Page 55 of Dead Girl Running

And he steals toilet paper.Kellen sealed her lips tightly over that one.

Sheri Jean continued, “Look, this year he’s involved with the Shivering Sherlocks and their little game. He’s paying for the party, he’ll pose for photos with them and Lord knows he’s not getting anything out of it except a chance to chat with a bunch of older women. I swear, the man is almost too good to be true.”

Sheri Jean didn’t often enthuse. In fact, enthusing was the opposite of Sheri Jean’s usual behavior, and that alone increased Kellen’s suspicions.

Kellen said, “All right. I’ll serve.”

Sheri Jean indicated Jasmine, who was making inroads into the finger sandwiches. “You’d better have some lunch.”

Nils Brooks joined Jasmine at the side table and grabbed an apple and a cookie, then with a glance at Kellen and Sheri Jean, he ducked away.

“Authors,” Sheri Jean said in disgust. “I thought he was going into isolation to write a book, but every time I turn around, he’s here talking to somebody who could be doing real work.”

“Writer’s block,” Kellen said.

“I don’t get it. If you want to write a book, just write it.” Sheri Jean shrugged him off. “Now, you—you look like death.”

Kellen winced.

Sheri Jean said, “Sorry. But this is the first time since I’ve been here that we’ve discovered a body.”

Her words brought up the memory of those scattered bones, and Kellen found her knees getting a little wobbly.

Sheri Jean tsked, put her hand under Kellen’s arm and steered her toward the food. “Annie and Leo don’t expect you to work miracles, you know.”

“I know!” Now Sheri Jean was being nice.Soout of character!

“The resort will get along fine without you for a few hours. You need to find a bed and crash. Lucky you’re in a hotel, hmm?”

As Kellen made her way to Annie’s office, she considered one simple truth: except for the honeymooners and the Shivering Sherlocks, almost everyone in this resort was a murder and smuggling suspect. While she was serving in the penthouse, she would take the chance to snoop around about Carson Lennex. She thought of the urbane, charming actor and chuckled.

As if someone as famous as Carson Lennex could ever be the Librarian.

* * *

Kellen sank onto the couch. She ought to work on tomorrow’s scheduling, but she was so tired the world was spinning, and every once in a while, she caught sight of something out of the corners of her eyes that when she looked, wasn’t really there: Priscilla’s ghost, or a murderous smuggler, or maybe an old memory that refused to be vanquished.

She withered back onto the cushions, tucked a pillow under her head and…

Cecilia knew she needed to go out into the city, to get familiar with the area, to take care of herself. To learn how to be Kellen.

Instead, she hid, avoiding television, internet and, most of all, human contact. Inevitably, she ran out of food. She was used to being hungry—Gregory had sometimes locked the cupboards—but she couldn’t die here. Not after the crimes that had been done in her name. She had to go out.

She prepared carefully, gathering Kellen’s grocery bags, her grocery cart, using the computer to review the route to the store. For the first time in two weeks, she descended the stairs, and as she did, the office door snapped open. A short, stout woman hustled out, eyes snapping in annoyance, envelopes and catalogs spilling from her hands. Mrs. del Sarto, Cecilia assumed.

“Miss Adams, in the future if you’re going to be gone for this long would you please stop your mail so it doesn’t clutter up my office and it looks as if Cityflix is still charging you so you’d better call them again and your girlfriend was here every day crying about you so would you please return her messages?” Mrs. del Sarto talked without drawing breath and manhandled the mail into one of the grocery bags hanging on Cecilia’s arm. As she straightened, she stared at Cecilia’s face.

Cecilia tensed and the refrain ran through her mind,Not Kellen. She knows. Not Kellen. She knows.

Mrs. del Sarto said, “The TV was telling the truth. You were there at that explosion in Maine. You look shell-shocked. You know the police are looking for you, right?”

Cecilia shook her head.

“They want to hear your version. Some of the people in that town say it’s a murder/suicide, but that guy’s family says you had something to do with it.”

“No. No!” Cecilia backed away. “I didn’t. Please don’t…tell anyone I’m here. I want to be alone.”

“I mind my own business.” But Mrs. del Sarto wore a pinched, pleased expression as if she’d discovered a vein of gold. “You’re going shopping? You could pick up a few things for me. Which store are you going to?”

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