MOLLY SAGGED AGAINST THE doorway, trying to catch her breath, the page dangling from one limp but shaking hand.
This couldn’t be happening again.
“Molly? You coming?”
Donovan.
She didn’t want him to see the page. She didn’t want anyone to see it.
She stood up. Took a deep breath. Let it out. Get a grip! You have to do something this time.
Take it to the police. Take the page to them. Surely this time they would understand the picture was a warning, after what had happened to Stacey. She had to get in touch with the campus police officer who had the other two pages.
But first …
“Just a sec, Donovan!” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I want to get a warmer jacket.” Although it wasn’t raining, she grabbed her long, blue raincoat from her closet because it had deep pockets, and slipped it on over her sweater. Then she slipped the page deep inside one of the raincoat pockets. As soon as she could get away from Odyssey, she’d hunt down that policeman. And then he would have to protect Phoebe, protect her from the kind of disaster that had befallen Stacey.
“What’s wrong?” Donovan asked. “Your face is the same color as these walls. Didn’t find the article? Look, it’s not the end of the world. We’ll use fillers to make up the difference.”
“No, I found it.” They began hurrying down the hall. “I was just thinking about Stacey, that’s all, and last night.”
“Oh. Sorry. I guess we’ve been so caught up in the magazine stuff, we sort of forgot about Stacey. Have you heard any more?”
“No.” She would have to call the hospital again later. After she saw the policeman and gave him the new page.
Nothing terrible could happen to Phoebe. She had never hurt anyone.
But then, neither had Stacey.
Ava, looking even more tired and sullen than usual, took the longhand manuscript from Molly’s hands and stared at it. “Longhand? You wrote this in longhand? What if I can’t read your writing? You’d better not go anywhere.”
Molly stayed—after all, there was plenty of work for everyone.
“We’re in pretty good shape,” Hank told Molly shortly after darkness had fallen and the office had become bathed in gray shadows. The tension lines in his face had eased somewhat. “Let’s go get something to eat. I’ll have to come back here afterward, but maybe you should call it a day. After last night …”
At least he’d remembered. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten what had happened the previous night.
Hank didn’t want to take the time to leave campus, so they went instead to the dining hall at the Student Center. The minute they walked in, Molly knew Norman was there. She sensed it, even before she saw him sitting at a table at the rear of the long, narrow room. His table wasn’t as crowded as it had been at Vinnie’s. Only half a dozen people sat with him. She didn’t recognize any of them.
Were Norman’s followers becoming disenchanted? Or were some of them busy elsewhere, wreaking havoc on innocent people whose only crime was being popular and getting more attention than Norman?
The Odyssey page in her pocket felt like it was burning a hole in her side. She couldn’t wait to get rid of it.
“Dana and I were talking while you were gone,” Hank began awkwardly when they were seated with their trays of food. His fingers toyed with the silverware on the table. “She was wondering …”
Why wasn’t he looking at her while he talked? “Yes?” Molly said sharply, keeping her own eyes on Norman’s table. “What exactly is it that Dana was wondering about?”
“Just … well, she was just pointing out that since your article was the only one missing, maybe there is someone who doesn’t want us to publish that article. And so then I was wondering …”his gaze followed hers … “if you had any idea who that might be.”
Molly knew that he was remembering the night at Vinnie’s when Norman had spoken to her, told her there was a meeting, that she was welcome to attend. And she also knew this was the perfect opportunity for her to tell Hank the whole truth. All of it. How she’d had such a hard time adjusting to college in the beginning, how Norman had befriended her, how she’d attended two of the meetings, how one of them had been an “initiation,” and how angry Norman had become when she told him she was dropping out of the group. And how she now suspected that Norman had been a lot angrier than she’d thought. A lot angrier.
But when she opened her mouth, the words wouldn’t come out. She felt so foolish. How could she admit to Hank that she’d been friendly with someone who, maybe, had done such an awful thing to Stacey? Didn’t that almost make her an accomplice or something?
Hank sighed heavily, sat back in his chair and said, “You think it’s him, don’t you?” inclining his head toward Norman’s table. “You haven’t taken your eyes off him since we walked in here. Have you told the police?”
“No, I …”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know that it’s him!” Molly hissed, leaning forward. “And I don’t have a shred of proof. He wasn’t even on the cruise last night. So how could it have been him?”
“Could have been one of his friends,” Hank pointed out. “Listen, if you even think it might be him, you’ve got to go to the police. Before someone else gets hurt.”
Molly lay a hand on her coat pocket, and she could feel the page inside. “I know. I’m going tonight. As soon as we leave here.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No.” She saw Norman getting up, pushing his chair in, picking up his tray. He was headed their way. “You’ve got stuff to do back at Odyssey. I can go to the police by myself.”
Norman didn’t approach their table, didn’t wave, didn’t even look at her. But she knew he was aware of her. Something about the way he walked … walked behind Hank, walked away, staying some distance away from his companions, so that …
So that they wouldn’t get in the way of what he wanted her to see.
The reason he’d walked in that direction, behind Hank’s chair, instead of coming up to the table and facing her, was, she realized, because he wanted her to see what was sticking out of his back pocket.
Pages.
Smooth, white pages of paper.
And at the top of the page, in neatly-printed black ink was her name.
BY MOLLY KEENE.
Her article. Typed and proofed and ready for the printer.
Her finished article, the one they hadn’t found in the fountain amid all the other sodden pages, the one they hadn’t found on any disk in the office, although they’d looked long and hard, that article, was staring back at her from Norman’s back pocket.