“What’s it on?”Fox asked.
“It’s on—”
“It sounds boring; I’m not going.”
It’s hard to talk through gritted teeth, believe it or not, but somehow I managed, “It’s on publishing options.Indie versus traditional.”
“I stand by what I said.”
“You’re going to do GREAT!”Millie informed me.It was more of a command than an encouragement.
“I don’t know about ‘great,’” I said.“I guess I’ll tell them I turned to indie publishing as a last resort because I couldn’t get anyone interested in what I was writing.”
“Yes,” Fox said.“Open with that.”
I chose to ignorethatas well.As I rose from the table, I said, “Maybe I’ll share some of Vivienne’s words of wisdom.”
“Stab them in the back?”Keme said.
That made me grin.“No, she wrote me this letter—God, it’s a whole thing, and I don’t have time to explain.The short version is if you’re going to write a letter that’s supposed to be your failsafe, don’t wander off on a tangent because you’ve got a bone to pick with traditional publishing—”
But I barely finished the sentence, and the last words trickled out of my mouth.
Because what if it hadn’t been a weird soapbox rant?
What if Vivienne had been thinking about publishers for a reason?
Simona’s deal for her debut novel.
Her gratitude to Robert Kessler.
My name on the list of one-on-ones to meet with Vivienne.
The fact that Vivienne had gone to the grotto, alone, at night, when she should have been so much smarter.
Steven’s death, out of sight of the cameras that covered campus, and with no defensive wounds.
The attack on Charlie.
“His brain broke,” Fox said.
Keme whapped me on the back.
I scrambled for the stairs—for the piece of evidence that had been sitting in my room since Thursday night.“I know who did it,” I said as I ran.“And how.”
Chapter 26
Foxinsistedwe ride in their van.
The drive to Arcadia College felt a lot longer when you were crammed into a cargo area stuffed with empty egg cartons, rattling milk jugs, and what I really hoped were never-before-used cardboard tubes, the kind that toilet paper comes on.
“Bobby’s not answering,” I said as my third call went to voicemail.I left him a brief message explaining where we were going and what I thought was happening, and I disconnected.
“Jaklin can’t get a hold of the sheriff,” Millie said, phone still pressed to her ear.
“Ask her to keep trying,” I said.
Millie repeated the instructions—loudly—and I tried not to let my worry get out of hand.It was probably totally normal for a dispatcher not to be able to reach the sheriff.The sheriff might be in the middle of something.The sheriff might have bad cell service.The spear-tip of nervous laughter pressed against my gut.Heck, maybe the sheriff was busily handcuffing Whitney and Spenser.
