Grey Expectations (34 page)

‘Chris,' she said, her voice dropping to a hush. ‘I think I may have found something. I may have found evidence that she was working on another book.'

Chris was chuckling as he took the bowls from her and shooed her into the other room. ‘Go, Dulcie. Get to work,' he called after her as he turned the tap. At his feet, the little cat paused. He looked down, into those green eyes, then nodded. And Esmé followed her into the living room, purring.

SIXTY-ONE

S
ince Jerry had forgiven Trista so readily, it seemed churlish to hold a grudge. So when her friend called that evening, Dulcie agreed to meet her. Sure, it looked like rain, but it was Saturday night. Besides, Trista was buying, she told Chris, and they'd be gathering at the People's Republik for the last pint of the semester.

‘I'm so sorry, Dulcie.' Trista drew her friend aside as soon as she and Chris showed up at the bar. ‘I really am. Right before we went into the meeting, I'd gotten a text – a text from Rollie – telling me not to say anything to anyone. That I would be putting them in danger.' She paused and bit her lip.

Dulcie nodded.

‘And I did, didn't I? I got you involved.'

‘
You
didn't get me involved.' Dulcie felt herself thawing. Besides, this was the truth. ‘Rollie did. He's the one who swapped out my ID for yours and planted a fake blue ticket on you with my name – even though Coffin had made a ringer for you.'

Trista shook her head, confused. Dulcie filled her in on everything that had happened. ‘Coffin had been planning this for a while,' she concluded. ‘He'd seen you, and when he found that undergrad – Jessica – it must have all come together. He got her good jobs. Gave her all kinds of perks. I guess at some point, she felt she couldn't turn him down. Anyway,' she said finally, ‘she didn't. But go on.'

‘Well, he scared me. He told me what he thought about those two – the two bruisers – and he warned me to make myself scarce. I was freaking out, Dulcie. But from what he said I knew that they weren't the cops, and that meant I had no reason to hang around. I had the Kiplinger scheduled; I had a place to stay. I just booked a little early. I'm so sorry.' She was shaking her head again and trembling. Dulcie suspected she was going to cry. ‘I was hoping you'd figure it out. That Jerry would— I called him, finally. After the lecture. I just couldn't stand not hearing from him.'

‘He was frantic. He kept trying to call you,' her friend said gently. ‘We all did.'

‘I'd thrown my phone away. I didn't know if they could use it to trace me. It was stupid, I know. But I was so scared—'

‘No, it wasn't stupid. Those men were killers.
Are
killers. But they're in custody now.'

That's when the waterworks started. Trista sobbed and, hugging her, Dulcie started to cry, too. When Jerry came over, holding two full pints, he looked confused. ‘Everything OK?'

‘Yeah.' Dulcie wiped her face. Beside her, Trista nodded. ‘Everything's just fine.'

That night, Dulcie had a dream. She'd drunk too much, she knew. It had become a hot night, as humid as full summer, and following on all the stress and fatigue, she'd been downright tipsy when Chris had helped her into bed. She'd been talking about her plans. About how she wanted to get up early the next morning. Get right to work.

Chris hadn't argued with her, though he had switched the alarm clock off when he thought she wasn't looking. She could start on Monday, he'd figured. They all could use a day off.

The dream was as vivid as they always were. Maybe more so, with an immediacy that would stay with her for days to come. Dulcie tried to describe it when she woke, but the beer – and the preceding days – were too much for her, dragging her back into the deep, healing sleep she needed.

Writing, writing, writing, the words flowing like the rain beating against the window. She brushed a curl from her cheek as the thunder broke overhead, refreshing the earth, wiping the dull heat from the air. She was on the path now, moving ahead – toward something, toward someone. And she was not alone. On her desk, curled by the papers that piled up with a reassuring speed, a small friend slept. At her shoulder, a familiar spirit, purring and satisfied. The echo of love.