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researching the place a ton,” I inform her, taking a sip of my now perfect temperature coffee. “Since I’m thinking of attending next fall.”
    Jane suddenly looks a bit uncomfortable. Aha! “You are?” she asks. “How . . . nice. Hope you can get in.”
    “Me, too!” I squeal in my best silly high school girl voice. “It’s like, so tough, I know. But how cool would it be to live in England. I just love England. Where’s Oxford again? Is it London?”
    “Oxford is in Oxford ,” Jane replies, a big “duh” in her tone. Darn, guess I couldn’t fool her that easily. But I’m guessing she’s going to need one of her lifelines for round two.
    “Oh right. Of course. London’s just the hometown of Professor Davis, the best political science teacher ever, right? Did you have Professor Davis when you went to Oxford, Jane?”
    Now Jane looks like she’s just swallowed a raw turnip. “Um, I’m not sure,” she says picking at one of her fake fingernails. “I don’t think so.”
    “Huh,” I mused. “That’s really strange, since I read that Professor Davis’s Theory of Politics course is one that’s required for anyone to earn a political theory degree.”
    “Oh. Right. Well, I guess I did have him then,” Jane stammers. Yes! “ Her you mean.” I smile smugly. “Professor Davis is a woman.”
    “Of course.” She’s now searching the room, desperate for Magnus to come back. But it looks like her blood mate got stuck talking to one of his constituents. Sorry, Jane. “I knew that.”
    Sure she did. “Great. So then maybe you can enlighten me. I’ve always wondered what Dominus illuminatio mea means. Can you explain its significance in a hundred words or less?”
    Now she’s looking truly scared. “Dominos . . . illuminati . . . what?”
    “You know, Oxford’s motto,” I say, in my best patronizing voice. “It’s on, like, all their stuff. You must have seen it while you were, you know, attending the school?”
    “Oh right.” She recovers. “Of course I’ve seen it. I just didn’t take any . . . French classes . . .”
    “You mean Latin classes?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “The school motto is in Latin.”
    “Or Latin,” she hastens to correct. “I concentrated my studies more on the European countries. Like Italy and stuff. Not . . . Latin countries. Hell, I don’t even like tacos.”
    Oh geez. She’s dug herself in so deep with her lies now she’s probably about to hit China. But before I can point out the three thousand geographical mistakes this supposed master of international relations has just made in one breath, Magnus returns, carrying her steamed blood cappuccino. Saved by the vamp. Magnus hands the drink to Jane, then takes his seat. “Have you two been getting acquainted?” he asks hopefully.
    “Oh yes,” I say, shooting Jane a smug smile. “I’m learning so much about her.”
    Jane hastily rises from her seat, knocking over her drink in the process. I jump back so none of the bloody coffee gets on my outfit. “Sorry,” she mumbles, looking completely flustered. “I actually have . . . an appointment . . . that I forgot about. I need to get . . . there. So I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, she makes her escape.
    Yes! She totally fell for my trap! I couldn’t ask for a better outcome to my investigation. Just call me Nancy Drew. Or at least Veronica Mars. I turn to Magnus. “So, I’ve done some research,” I inform him proudly. “And it’s clear that Jane is not who she says she is.”
    Magnus stares at me. “What?”
    “Well, she didn’t go to Oxford for one thing. I can tell you that.”
    “Sunny, what are you talking about?” my boyfriend demands in a voice that seems to indicate he’s more annoyed at me than proud of my excellent detective work. What’s up with that? “Of course she went to Oxford.”
    I feel bad having to tell him the truth. But it’s for his own good and will save us all from much frustration later.