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Odd.
At my feet, there’s an envelope with copperplate calligraphy. My name. Careful not to get dizzy, I retrieve it and slip back inside. My nail slits the linen paper and I draw out an invitation handwritten in looping black script.
Winter Ball
December 12
6 pm SHARP
Delights to follow
I turn the card over, but the back is blank. Zero embellishment. No way to RSVP.
Out of curiosity, I peek into the hall. Lacie’s door is closed, though a pale light leaks from beneath. No card in front of her door, only mine.
Hmm. I retreat back to my settee, piqued by another mystery. I tap a text to Lacie.
Ever been invited to the Winter Ball?
Her text bubble appears and disappears a few times.
Lacie, just come over.
Little Lamb: Ugh, it’s so late. But fine.
I stifle a smile as I creep to my bathroom and throw on a silky robe, grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses as I pass the kitchen on the way out. Before she can knock, I’ve opened the door. She stares directly into my eyes, refusing to look at the triangle of skin beneath my throat. At the barely there negligee I’ve haphazardly wrapped around myself. I offer her my teeth.
“Good evening.”
“Glad you’re feeling better.”
“Me, too. Come in. Drink?” She nods, a little furtive, and I pour her a generous glass. Once she’s seated, I show her the card. “Here. Explain this to me.”
“Wow. I’ve never seen one of these before.” She takes it from my outstretched hand and runs a tentative fingernail over the raw linen edge. “This isn’t just an invitation to the Winter Ball. This is for the after-party. The whole secret-society thing I was talking about the other day. Dean Shea hand selects who to bring into the fold. Usually men.” Her fingertips touch the words as lightly as one might stroke a lover. Her gaze hardens and she thrusts the card back to me, curating her tone to be expressly neutral. “But I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Lucky you; looks like you’re on track to be the quickest tenured professor ever. Will you go?”
“I would be a fool not to. Both for my academic career and our little investigation.”
She nods. Bellatrix jumps up next to her and twines around her fingertips. “I suppose that’s wise.” After a moment she looks up. “Take me with you. I’m sure we can figure out a way to get me into the after-party.”
I can’t help the laugh that wrenches out of me. “That is bold of you, asking for a date like that. I like it.”
She reddens. “I don’t mean—I mean—”
The darling is near whimpering with embarrassment, but I can’t help myself. “We should probably choose a more … private venue for our first foray.”
“I meant to help you,” she blurts, then sucks a breath, teeth dragging into her lower lip. “I want to help find out what happened to Laurel.”
It’s simply too dangerous. I pat her arm. “Let’s not be hasty. As with dating,” I wink at her, “so in murder investigations.”
Her eyes harden. “I’m not being ‘hasty.’ I’m simply being direct. I think I should go with you. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
I can’t risk her. She’s so soft, so gentle. What if she gets hurt? No. Absolutely not. Especially not considering how she collapsed this evening. “I would never forgive myself if something horrible happened to you.”
“What could happen? It’s a party. It’s not like we’re sneaking into Dean Shea’s office again. And besides, you wanted to figure out what’s in that lockbox. I’m sure Arjun will be there, all drunk and trusting.” Her gaze meets mine, razor-sharp. “You know it’s a good idea.”
And it would be, if Arjun were still alive. I take a swallow of wine to hide my discomfort. “Lacie, you have never been through a murder at a university before—”
“And you have?” she spits.
