“And now everything’s up in the air again. There might even be a new investigation.”
Logan swivels in his seat to get a better look at me. “But if Ruckdidn’tdo it, don’t we want to know that?”
“Of course I’d want to know,” I snap. “How can you possibly think otherwise? But I abhor the idea of starting all over again, wondering who really did it and why—and whether he’ll ever be caught. Frankly, I’m not sure I’d survive not knowing.”
I sound, I realize, like a whiny, overtired toddler, and I’ve left Logan speechless.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have bitten your head off. I’m just exhausted from the trip.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I shrug out of his grasp.
“Please, can we just get to the inn?” I say. “I’m too exhausted to talk anymore.”
He nods and fires up the engine, exits the parking lot. For the rest of the drive, he keeps his eyes on the road, and I lean against the window, staring out but barely seeing what flashes by me. When we pull into the parking lot of the inn, it takes me a few seconds to realizewe’re finally here. I’m only a few blocks from campus now, I realize, and though I’m not looking forward to being back there, I’ve already steeled myself for that experience.
The place I won’t be going near is Pebble Creek Park. Fortunately, it’s a mile and a half away in the opposite direction from the college.
I shove myself out of the front seat and walk back to the trunk, where Logan’s now removing my bags. He hands me the tote I brought but takes the roller bag himself.
“Where’s Lisa at the moment?” I ask, hoping not to make the day any worse with an encounter. I’ve accepted she has a right to be here, but she’s going to be a sad reminder of all that’s been lost for me.
“Still in the city. She’s driving up tomorrow morning.”
We reach the front and enter the wood-paneled lobby, where the brass light scones have already been turned on for the evening. There’s just one person at the small reception desk, an older woman with bright-white hair, now finishing a phone call. After disconnecting, she smiles and wishes us good afternoon.
“Shelly, this is Bree Winter,” Logan says. “I reconfirmed her reservation yesterday.”
I don’t know how much more of Logan Chase in Charge I can tolerate, but as I’m about to insert myself into the exchange, I realize what’s going on. He wants to make sure there’s no confusion about me and Lisa, that I’m being positioned as a friend, with separate accommodations.
“Oh yes, we’ve been expecting you, Ms. Winter,” the woman says with friendly efficiency.
After I’ve registered, she explains that breakfast is the only meal served in the dining room, but small plates of food can be ordered through room service.
I reach out for the roller bag and grab the handle.
“You sure you don’t need any help?” Logan asks as we make our way to the elevator.
“None, thank you,” I say, hopefully signaling that I prefer to be left to my own devices when we’re not dealing with the cops or the college. It’s possible he was going to suggest we grab an early dinner together, but one meal with him this month seems like more than enough. In fact, it probably would have been better to opt for another hotel, where we’d have less of a chance for interaction. Right now, I’d happily trade this lovely inn for a tedious, historically insignificant room at the nearest Embassy Suites.
As we step into the elevator, I’m glad to see Logan press the button for the fourth floor. I’m on three.
“Please text me the details about the dinner tomorrow night,” I say as I disembark, barely looking at him. “And let me know if you hear anything at all from Halligan.”
“Will do.”
I regret my tone and attitude as soon as the elevator door closes, and I start to trudge down the hall, dragging the roller bag behind me. Though I don’t want shoulder squeezes and bellhop service from Logan, he’s only trying to be helpful. Plus, it’s essential we stay in sync this week—so the cops see us as a united front.
At a glance, my room seems charming, but I give myself little time to take it in. After hoisting my bag onto the luggage rack, I hang up the dress, skirts, and two blouses I’ve brought with me, pee, then collapse onto the bed. I’m so dead tired that when I fall asleep, it feels like I’m blacking out.
For a few long seconds after I wake, I have no memory of where I am, though I can tell from the light outside that it must be dusk. My head is throbbing, like someone’s tried to crush it with a car tire. Stretching out an arm, I pat around next to me, searching, I guess, for Sebastian.
Then, with a pang, I remember:Cartersville. And I’m alone. I know it’s best that I made the trip on my own, but right now I wish Bas was stirring awake beside me, reaching out to stroke my face.
I force myself up onto an elbow and fumble until I’ve found the switch on the bedside lamp. The room, once I finally absorb it, is indeed charming. The wallpaper, floor-length curtains, bed runner, and shams have been done in a pretty light-green and white toile. There’s a desk of dark wood against one wall and a stuffed armchair, also in the toile, by the window. I see why people love this inn—at least people whose daughters haven’t been murdered not far from here.
I check my watch. It’s a few minutes after six. I’ve slept for over an hour, which I pray doesn’t mean I’ll have trouble falling asleep tonight. After firing up the shower and stripping off my clothes, I search around the top of the credenza for the menu of small plates the woman at reception referred to. Part of the reason for my headache, I assume, is that I haven’t eaten in hours.
It turns out there aren’t many options, so I settle on the plate of Brie, grapes, and olives. I call down to reception to ask about having my order sent up in fifteen minutes. I’m pretty sure it’s Shelly on the other end of the line.
