grip on it. He kept climbing.

  More creaking boards overhead. More muffled words. Something that sounded like “—fucking ridiculous.”

  Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t exactly a B-and-E genius.

  “Stop right there,” North shouted.

  The answer was footsteps hammering the boards above Shaw, moving toward the servants’ stairs. Shaw braced himself against the wall of the stairway. The footsteps turned into a staccato on the steps, and then a man came into view: dark brown skin, young, fit. He was looking over his shoulder, and as his head swiveled, his eyes widened as he took in Shaw.

  His eyes got really wide when Shaw landed a palm strike to his solar plexus.

  The guy’s legs came up. His butt hit the stairs, hard, and then his head bounced back from a step. He was carrying clothes, and they flew into the air. As he slid a few steps before coming to rest, sweatshirts and joggers and underwear and socks rained down around him.

  Chapter 10

  WHEEZING, THE MAN who had collapsed on the staircase tried to sit up.

  “Stop that,” Shaw said. “Or I’ll have to do something I won’t like.”

  The man considered this. Then, bleary-eyed and still gasping for breath, he sank back down.

  When North appeared above them on the stairs, Shaw said, “He might have a concussion. He hit his head really hard.”

  North squatted and held up a pair of gray compression shorts.

  “You know I like those on you,” Shaw said, “but I’d really rather have you wear those bikini briefs I bought you.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t wear panties.”

  “Really? A lot of men find it sexually stimulating and freeing. It’s an opportunity to explore being beautiful and desired in a way that they’re traditionally excluded from.”

  Shaw was rather proud of this delivery of psychological insight, but all North did was hold up a Cardinals sweatshirt.

  The man on the stairs was on his side, sliding down another step.

  “Kick him in the head if he moves again,” North said.

  “What the hell?” the guy croaked. He tried to sit up, and then he sagged back again, rubbing his head. “Oh my God, who are you? What’s going on?”

  “North McKinney. Shaw Aldrich. Private investigators. Shaw’s going to handle that second one.”

  “Well, that’s an interesting question,” Shaw said. “The way I see it, life is a cycle of existence. We are born as an opportunity to learn to grow and live in harmony with the universe—”

  “Fast forward to the part of this particular existence where he’s stealing Flip’s clothes.”

  “Oh, right. You were stealing Flip’s clothes and being really noisy about it, and when you saw North, you tried to run, and then you and I met, and I think you’re probably a really great guy, but I had to put you on your ass because you were trying to get away.”

  The man’s only answer was to cover his eyes.

  “Sit the fuck up,” North said, “and start with your name and what the fuck you’re doing here. Shaw, call the police.”

  “No!” After another struggle to sit upright, the man let out a groan. “No, come on. This is—this is a huge misunderstanding.”

  He was handsome, Shaw decided. Probably around their age, in his mid-twenties, with skin a beautiful dark brown and glossy black hair in an undercut and part that managed to look both hip and professional.

  “My name’s Kishor. Kishor Virani.” He tried an uncertain smile and held out a hand. Shaw pumped it. When he tried to repeat the gesture with North, North snorted. Kishor’s smile got a bit steadier. A bit brighter. He rubbed the back of his head, rueful now, like he’d done something dumb and knew it. “Jeez, you really got me good. I guess I deserved it. This is so stupid.”

  “You’d better talk a lot faster,” North said, “or we’ll skip straight to the police.”

  “No, no. You don’t need to do that. I’m a teacher here. I live here.”

  “Here here?” Shaw said. “In this residence?”

  Kishor nodded. “I’m head-of-residence for Washington. That’s this residence.”

  “Keep going,” North said.

  “Oh, um, right. The clothes. Look, it was dumb. I made a really dumb mistake. I’ll put them back, and it won’t happen again. I swear to God.”

  “What were you doing?”

  Kishor swallowed; he looked sallow now, and his gaze swung from North to Shaw.

  “Don’t look at him,” North said. “He can’t help you. Answer my fucking question.”

  “I could give him a motivational speech,” Shaw said.

  “No, you can’t.”

  “I could help him understand that the power to answer our questions has been—”

  North was making a guttural noise.

  “—inside him all along!”

  “What the fuck were you doing?” North snapped, taking one heavy, booming step down.

  Kishor flinched and threw up his hands. “I was going to sell them!”

  “What?”

  “I was going to sell them, man. That’s all. I know it’s messed up, but there are a lot of weirdos out there, and they’ll pay good money to own clothes of a boy who’s been—” He cut off, eyes darting to the steps.

  “Kidnapped?” Shaw said. “Murdered?”

  “I said I know it’s messed up.” Kishor’s gaze came up fractionally. “Look, they pay us shit. I love the job, but they pay us shit. There’s this whole song and dance about how free room and board makes up for the low salary, but the truth is, they’re just cheap. I’m young. I like to go out. If there’s a guy I like, I want to show him a good time. They’re just clothes, right? I mean, it’s not like it’s hurting anyone.” He hesitated. “You probably want to talk to Abigail. I could help you.”

