Brian felt his stomach drop to the vicinity of his knees and vaguely wondered if he was on a twisted version of Candid Camera. Then, he looked into the eyes of the detectives and realized it was true. "A murder?" he repeated in a faint voice.

"Yes, Mr. Littrell." Detective Jensen took out a pad of paper and pen. "Why don’t you tell us where you were today and who you were with? It’ll help."

Brian swallowed hard and bore down on the fear. "Am I a suspect, Detective?"

Detective Taylor folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward. "Mr. Littrell, at this time, we’re just doing our jobs and talking to anyone who can tell us anything. Think you can help us out with that?"

He squeezed his own hands together, then frowned. Glancing down at his hands, he realized Isabella’s was still in his. She gave him an encouraging smile, and, strengthened by it, he licked his lips nervously. "Uh, yeah. I was at Hensley just about all day. I taught a class from ten to eleven, held office hours, and graded papers in my office. I had lunch at one, maybe, and then I went for a walk around campus. It’s really gorgeous in the fall, so I thought I’d take advantage of it."

"When did you leave campus?"

Brian frowned as he tried to remember. "Well, I had a student come by my office for an hour for a vocal lesson because she wants to try out for American Idol, of all things." He tried to crack a smile, but neither detective smiled back. "Um, that was at six. By seven, she was done, and, after that, I headed out because, uh, Dr. Flynn was going to meet me here at seven-forty five, and I thought I’d straighten up a little."

"Did anyone see you leave campus at seven?" Jensen asked.

"No, I don’t think so." Brian narrowed his eyes. "Are you asking me if I have an alibi? How am I supposed to give you one if I don’t know about who was…who was killed?"

Taylor met Brian’s eyes. "Jessica Sullivan was found in the bushes on the north side of the theater arts building on Hensley’s campus at about seven-thirty. Her roommate claimed that she hadn’t returned to her room after her vocal lesson with you. Miss Sullivan had been raped and brutally beaten to death before she was dragged and left in those bushes."

Isabella knew she’d gone pale at the information, but it was nothing compared to the way Brian blanched then turned a shade of green. She could hear his breathing turn ragged, and, knowing he’d be sick, she shoved his head between his knees. "Okay, Brian, okay. Take slow, deep breaths. Come on, baby, breathe in deep. That’s it."

Though he was embarrassed at nearly having been sick, he managed to sit up after thirty seconds and face the detectives. "You think I did that to her? You think I hurt Jess that way?"

"Mr. Littrell, we don’t have any leads at this time, but we’ll advise you not to leave town." Jensen stood and tucked his pad of paper back in his pocket. "And one more thing?"

Brian stared helplessly at his hands, sick at the idea that one of his favorite students was dead, had been killed in a brutal way. But he made himself look up into the eyes of the grim-faced detective. "What’s that?"

Taylor glanced at his partner before answering Brian. "Do you own a glass paperweight the size of a baseball with a gold model of the Eiffel Tower inside of it?"

"Uh, yeah. My mother bought it for me the first time I played a show in Paris. Why?" He was almost afraid to know the answer, but he stood now, too.

"It was found with the body with both yours and Miss Sullivan’s fingerprints on it." Taylor gave a short nod. "We’ll be going now. Stay in town, Mr. Littrell. Evening, Dr. Flynn."

"Good evening, Detectives." Isabella watched them go and waited for the door to shut before she turned to Brian. "Brian."

He looked up at her, still dazed from the shock of the police visit. "Huh?"

"Call your lawyer. Call your lawyer and let him know what happened." She put a hand on his arm. "He can advise you where to go from here."

Brian shrugged her hand off and frowned. "I don’t need my lawyer."

"Of course, you do."

"No," he repeated. "No, I don’t. Isabella, I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t kill anyone, and the cops didn’t arrest me. I’ll call my lawyer if and when I decide I need legal representation."

She wanted to yank out her hair and scream at him. Instead, she—barely—resisted the urge to shake sense into him. "Look, Brian. They found one of your possessions with the body. Jessica Sullivan had just left your office, and she was found outside of the building that your office is in. The cops are going to follow that nicely laid out trail to you. You need your lawyer."

Brian was puzzled over who could possibly have wanted to set him up and missed the frustration in Isabella’s voice. "Thanks for your concern, but I think it’ll be okay. I’m not guilty, and they won’t ever be able to really pin anything on me because I’m innocent. Don’t worry about it."

"Well, God, Brian! It can’t hurt to take precautions in case your picture-perfect scenario doesn’t work out. Just do this, won’t you? What difference would it really make?" Her temper, never easy, was eking out of her control.

Now, his anger rose to meet hers. "You know what, Isabella? You can take all of your suggestions, and shove them! I didn’t ask for your help, did I? Why don’t you just mind your own business? You’ve been doing real well at that for the last decade, so do us both a favor and keep doing it!"

Stunned, she stared at him, the color draining from her face. Even as he swore at himself and stepped towards her, she jerked out of his reach. "Don’t touch me. You’re right. I should mind my own business, and I will. When you land in a prison cell, I won’t say I told you so." With one last, angry look at him, she stormed out.

