Page 15 of Play With Me

Jude had come into the library with Cap and had casually mentioned how he wondered if there were any books or articles about a woman called Eleanor Cleary.

Though I’d been sweaty-palmed at having to talk totheJude Kelly, I’d immediately perked up. The hundred-year-old murder at the Rolling Hills was a local legend. Her husband George Cleary—a cruel oil baron with a bad business reputation and apparently a woman in every port—had discovered her body. But the killer was never found.

Over the weeks, as Jude kept returning, I’d learned that he and his siblings had not only found Eleanor’s room walled-up in the hotel’s closed-off east wing, but that they’d found a secret diary kept by George Cleary’s driver hidden in the grate.

Jude and I started our friendship researching everything we could about George, Eleanor, and the mysterious driver, identified only as JEQ in the diary.

But research had turned into park dates with his adorable son, and hangouts at his place. Then movie nights and long phone calls and daily texting. We still talked about the cold case, but we talked about everything else too.

We’d become friends.

It had never become more than that, simply because Jude was way out of my league.

Our ghost-hunting had eventually led us to finding a cache of papers buried by the resort’s golf course, where JEQ confessed his private love for Eleanor.

The last pages in that diary ended with mention of both of them accompanying George on a year-long trip to Switzerland. Jude and I were convinced that was where the affair had started, and if we could prove George had discovered their affair—it would be clear George had the motive for murder.

Only we never talked about what we’d do once we found proof of all this—I don’t think either of us thought we’d really bring this story to its conclusion.

Jude always talked about following the trail to Europe, but by then I’d already felt like I couldn’t see the point. Finding those papers had broken my heart.

In truth, they were the catalyst for me applying for this program. I knew what it was like to love someone from afar. And I didn’t want to know more, because Jude’s and my story wouldn’t lead to what my heart cried for. Jude and I are just friends.

And we aren’t even that anymore.

I pull my cap down hard on my head, turning from the scant assortment of children’s books. This party will be good for me. Maybe Sasha’s brother will be wonderful. Maybe I’ll fall in love with someone new.

“Dad!”

I was on my way back to the study table, but now I freeze at the sound of the child’s voice, loud for the library.

“Shh!” the parent gently shushes. “You can’t yell in the library, remember?”

I smile. Yes, it’s the books I miss from the children’s library, but mostly it’s the kids.

Mostly, it’s Cap.

The tourists must have wandered into this section of the library. I’ll get my chance to tell them about the children’s books, after all. They’re so close to them. I turn around and begin walking down the long aisle adjacent to the shorter rows. They’re somewhere in here; I can hear whispering now. I smile, my chest light. But as I get closer, I can make out their words.

“Dad, she has to be here. The guy said she always goes to the library on Friday nights.”

I go completely still. There’s something about the tone of that child’s voice; the cadence of their words.

No, it’s impossible.

I take a tentative step, then another. But when I hear the rustle of rain clothes, I chicken out and duck into the row beside me.

It could be anyone. There are lots of American tourists in London. Thousands, at any given time.

But how many come to the archive library? And stick around after the librarian practically gave them an escort out?

“Cap, she’s not here, okay? We need to get back to the hotel. Your lips are blue.”

My chest seizes. I back up.

It’s them.

Jude and Cap. Here, in my library. Some unbelieving part of me still thinks it could be someone else. Some other kid coincidentally named Cap…

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