BEFORE VIOLET LEFT the phone booth, she reached into her pocket and pulled out Nick Flores’s business card. She dialed the number and felt the same crippling, low-level bashfulness she did wondering if Finch would pick up when she called the Fields’ landline.
“Nicholas Flores speaking.”
“Nick. It’s Violet Hurst.”
“Ultra-Violet.”
“That’s me. I hope you’re wearing your shades.”
“I am. I am.” There was a smile in his voice. “So what’s up, U.V.?”
“I’m getting out of here later today, and I’ve been thinking I’d like to talk a little more about emancipation. You know, how much does it cost? How long does it take? That kind of thing.”
“Sure, U.V. We can do that. How about you come see me in the office? What day works for you?”
“I can’t come to the office. I’m going out of town for a while.”
“Really? Where are you headed?”
“I think I’m gonna go stay with Rose. Have you heard from her yet?”
“Unh-uh.” The playfulness went out of Nick’s voice. “She hasn’t written me back. No phone calls. No e-mails. I looked into that Damien Koch, but no one by that name has an arrest record in the state of New York.”
“I don’t suppose you could look into Matthew and Francesca Chatsworth? I think Damien is a fake name. Matt was the professor Rose was having an affair with, and Francesca is the wife he’s still married to.”
“Say whaat? I thought you told me Rose was sheltered.”
“Turns out she isn’t quite as virtuous as I thought.”
“So you think Rose is still seeing this guy?”
“It’s a possibility. I just want to know what I’m getting into here. I don’t want to go all the way there only to have this aggro professor mad at me for spoiling his weekend trysts.”
“Rose told you he’s aggressive?”
“No. I’m the one who thinks he’s aggressive. We talked on the phone.” There was a long pause. “Nick? Are you still there?”
“I’m checking their arrest records.”
“You can look it up that fast?”
“You could too, if you were near a computer. It’s all public record right there on the Internet. No arrests for Matt. Francesca, though, it says here she got arrested a few years ago for assault.”
“Francesca assaulted someone?”
“Uh-huh. Any idea what that was about?”
“No clue. I don’t know anything about Francesca.” Maybe she should have said anything significant. She knew all the shit on the wedding blog: that Fran thought hyacinths were too fragrant and silk-poly blend dresses made her cringe.
“Well, listen. It was simple assault. Probably Frannie got in some drunken catfight or something. But I want you to be careful, U.V. You know the key to self-defense, don’t you?”
“Wear practical shoes?”
“Bear mace. Stuff can take down even the strongest of men. Maybe even a wronged wife like Francesca.”