She smiles, then hurries away. I take a few breaths to steady myself and half hobble across the room in Logan’s direction. As I close the distance, he steps out from the group he’s talking to and waits for me in the middle of the room.
He doesn’t say a word when I reach him, just stares with his eyes now dark as slate in the dimness of the room. He looks both hurt and confused.
“I’m so sorry, Logan,” I say. “I didn’t do this on purpose. Something happened to me.”
He reaches up to touch my left temple, and I pull back in surprise.
“Is thatblood?” he asks, withdrawing his hand.
Instinctively, I press on the same spot and then find a smear of red on my fingertips.
“I fell,” I say. “And worse than that, I’ve been locked in theMuseoffice for the last hour and a half.”
“Christ, Bree, what happened?”
“I’m not sure. But, look, let’s save it for later.”
“Are you okay, though?”
“Mostly just shaken. I feel terrible about missing your remarks—all of this.”
He glances back toward the group he’d been standing with. “Can you give me a little time to finish up with a reporter?”
“Was there a good press turnout?”
“Yes, including a feature reporter from the Albany paper who wants to do a big piece on Mel and the scholarships. Give me twenty minutes to nail down a game plan with him and say goodbye to people, and then I can drive you back to the inn.”
I start to nod in consent but realize I don’t have the psychic energy to stay any longer.
“I think I need to go back right now,” I say.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?”
“Yes, I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t coming.”
“I’ll call you soon as I’m done here.”
I nod, then retrace my steps across the room. If Jack’s still here, I don’t see him, and there’s also no sign of Maya or anyone from the dinner Tuesday night. But as I exit the reception room, I nearly collide with Chip Conway, buttoning his coat.
“There you are,” Chip says, and his eyes quickly scoot to the side of my forehead where Logan noticed the blood. “I’ve been looking for you—because I’ve got some good news.”
I stare at him, slightly dumbfounded. What good news could there possibly be tonight? And then I recall our conversation from earlier.
“I found Mel’s stuff,” he adds.
“That’s fantastic,” I exclaim. I barely revel in this news before I see Jeffrey Handler approach the coatrack, too. I certainly don’t want Chip saying anything more in front of Handler. “But I’m in a terrible hurry right now,” I add. “Can I call you first thing tomorrow?”
“Sure, sure, whenever works for you. Why don’t I simply text you a link with directions on how to download the material.” To my dismay, he also notices Handler and smiles in greeting. “Hey, Professor Handler. Ms. Winter was wondering if some of Melanie’s writing might be in our creative content archive, and sure enough, I located a bunch of things.”
Chip returns his attention to me. “Don’t let me hold you up anymore,” he says. “I’ll send you the link tonight.”
I mumble a thank-you and start to back away, but for a moment I’m immobilized, pinned in place by Handler’s gaze. He’s just learned I’m going to have access to Mel’s writing, and he doesn’t seem the least bit happy with the news.
Chapter 24
I don’t bother to hear what either man says next. Instead, I hurry out of the entry area and limp down the steps of the building. I order an Uber, which ends up taking thirteen minutes to show. It probably would have been better to wait for Logan.
By the time I arrive back at the inn, the best I can do is stagger to the elevator and then to my room. I ease my shoes off with my right hand and nearly rip off my dress, which smells like I’ve spent most of the day digging trenches. In the bathroom I lean across the sink, examining my face in the mirror. Despite my earlier efforts with a tissue, my eye makeup is smeared and there’s dried blood along a small gash in my forehead, obviously the result of face-planting into the conversation pit.
