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corners.
    There were two bowls on the floor next to the refrigerator. One was half full of water—the other was empty. A brief search revealed a bag of Friskies which, when removed from a grimy cabinet, was sufficient to produce an excited response from the cat. The food rattled as it tumbled into the metal bowl and some of it wound up on the floor as the feline’s head got in the way.
    Satisfied that her only dependent’s needs had been taken care of, Devlin put the bag of cat food back where she had found it, and turned toward the dining room. Not because she wanted to go there, but because she
had
to go there, as part of the journey that would ultimately carry her into the living room. The place where, for reasons known only to him, Professor Paul McCracken had covered everything with plastic and blown his brains out.
    So, with a nonchalance that she really didn’t feel, Devlin entered the formal dining room. It was dark outside, and the long string of lights that represented the I-90 floating bridge could be seen beyond the rain-streaked glass, as the scientist flicked a light switch and brought the antique chandelier back to life. A richly polished dining room table dominated the center of the room and an imposing side table stood against the south wall, flanked by two narrow windows.
    But it was the living room that Devlin was determined to confront. A dozen steps carried Devlin into the room where her mentor’s body had been found. As more lights came on Devlin discovered that she felt empty rather than grief stricken.
    A large fireplace provided a focal point for the room, along with the oil painting of Mary McCracken which hung above it. She had auburn hair, a rounded face, and cool blue eyes.
Were you the last person he looked at?
Devlin wondered. Did he stare at your face? Hoping you’d be there waiting for him? Yes, she concluded,
I believe he did. But why now? After all those years?
    The question seemed to echo through Devlin’s mind as she eyed the big leather chair from which McCracken liked to hold court, the couch that she had slept on more than once, and the old tube style TV that Mac loved to throw things at.
    And somehow it was
that
vision. Of McCracken throwing an empty Pepsi can at the president of the United States, that neutralized the sense of dread the scientist had experienced earlier. Then, as if a pair of flood gates had been opened, the tears came. And that’s where Devlin was, seated in the big leather chair with tears running down her cheeks, when the cat strolled in out of the dining room. He licked his chops, padded across the hardwood floor, and leaped up onto the parasitologist’s lap. Mary, who had seen so much from her location over the fireplace, seemed to approve.
    ***
    The gentle beeping noise came to an abrupt stop as Devlin fumbled with the travel alarm and managed to turn it off. There was a brief moment of disorientation as she realized that she wasn’t in Costa Rica. That was followed by a sense of dread as the reason for setting the alarm came back to her. Leander had apologized for scheduling the autopsy the day after Devlin arrived, but it seemed there were only so many slots available each week, and dead people were lined up waiting to be cut open.
    What Leander
didn’t
say, but seemed obvious, was the fact that the procedure had been scheduled for the next day based on the assumption that the parasitologist wouldn’t want to take part in it.
    There was a plaintive meow, followed by a thump, as the cat bailed out and Devlin swung her feet over onto the floor. Perhaps someone else would have been hesitant to sleep in the room where a friend committed suicide, but after a long plane flight, and the meeting with Leander, Devlin hadn’t been ready to explore the rest of the house yet.
    But now she was faced with a
new
set of problems. Like brushing her teeth and finding something clean to wear. The first part of the challenge was easily solved—but the second was more