Shit.Is it just a concerned citizen or some kind of bad actor? The irony of me possibly being in danger in Cartersville makes me want to scream. I keep jogging, eyes straight ahead now, but the car is still crawling along beside me. I jab my hand in my purse again, wondering if I should call 911.
“Ms. Winter?” a male voice calls out.
I stop dead in my tracks and glance again toward the car. The driver, a male, is leaning across the front seat with the passenger-side window lowered. It takes me a moment, but then I recognize the PR guy I sat next to at dinner. I feel a simultaneous surge of relief and embarrassment.
“Oh, hi,” I call back.
“Are you headed to the Cartersville Arms?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Why don’t I give you a lift. It’s in my general direction.”
“Oh, that would be great.” A second later I’m sliding into the passenger seat.
“Is everything okay?” he asks once we’re on our way. “You seemed to be running.”
“Everything’s fine, thanks.” The car smells vaguely like take-out food, and there are crinkly wrappers near my feet, a funny contrast to his crisp dress shirt, striped tie, and classic navy blazer. “I thought a walk would be nice, but it’s later than I realized, and I’m supposed to do a Zoom call tonight with someone in Uruguay.”
“How fortuitous, then,” he says, oblivious to the lie, it seems. “And actually, I’m glad I spotted you for another reason. There’s an issue I wanted to discuss, but I didn’t feel comfortable raising it at the table tonight.”
“Yes?” I say, my body tensing again.
“A piece went up on the AlbanyTimes Unionwebsite first thing this morning—and I assume it will be in the print edition tomorrow. It says Calvin Ruck has recently been linked to two additional murders, each out of state. I’d no sooner read it when the same reporter called our office and said he’d heard the police might be reopening your daughter’s case.”
The news catches me off guard, but it’s not a total shock. Halligan told Logan that a reporter had been snooping around.
“Was it a guess on his part, or did he have specific details?” I ask, then brace myself for the response.
“He might have been fishing, but it sounded like he was working with some kind of tip.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t have any information myself, and beyond that, I wasn’t the right person to ask.”
“That’s a perfect response, Chip,” I say, finally summoning his name in my mind.
He makes a left with his eyes on the road, but as soon as he’s brought the wheel back, he glances over at me. “Is it true, though? Are they reopening the case?”
This is the last thing I want to be discussing now, on top of everything else I’ve had to contend with tonight.
“I’m not at liberty to share anything at the moment, but I appreciate the heads-up. Will you let us know if you get any other calls like that?”
“Sure thing,” he says. “And I hope you’ll reconsider about sharing. It would be good for the college to be in the loop, and of course we’d be discreet.”
He makes another turn, and I spot the inn just ahead.
“If there’s anything to share down the road,” I say, “I’ll definitely let Maya know.”
He pulls up to the front of the inn and puts the car in park.
“And if there’s any way I can be of assistance,” he says, “call me day or night.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and passes me his business card.
“Thank you, Chip.”
As soon as I’m in my room, I tug off my boots and sink onto the bed. My feet ache—it’s been over a year since I’ve stuffed them into anything with heels—and beyond that my body is humming with nervous anxiety, though it’s hard to pinpoint the main contributor. Lisa’s awful little tribute? The discovery that Mel’s schoolwork has been erased from the cybersphere and there’s no chance of ever seeing other poems or stories of hers.
