Excerpt from Chapter 19
Crossing over to his closet, he caught sight of his blurry reflection in the darkened glass of the balcony doors. An old man in worn-out plaid pajamas scowled back at him, a few strands of silvery-white hair plastered to the side of his sunburned head. A ghastly sight, but nothing new. It only reminded him how much he’d come to rely on the transformative power of clothing; indeed, in the three minutes it took to throw on a clean, white polo and yesterday’s khakis, the crotchety old man morphed into the distinguished gentleman everyone knew as Dr. Isaac Fischelson.
With that out of the way, he hurried to tidy his bed—he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone, much less Angela, seeing his bed unmade—but wrangling with the comforter made his bad knee give off a warning cry which forced him to crawl off the mattress in defeat. In the midst of this he thought of something even more frustrating: just that morning Angela had called him a fascist, and yet here she was less than twenty-four hours later standing out there in the hallway with that doughy grin on her face. How could she pretend nothing had happened? Well, he could never do that.
But that was exactly what he did.
“Sorry to make you wait, Angela.” He tried to move out into the hall, but she stopped him and asked if she could come in. He motioned her through . . . and the way he did it, he might as well have bowed and said, Apres vous, mademoiselle!
Although he’d intentionally left the door open, for reasons he thought obvious, Angela closed it behind her. The grin fell off her face.
It felt like a let-it-all-out sort of moment, but he had no burning desire to clear the air. Certainly not on an empty stomach. And that closed door was making him uncomfortable. “It’s past my dinner time,” he said. “Is everyone up? Are we going out?”
“No idea,” she said, “but look, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
He offered her his desk chair and smoothed the comforter a bit before gingerly lowering himself across from her on his bed.
“So,” she said, folding her hands over the giant purse in her lap, “I want to apologize for my behavior last night. The real reason I didn’t want you to call the college is . . . some new information has been revealed concerning your investigation. I can’t tell you what it is—now don’t look so terrified, it’s not that bad—but I still think you should be careful right now. Don’t rock the boat, you know what I mean?”
He rubbed his aching knee. “Well, how do you know whatever it is you know?”
“I really can’t say.”
“But the investigation’s supposed to be confidential. I just need to know if someone on the committee told you something?”
“No, actually, I was the one who told them.”
“Ah, right.” He looked up at the vent grating. “So you did hear.”
He waited.
“Okay,” she said finally, “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but—”
“But you were just doing your job?”
Her blonde eyelashes fluttered in apprehension. “I think I know what you’re getting at, but that’s not it. Not exactly. You see, I was upstairs in my room getting ready to go out when I happened to hear you and Zeb, and as I got closer to the grating, it was amazing, I could hear everything you two were saying. I guess you could say I did mean to invade your privacy, but . . . I’m sorry, but it is kind of funny. I mean, eavesdropping through the air vent? I feel like I’m in a mystery novel.”
He was not amused.
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Previously on “A Footnote to Plato”…
Agatha replied from inside his mind, “You are my business. I’m here to make sure you do what’s in your best interest—the right thing.”
In Chapters 16, 17, and 18…
Sarah takes off with the owner of the club without telling the others. Dr. Fischelson wakes up in the middle of the night to find his little ducklings missing. After confronting Dr. Petersen, he makes a bargain with the universe to bring Sarah back. Sarah wakes up in a hotel room in the Piraeus and finds a token of Basil’s appreciation, which forces her to confront her behavior and challenges her faith.
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