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but right now I’ve got a … an obligation.” The words trailed off as he smiled apologetically, rose and moved toward the counter. When he had secured his coffee-to-go, winked at me for the second time in our short acquaintance, and exited the small cafe, a certain kinetic energy went out with him, as if all the particles of oxygen circulating in the room had for a brief second been stilled.
    Greg watched me watch Jake leave. When I turned back to my friend, he maintained the assessing gaze.
    “What?”
    “Careful with that guy, Karen.” He hefted the ceramic mug, eyes serious over the rim.
    I bridled. “Don’t be stupid, Greg; I have no interest in Jake Fenton.” I gave him my most forbidding look, the obsidian glint between lashes. “And, besides, even if I did, it’s none of your business.”
    Greg laughed then, and wisely let it drop.
    I closed the
Times
arts section and slid the paper into my bookbag. Greg downed the last of his cappuccino. “Aren’t you going to finish that article?” he asked. “Your fifteen minutes of fame.”
    “I’ll read it later.” My fingertips were black with printer’s ink. I wiped them on a paper napkin, then stuffed it in my empty cup. “Right now I can’t take any more notoriety.” I nodded at Sophia Warzek, who’d just delivered a pan of fresh muffins from the kitchen. The enticing scent of ripe banana wafted anew across the light-filled room. Sophia paused at the counter and smiled at me. She’s my protégée and former student—and my daughter Amanda’s best friend. I reached across the marble tabletop and broke off a small chunk of Greg’s muffin. “Tell me, what other stupid things did I say in
The New York Times
for all the world to read?”
    “Nothing. Really. The reporter just goes on to quote from the novel and recount a bit about Mildred Deakin’s life. Did she really vanish without a trace?”
    I swallowed the muffin bite. “Yeah, she did. It was very strange.
Oblivion Falls
made Deakin an overnight sensation, and it didn’t hurt that she was young and attractive, as you can tell by that photo—only twenty-five when the novel was published. For a couple of years pretty Milly was everywhere, giving talks at women’s clubs and public libraries, frequenting literary soirees and nightclubs. Living pretty high, from what I’ve heard. Her picture showed up in
Time
magazine, in the society columns of major newspapers, in scandal sheets. Then, abruptly, she dropped out of sight, and no one’s seen or heard anything from her since, I think, 1959. Not her family; not her friends; not her publisher. At the time of her disappearance, the New York City police investigated Mildred Deakin as a missing person, but they never did find her.”
    “What do you think happened? Was she abducted? Or murdered? Or did she simply have a breakdown and wander off?”
    “I don’t know anything about Mildred Deakin’smental state, Greg. As a matter of fact, I don’t know much about fifties literature, at all—the 1950s, that is. I only mentioned
Oblivion Falls
to the
Times
reporter because I’d just finished reading it. I picked the book up a couple of months ago at a conference; some feminist press had just reprinted it.” I glommed another chunk of Greg’s muffin.
    “Was it any good?” He curved an arm around his plate, guarding what was left of his breakfast from further predations.
    People kept asking me that question. I didn’t know the answer. “I needed some light summer reading, and it was a great read—downright steamy in places, and the class tensions were just as hot as the sex. The book kept me up half the night.”
    “Steamy, huh?” He waggled his dark eyebrows. “According to Jill, you need some of that.”
    “Greg!” What on earth was my friend Jill saying about me?
    “But, like I said, Karen, watch out for that Fenton guy. There’s something about him.… He looks like he could be bad news.”
    “Back off, Greg.” I raised both hands,