When he heard the door slam, Brian sank onto his couch again, burying his face in his hands. What, he wondered, was he going to do with everything that had suddenly gone wrong in his life?

***

By the end of the next day, the entire campus knew of the murder of sophomore Jessica Sullivan. Many students wore black, and the campus security force had sent out mass emails about being careful on campus. Security itself was beefed up, and there were extra guards patrolling the grounds and buildings at all times. Assurances were made that the murderer would soon be apprehended. Hensley was determined not to lose another student.

Brian walked into the theater arts building and tried not to notice the looks other professors sent him. He was sure everyone knew that the police had approached him. What surprised him, though, was the fact that the media hadn’t made a peep about the murder. It should’ve made headlines, he knew, what with his name combined with the words "suspect," "police," and "murder". He wondered if being out of the limelight for a few months rendered him unable to sell tabloids.

In class that morning, his students were unusually quiet, but he’d expected it. When he asked them a question, one he knew they all should’ve been able to answer, not a single hand went up. Okay, he decided. He was going to have to do something different.

"Why don’t we make a circle with your desks? Move the music stands out of the way and go ahead and get yourselves in a big circle." He waved his hands to indicate what he wanted and, slowly, they complied. Silently.

Brian dragged a chair into the center of the circle and studied their hesitant looks. They looked…scared, he realized. Of him? God, he hoped not. That was the last thing he needed.

"We’re going to do something different today," he began. "I know a lot of you are shaken up by the murder, but you’re going to have to participate anyway. So, the way this is going to go is, I’ll put a question out there, and you will discuss it with each other and me in this large group setting. We don’t even have to talk about music theory if you don’t want to."

His students glanced at each other nervously and, slowly, they nodded and shrugged to show their agreement with his suggestion.

"Great." Brian straddled the chair, took a long look at all of them, and could sense the worry, the tension, and, even, the fear. "Let’s start with what’s bothering you. I know there must be more than just the idea of a fellow classmate being killed. So, tell me. Tell each other. Let’s get everything out in the open."

There were uneasy looks between his class, and, finally, one of the girls raised her hand. "Professor Littrell?"

"Mandy? Go ahead."

She bit her lip nervously before she spoke. "Did you have anything to do with the fact that Jessie Sullivan is dead?"

One of the other girls muffled a gasp, while some of the other students gaped at her for just asking the question. Brian had to admit it must have taken guts to ask it.

"Thanks for your question, Mandy." He looked around the circle. "Do all of you think that I was involved in what was done to your classmate? Are there a lot of you who think I’m capable of hurting another person in that way?"

"Well, how are we supposed to know?" One of the boys, Jason, watched Brian with serious gray eyes. "We don’t really know you, do we? All we know is what we see on TV, but you could be a totally different person in private, couldn’t you?"

Brian had to commend him for his frankness. "You’re absolutely right. You don’t know me. I’d hoped, at the beginning of the year, that you would all feel comfortable enough to just ask me about everything I’d done and been through, but it’s obvious that that’s not the case. So why don’t we spend this class doing that? You can be my interrogation squad." He paused waiting for the nods of assent. When he had agreement from most of the class, he spread his hands. "Before I become an open book for you, I’ll tell you that I’m not capable of what was done to Jessica. I don’t have it in me. Aside from the career in the spotlight, I’m exactly like all of you—or what all of you will one day be. A guy who’s just trying to do his job. So." He met each of his students’ eyes and was pleased by what he saw. "Who wants to go first?"

He merely smiled when six hands shot up.

***

At the end of class, Brian had them re-position the desks and music stands, pleased that, for the most part, they seemed to trust him. They’d asked him about everything from his childhood to the present and everything in between. He’d even been asked about his past and current relationship with Isabella, and he told himself he shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d asked about that, too. At this point, he thought, they could probably write a two hundred page biography about him—it would just be too boring to sell. His personal life wasn’t exactly exciting, he mused, but that was okay.

"Professor Littrell?"

He glanced up from getting his notes together and smiled. "Carrie. What can I do for you?"

Carrie, a junior who was minoring in Music Arts, anxiously tugged on one of her blonde locks. "I can’t do the vocal lessons with you anymore. I’m sorry."

"What?" He frowned. "Why not? You were doing so well."

She pursed her lips for a moment before sighing. "It’s my mom. I don’t have a problem with taking lessons with you, but my mom’s all freaked out about the Jessie thing, and she just wants me to be careful. I’m sorry," she added sadly.

"Me, too." He sighed, too. "It’s okay, Carrie. I can recommend some good vocal coaches in the area. I think my old coach is still in the area. I can get you her number."

Carrie’s smile flashed. "Thanks. I’d like that. I told my mom you didn’t do anything, but she wants to be careful. I really am sorry."

"Don’t worry about it. I understand." He smiled to put her at ease. "I’ll get you that number tomorrow."

"Okay, great!"

When she was gone, Brian sighed and sank back into the chair. He’d been wrong the night before. Life had only just begun to get complicated. The horde of reporters and cameramen outside of his gates only proved it.