  “Why would we want to talk to Abigail?”

  “Isn’t that what they always do? The girlfriend, I mean. When something bad happens.”

  “Did something bad happen to Flip?”

  “I don’t know—I thought—I don’t know!” Gulping air, Kishor said, “I just went in his room! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “Except it’s a sealed crime scene,” North said. “Except you’re contaminating possible evidence. How many times have you been in there?”

  “Just this once, I swear to God. And I heard one of the police officers telling Dr. Latese that they were pretty much done with Flip’s room. I never would have gone in there if I thought it would have hurt him.” He turned big, dark, puppy-dog eyes on Shaw. His hand, warm and surprisingly large, came to rest on the inside of Shaw’s thigh. “Please. It was a dumb mistake. Please don’t ruin my life because I made a dumb mistake.” His tongue teased his lips. “I could make it up to you guys. Show you how sorry I am. You could make sure I learned my lesson.”

  “Well,” Shaw said.

  “No, you fucking degenerate—I’m talking to you, Shaw. The answer is no. And you, get your hand off my boyfriend. You’ve got five seconds before I start breaking fingers.”

  “He’s very possessive,” Shaw confided.

  Kishor was cradling his hand against his chest, eyes wary.

  “He thinks it’s attractive. I’ve really been trying to work with him on non-ownership ways of expressing his feelings for me—we’ve really been trying to work on that, haven’t we, North?”

  “No.”

  “I think a three-way—”

  “Go ahead and finish that sentence, Shaw, and see what happens.”

  Discretion being the better part of valor, Shaw tried a redirect. “Lots of couples find that adding a sexual partner…” The words dried up under North’s gaze. Shaw sighed. To Kishor, he said, “I guess not this time.”

  “Not ever,” North said. “Get the fuck out of here. And if I even get a hint, even a whiff, that you’re trying this stunt again, I will come back here and destroy your ass.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Shaw said. “Now you’re getting into it. We’ll come back and we’ll destroy your ass. North’s actually really good at that, and—”

  “For the love of Christ,” North whispered in a strangled voice. Then he roared at Kishor, “Go!”

  Kishor scrambled downstairs, and a moment later, the back door slammed shut.

  “We ought to call the police anyway,” North said, crouching again as he collected the fallen clothing. “Creepy little fucker. For all we know he was taking these for his next jerk-off session.”

  “I don’t think so,” Shaw said, passing North a pair of socks. “He was freaked out, but I didn’t get that kind of vibe.”

  “He literally made a move on you.”

  “He made a move on us, actually, and he did it because he was trying to get himself out of trouble.”

  “He’s young,” North said as he lifted the bundle of clothes and started up the stairs again. “He’s gay. And he’s alone with horny adolescents around the clock. A lot could go wrong there, Shaw.”

  “Maybe,” Shaw said as he followed North. “But I really don’t think so.”

  They returned the clothes, which meant dumping them inside the room, and North pulled the door shut. With the lock broken, it only rested in the frame, but it was better than leaving it completely open. North stared at the shut door for a moment.

  “We should have asked him if he’d noticed anything strange. People hanging around campus. Changes in Flip’s behavior. Anything unusual Sunday night.”

  “If he did notice anything, he would have told the police. And he’s not going anywhere. We’ll track him down and talk to him again. Besides, now we’ve got leverage on him; it’ll make it easier to get him talking.”

  North grimaced, glanced at Shaw, and looked away.

  “What?” Shaw said.

  “I’m just thinking. The cameras didn’t show anyone entering the building who didn’t belong here. But that includes Kishor. And now we know there’s something really sketch about him, and he’s gay—”

  “Being gay doesn’t make him more likely to abuse children, North.”

  “I know that, for fuck’s sake. But it’s a boys’ residence. And he was stealing those clothes. And he made a pass at two strangers and pitched a three-way.”

  “Your puritanical side is showing.”

  “I’m just saying he’s weird, and if we’re supposed to trust that camera footage, then it sounds like it could have been an inside job.”

  “And what happened to Flip? He chopped him up and is taking him out in neat little bundles?”

  North’s expression only grew grimmer.

  “You’re joking,” Shaw said.

  “I’m just saying, we’ve got to consider the possibility that the people who live here were involved.”

  “And I think there’s another way someone got inside. Something that’s going to be really obvious once we figure it out.”

  “But we agree that it doesn’t seem likely Flip ran away?”

  Shaw let out a breath and shook his head. “It doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Well, this was a bust. Want to see if we can track down some of Flip’s friends?”

  Nodding, Shaw headed for the stairs.

  They were stepping out into the May sunlight, a breeze tugging at Shaw’s tee, when a woman shouted, “Excuse me!”

