“It was really just a single conversation,” she said, swiping at her eyes again. “Maybe three weeks into the semester. Steve had a friend who thought Shawna looked hot, and he asked if Shawna wanted to be fixed up. Shawna said no, she had too much studying, but then she went out— and not to the library, this was a Friday morning and she said something had come up suddenly, she had to leave early for the weekend. Something back home in Santo Leon. But the thing is, she was all dressed up and made up—nothing like what you’d expect just to take the bus home. So I asked her who the guy was, said she wasn’t wasting stockings and all that lip gloss on some campus loser. And she gave me this—I can only call it an off look, know what I mean? Real serious—almost angry. But not angry—upset.”
“Like you’d hit a nerve,” I said.
“Exactly. She gave me the off look and said, ‘Mindy, I would never date anyone my age. Give me an older guy any time, ’cause they know how to treat a woman.’ And that’s when it hit me: the way she was dressed. A suit—all that makeup. It’s like she was trying to make herself look older, so I wondered. And that’s what I told that pest from the Cub. Which is probably what you’ve got in there.” Pointing to the pad. “But I don’t know for sure,” she added. “You didn’t ask her?” said Milo.
“I tried— I can be nosy, I admit it. But like I said, Shawna was private. She just kind of blew me off, picked up her suitcase, and left.”
“So older men know how to treat a woman,” said Milo. “You think she meant financially?”
“That’s the way I took it. ‘Cause Shawna liked things. Talked about becoming a psychiatrist or a plastic surgeon, getting herself a big house in one of the Three B’s—Brentwood, Bel Air, Beverly Hills—like she’d read about that in some magazine. I mean, she actually took the bus into Beverly Hills once, walked up and down Rodeo Drive—unsophisticated. Kind of adorable, really.”
“Into stuff,” said Milo.
“Clothes, cars—she said one day she’d drive a Ferrari.”
“From being a plastic surgeon or marrying one?”
“Maybe both,” said Mindy.
“She ever talk about any professors she really liked?” “What, you think it was a professor?” “They’re the older men on campus.” “No, she never said.”
“Okay, thanks for your time,” said Milo, flipping through his pad, then slipping it into his pocket. Mindy smiled, and her posture had just loosened when he said, “Oh, one other thing—and this’ll stay as private as possible too. There was mention of some photos Shawna might’ve posed for, for Duke magazine—”
“Oh, please,” snapped Mindy. “That stupid idiot—the weirdo from the
Cub.”
“Weird, how?”
“Obsessive. Like a stalker. He wouldn’t leave me alone. Kept dropping in at the dorm, doing his big reporter thing. The last straw was when he barged right past me, started poking around our stuff. The whole Duke thing came up because Steve had left some magazines around—Sports Illustrated, GQ. And, yes, some Playboys and Dukes too—you know guys. And the idiot has the nerve to start poking around in the stack and these loose pages fall out of the Duke and Green—the idiot—grabs them and says, ‘Whoa, is this Shawna?’ I grab them back and tell him to keep his filthy mitts off and his mind out of the gutter. And he gives me this knowing smile—this smirk—and he says, ‘What’s the matter, Mindy? Why shouldn’t Shawna pose? God gave her the bod and the hair—’ disgusting talk. That’s when I threatened to scream and he left, but he kept hassling me, and I had to get Steve to warn him off. Maybe you should be looking at him.”
“Did he know Shawna before she disappeared?” I said.
“No—I don’t think so. I was just talking in the sense that he was weird. Anyway, that’s where that Duke stupidity came from.”
“So Shawna never posed.”
“Of course not. Why would she do that?”
“Same reason any girl does. Money, fame—or maybe she’d met an older guy who was also a photographer.”