Gone-Girl-by-Gillian-Flynn

I’m an adjunct professor there. Huh. I mean, it must be, right?’ I squinted and
reread. ‘She took it easy on me this year.’
‘You want me to drive you over?’ Gilpin asked.
‘Nah, I’ve got Go’s car.’
‘I’ll follow you then.’
‘You think it’s important?’
‘Well, it shows her movements the day or two before she went missing.
So it’s not unimportant.’ He looked at the stationery. ‘It’s sweet, you know?
Like something out of a movie: a treasure hunt. My wife and I, we give each
other a card and maybe get a bite to eat. Sounds like you guys were doing it
right. Preserve the romance.’
Then Gilpin looked at his shoes, got bashful, and jingled his keys to leave.
The college had rather grandly presented me with a coffin of an office, big
enough for a desk, two chairs, some shelves. Gilpin and I wended our way
through the summer-school students, a combination of impossibly young kids
(bored yet busy, their fingers clicking out texts or dialing up music) and
earnest older people I had to assume were mall layoffs, trying to retrain for a
new career.
‘What do you teach?’ Gilpin asked.
‘Journalism, magazine journalism.’ A girl texting and walking forgot the
nuances of the latter and almost ran into me. She stepped to the side without
glancing up. It made me feel cranky, off my lawn! old.
‘I thought you didn’t do journalism anymore.’
‘He who can’t do … .’ I smiled.
I unlocked my office, stepped into the close-smelling, dust-moted air. I’d
taken the summer off; it had been weeks since I’d been here. On my desk sat
another envelope, marked second clue.
‘Your key always on your key chain?’ Gilpin asked.
‘Yup.’
‘So Amy could have borrowed that to get in?’
I tore down the side of the envelope.
‘And we have a spare at home.’ Amy made doubles ofeverything – I
tended to misplace keys, credit cards, cell phones, but I didn’t want to tell