“I wonder what happened to Jack,” I say.
“He’s in New York, waiting tables and still trying to make it as an actor.”
I pull back in surprise. “How do you—?”
“I spoke to him. He heard about the reception somehow and decided to come.”
“What?” I exclaim, not only taken aback but annoyed as well. “You’re only telling me this now, as I’m bringing up his name?”
“All my focus has been on the meeting today, and he only confirmed late last night. I told him the event was really something for the press and college faculty and staff, not friends and former classmates, but he pushed, so I agreed. I mean, the guy had a few tough weeks back then, everyone whispering behind his back before the cops zeroed in on Ruck.”
I sigh, letting my irritation dissipate. “But how do you feel now about him coming—in light of what we’ve heard today?”
“I think it’s a good thing. How he reacts will be telling—and I’ll let Halligan know he’ll be in the vicinity.”
“Okay.” I’m not looking forward to setting eyes on Jack again, but Logan’s right. Best to keep possible enemies close.
I drain the last of my wine and set the empty glass down. “I think I’m going to read on my phone down here for a little while. It’s good for us to be talking about all this, but I’m spent on that front right now.”
“Right, right,” Logan says, catching the hint and standing up. “Good night, then.”
“By the way,” I say before he departs, “how did the program for the reception turn out?”
“Very nice. I used all four poems you sent and put the one about birch trees on the front along with Mel’s photo.”
After he exits the parlor, I read for only a short time, then I leave myself, making my way to the room. While stripping off my clothes, I check the time on the bedside clock. There’s a call to the West Coast I’ve decided to make, but I’ll wait until tomorrow—when I’ve had a chance to think through what to say.
Before crawling between the covers, I turn the bathroom light on and leave the door slightly ajar so there’s light streaming into the room. Perhaps with me away, Bas will leave our own bathroom light off tonight. Unexpectedly, desire stirs in me and I find myself longing for his touch.
I sleep fitfully, waking every couple of hours. When the alarm goes off at six thirty, I fight the urge to tap the snooze button and instead force myself out of bed. I’m exhausted still, with despair creeping around the edges, but mostly I feel stuck in this weird state of limbo. Waiting for what Halligan will come back with. Waiting for the reception to happen and then be over. Waiting to fly home.
At least the meeting with Professor Handler will give me something to do.
After dressing, I head down to the dining room for coffee and an omelet. Though there are guests at several other tables, there’s no sign of my ex, which I guess is to be expected. Logan, or at least the Logan I once knew, isn’t a big breakfast person. Which is good because I need some time away from him.
As soon as I’m back in my room, I call Sebastian. He answers on the first ring.
“Ah, there you are,” he says. “I’ve been dying to talk to you.”
“Same here, sweetheart,” I reply. A sense of calm comes over me just from hearing his voice.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
I do a short recap of the meeting with Halligan, sparing him the gory details about stuff like bite marks and crushed brain tissue, and instead focusing on the takeaway: the detective in charge wants us to consider that Ruck wasn’t the killer, and that’s what we’re doing, at least until we know more. I try not to let my angst color the call.
“Wow, it’s just what you were worried about,” he says. “Are you okay, Bree?”
“Doing my best.”
“When do you expect to hear back from this detective?”
“He didn’t say, but hopefully we’ll learn something more today or tomorrow. How are things there?”
“Quiet. Lonely without you. The guy I talked to about doing a lap pool next spring came by and took some more measurements. And you’ll be happy to hear I’m minding your herb pots with complete devotion. It got chilly last night, so I think it might be time to move the basil indoors.”
“Good idea. Speaking of basil, maybe I’ll try to smuggle in a few balls of buffalo mozzarella on my return flight.”
I’ve yet to locate any in Uruguay, and the kind made from cow’s milk there is really bland.
