"Thank you." Amaryllis studied him covertly as she took the chair.
She had always considered Gifford a handsome man, and nothing had changed in his physical appearance during the past six months. But for some reason, he no longer seemed nearly as attractive as he once had. There was an aura of weakness about his well-chiseled features, a languid, self- indulgent quality that she had not been conscious of when she worked at the university.
Perhaps she had been too much in awe of his research accomplishments in the old days, she reflected. Next to Professor Landreth, Gifford had been the most esteemed scholar in the entire department. No one could dispute his academic abilities.
His eyes were a riveting shade of blue. He had taken to wearing his light brown hair in the Western Islands style. It was tied at the nape of his neck with a strip of black ribbon. Amaryllis was beginning to think that Lucas was the only man in New Seattle who didn't wear his hair in the new fashion.
She had to admit that Gifford was in excellent shape, perhaps even leaner than when she had last seen him. She wondered if he still played golf-tennis on a regular basis. She glanced at his well-manicured hands and noticed that they also appeared soft. The only calluses Gifford had ever known were the ones he got from his golf-tennis racket.
My, she was getting picky these days, she thought wryly. There was a time when she would have found his hands attractive.
The biggest difference in his appearance was his attire. Gone was the slouchy jacket, the denim trousers, and the running shoes that were de rigueur among faculty members at the university. Today Gifford was a model of executive style in a silver gray suit and a pale gray shirt. A red bow tie added just the right note of whimsical, rakish elegance.
Amaryllis smiled. "You're dressing better these days, Gifford."
"I can afford it."
Amaryllis glanced around at her surroundings. The office complemented the man. A pale gray carpet and sleek black furnishings comprised a suitable backdrop to the power suit. Red flowers in a red vase provided an exclamation point to the room. The dramatic effect was not unlike that of the red bow tie on Gifford's silver gray suit.
"Congratulations." Amaryllis settled into the expensive office chair. "I take it business is good?"
"Very good." Gifford chuckled as he resumed his seat. "I don't miss academia, that's for sure. Should have left the faculty years ago. Don't know why I waited so long. What can I do for you, Amaryllis?"
"I'll come straight to the point. Did you see Professor Landreth the day of his death?"
Gifford blinked, clearly startled, then his expression grew thoughtful. "That's an odd question. Why do you want to know?"
"Last Friday night I got a phone call. Anonymous. The caller implied that there was some mystery surrounding Professor Landreth. I decided to look into the matter."
"Since when do you do security work? That sounds like a job for the cops."
"Their investigation turned up no indication of foul play."
"Most likely because there wasn't any foul play," Gifford muttered. "The only one who might think there was some- thing suspicious about Landreth's death was his secretary. Irene Dunley had a crush on him for years. She's probably having a tough time accepting the fact that he's gone."
It was Amaryllis's turn to blink. "I know Mrs. Dunley was very loyal to Professor Landreth. Fond of him, even. But what makes you think that she was in love with him?"
Gifford grimaced. "I walked into her office one day right after you left the faculty. She was in tears. She had just learned that Landreth had some kind of standing appointment with a sleazy syn-sex stripper who works in a club in Founders Square. I think she had found a note about one of his appointments and had been curious enough to call the number. You know what they say about curiosity."
Amaryllis was speechless.
Gifford was amused. "What's the matter? Can't imagine old Landreth with a syn-sex stripper? Don't you know that the prudish, straitlaced types always turn out to have the most interesting tastes when it comes to sex?" His mouth twisted. "Present company excepted, of course."
Amaryllis kept her shoulders very straight. She would not allow herself to be embarrassed by Gifford. He was the one who should have been ashamed of himself. "Will you please answer my question? Did you see Professor Landreth that day?"
"It's none of your business, but the answer is no, I did not see him."
"According to his calendar, he had an appointment with you for three o'clock."
"Did Mrs. Dunley tell you that?"
"No. I saw the calendar entry myself. Your name was written in Professor Landreth's own hand."
"Was it? I can't imagine why. He and I had absolutely nothing to say to each other. In case you didn't hear about it, the two of us nearly came to blows a couple of months ago. I resigned my position in the department because of that old bastard."
"Why did you dislike him so much?"
"Are you kidding?" Gifford raised his eyes toward the ceiling. "Let me count the ways. Landreth may have been a good researcher at one time, but he had been past his prime for years. He refused to move with the times. His methods were antiquated, to say the least. He wouldn't allow even minor changes in the way things were done in the department. And he was obsessed with his damned professional standards."
"He had every right to be obsessed with standards," Amaryllis retorted. "Professor Landreth virtually wrote the Code of Focus Ethics. He was almost single-handedly responsible for raising our profession to its present high regard. Why, if it hadn't been for him, you probably wouldn't be sitting behind that desk in this plush office."
Gifford shook his head. "You haven't changed a bit, have you. Pity. I would have thought that six months in the real world would have polished off some of the prissy naïveté."
Amaryllis clutched her purse tightly and stood. "You're certain you didn't see Professor Landreth the day he died?"
"Positive. Believe me, I would have gone out of my way to avoid a meeting with the old coot. He was the last man on St. Helens I wanted to see."
The world seemed to be full of people who had never cared for Jonathan Landreth. Amaryllis turned without a word and strode to the door.
"Amaryllis?"
She paused, one hand on the knob. "Yes?"
"I saw your picture in the paper. You were with Lucas Trent at the museum reception last Thursday night."
"What about it?"
Gifford gave her a knowing look. "I'm assuming it wasn't an agency date, although that was the implication. You and Trent aren't a very likely pair. So it must have been business. Were you focusing for him that night?"
"I don't discuss clients."
"So it was business." Gifford nodded, apparently satisfied. "I thought as much. Word has it that Trent is a class nine, but the poor guy's just a detector. What was it, some kind of security matter?"
"I said, I don't discuss business."
Gifford gave her a goading smile. "Did he suspect that some arch criminal talent was plotting to steal those artifacts he discovered? Or was it closer to home? I hear one of his vice presidents just left the company with no notice. Someone named Miranda Locking."
No one had ever said that Gifford was stupid, Amaryllis reminded herself. "You're awfully well informed."
"I make it a point to be informed," Gifford said softly. "It's good for business."
"Excuse me. I've got another appointment." Amaryllis opened the door.
"One more thing, Amaryllis. If you ever decide that you want to make some real money in the focus game, you're welcome to apply for a position here at Unique Prisms. I pay top dollar. You can make as much money in six months working for me as you'll make with Clementine Malone in a year."
Logic and intuition came together in a flash of under- standing. "It was one of your people who was working with Senator Sheffield the night of the reception, wasn't it?"