  She was tall and dressed to the nines—Louboutin heels, a gray silk suit that flowed like running water, a pashmina draped across her shoulders. Her hair was cropped close to the scalp, and the only sign of age was a touch of gray at her temples. She moved like brick walls would be smart to get out of her way.

  “You gentlemen need to leave right now.”

  “My name’s North McKinney—”

  “I know who you are, and I want you off this campus right now.”

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m Shaw.”

  “Not you,” North muttered.

  “Dr. Trinity Latese, head of school. I’ve already called security; I understand you assaulted a staff member. You can be sure I’ll report that to the police.”

  “Not cool,” North said. “If you know who we are, then you know that the Chittenden family hired us to look into Flip’s disappearance. We’re just looking around, trying to figure out what happened.”

  “I know why you’re here. What I don’t know is why you laid hands on my best teacher. What I don’t know is how you got inside a student residence without a school representative accompanying you.”

  “Your best teacher—”

  North cut off when Shaw touched his arm.

  Since Trinity seemed not to know about the access card that Celia had given them, Shaw decided to lie: “The latch didn’t set. We just wanted to look around.”

  “Regardless, you’re not allowed to be on campus, especially not after your behavior today. Please see yourselves to your car.” A golf cart’s motor whined as it came around a building farther up the quad. “Security will escort you off campus.”

  “The Chittenden family has a right—” North began.

  “And the other students here have rights too. Our staff have rights. We have to consider them too. If you need to look around campus, if you need to do anything on campus, you can contact my office for preapproval. We’ll arrange a time and someone from the administrative staff to accompany you.”

  “This is bullshit.” North waved at the brick colonials and the freshly trimmed grass. “It’s not Fort Knox.”

  The golf cart’s whine grew louder; the two men in the front seat wore navy windbreakers and slacks.

  Shaw pointed. “They look like the FBI. Or like they think the FBI looks.”

  “If you refuse to leave, I’ll have the police here in five minutes.” Trinity’s gaze didn’t waver.

  “Want to tell us why you crawled out the window when we stopped by your office?” North set himself, hands on hips. “Want to explain what that was all about?”

  “All right,” Trinity said, producing a phone. “We’ll let the police handle this.”

  “We’re going,” Shaw said, tugging on his arm. “We’re leaving right now.”

  They’d made it ten feet before Trinity called after them.

  “Mr. Aldrich, I understand you’re an alumnus.”

  Shaw glanced back.

  “You can be sure I’ll be contacting your father about this.”

  North made a quiet, huffing noise that might have been a laugh.

  “Very not cool,” Shaw finally managed before stalking toward the GTO.

  Chapter 11

  ANGIOLETTO’S WAS AN ANCHOR store in a strip mall less than a mile from The Gouverneur Morris School. It consisted primarily of a large, open dining room with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, a deli counter, and retractable-belt stanchions that kept the line to order clear and neat. Those were a recent addition; the last time North had been there, he’d witnessed two nonnas slapping each other with phonebook-sized purses in a fight for the last cannoli.

  “Why are you smiling?” Shaw asked; behind the counter, a woman drew out a pan of breadsticks from a warmer, and Shaw’s expression changed to horror. “North, no. Please. No. We’ve been so good.”

  North got in line behind a middle-aged woman with an acre of blow-dried black hair.

  “We’ve been avoiding nightshades.”

  “You’ve been avoiding nightshades.”

  “We’ve been cutting out processed foods.”

  “Actually, I eat more of them when you’re not around to keep my intake steady.”

  “We’ve almost completely eliminated dairy.”

  “That’s an adorable fantasy.”

  After glancing around, Shaw let out a breath. “Ok, ok, no reason to freak out. We can do this. Nothing fried, please. No cured meats. I think we’ll be ok with a nice salad. No dressing, obviously. No cheese. And no sugar, of course.”

  North nodded, smiled, and stepped up to the register. “The salsiccia sandwich, garlic-cheese-bread style. Sub toasted ravs for the salad. And two of those Missouri Baking cookies. No, better make it four. And a fountain drink.”

  “Four?” Shaw protested. “No, only give him one. I’m basically his doctor, and he’s not allowed to have more than one.”

  But by then, North was paying. He moved to claim a table; in the background, Shaw’s queries about a seitan alternative to the veal blurred into a pleasant white noise. North filled the waxed-paper cup with Sprite, found a clean table, and watched. Shaw was using his hands to demonstrate the size of the cages where veal calves were kept. The guy behind the counter was getting splotchy. Shaw was getting splotchy. The air smelled like garlic, onion, tomatoes, and Italian sausage. North briefly considered opening a little shop like this; it had to be better than the shit job he currently had.

  “He threatened to put me in a cage,” Shaw said, face still hot with color when he came over and slammed a waxed-paper cup onto the table. “He said if I liked talking about cages so much, maybe I’d like to see one from the inside.”

  “Huh.”

  “And when I said he was creating a hostile environment, he said it was going to feel a lot more hostile after he shoved his foot up my ass.”

  North took a swig of Sprite.