Duncan read the tension across the faces of Sharyn and her two roommates. The three had retreated to a corner of the breakroom and argued in low tones. He caught snatches of the conversation as it grew heated, but it made no sense.
What the hell is going on?
“Just tell them,” Naomi urged.
“And draw them into this mess?” Sharyn said.
“They could be useful,” Tag offered. “Archie knew about those Vatican plates.”
Duncan turned back to the table, wondering what other knowledge his friend might have. “Arch, where would such a car possibly come from?”
Archie had returned his attention to the yellow legal pad, but he was no longer studying the plate number. Instead, he meticulously added anatomical flourishes to the crude sketches on the front page.
As he continued his work, he answered, “Probably an embassy vehicle. The Vatican has an Apostolic nunciature in London. Their equivalent of a diplomatic mission. Most embassies haul in their own cars. All about national pride. The Germans bring in Beemers and Benzes. The French drive Peugeots. The Finns love their Saabs. They shuttle the vehicles by rail to the UK through the Chunnel.”
“But what would a car from the Vatican nunciature be doing in Exeter?”
“Can’t say. The university does have a Department of Theology and Religion. Maybe they brought in a speaker. London’s only three hours away.”
“In a Rolls?”
Archie tilted an eye up at him. “The Holy See has never been known for their humble trappings.” He returned to his artwork. “And where your new friends live—as dodgy as it is—sits only a handful of blocks from Exeter Cathedral. Whoever was in the car could’ve come to minister to the poor... or maybe they were looking to score some coke or meth.”
“I don’t know,” Duncan muttered. “Still seems odd.”
Archie shrugged. “My pops probably knows both the nuncio in London and our ambassador to the Vatican. I can give him a call in the morning. Check and see if he can shed any light on this.”
By now, their conversation had drawn back the attention of Sharyn and the others. Tag pointed a hand toward Archie, silently indicating that here was another example of their usefulness.
Naomi agreed. “We do need help.”
Sharyn refused to budge. “For now, we need onlyonething from them.”
Duncan shifted toward them. “What’s that?”
Sharyn ignored him and turned to Archie. “What time does the club close?”
Archie leaned back in his chair, stretching a kink from his shoulders. “Sometimes it’s open twenty-four hours. But tonight, it’ll be shutting down around two, so the staff can do a deep cleaning after the party. Especially due to the—”
“That’s in less than an hour,” Naomi blurted out. “I thought we’d have more time.”
Sharyn turned to Duncan with a wince and offered the barest explanation. “We can’t go back to our place.”
Duncan opened his mouth to ask why, but Sharyn lifted a palm.
“We need somewhere to hole up for the night,” she said. “Nothing more. Until we can figure out what to do next.”
Duncan wanted to press the matter. He considered leveraging this request with a demand for answers. But Sharyn swallowed hard, looking both resolute and scared. While he had only known these three for a few weeks, he sensed no illicit intent—just trepidation. He knew any further explanation would have to wait.
Still, he needed one matter clarified. “So, you want to go toourplace? Not a hotel or something?”
“Just for one night,” Sharyn stressed.
Duncan took a deep breath, then sighed it out. “All right then. A slumber party it is.”
Before they could move, a thunderous eruption rose from the nightclub. Even muffled, the ruckus shook the walls.
“What’s going on?” Naomi asked.
