More Bitter Than Death: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,20
could until I got to the top and ran around the front to the doors of the hotel.
I don’t care how dumb I might have looked: You don’t go wandering out by yourself in the middle of a snowstorm and then go off to investigate unearthly noises when instinct is telling you to run the hell out of there as fast as you can.
Chapter 3
I GOT BACK TO MY ROOM AND WAS IN A COLD SWEAT. The heat had gone down rapidly, and the room was now habitable. I took a shower to calm down. My heart rate slowed, but I was by no means relaxed. I checked the clock: It was just past one. Too late for company, though it would be easily found if I wanted it; too early to go to bed, as I was less inclined to sleep than before I went for my nerve-wracking walk. At home I would just be thinking about whether there was anything else to do before I hit the sack, but conference time and energy is never the same as at home, and I knew I needed to do something to unwind before I went to bed. I could check on my slides, that would burn a few minutes. The mundane task of reviewing the images and my forthcoming talk would calm me down enough to sleep.
I found my tray, checked the location of the preview room, and found my way down to the second-floor mezzanine. As I wandered over to the rail, I could see the desk across from the main doors, several lounge areas scattered around, and the restaurants off to either side. Outside the coffee shop was a pinball machine, now silent, and I promised myself a game later.
I was lucky, and the room wasn’t locked; I found the light and the projectors were all out and waiting for use. Pretty soon I was immersed in scanning through my paper, reconsidering one image over another for a greater impact; the little plastic tack-tack of the slides being inserted into the carousel the only noise. It calmed me like nothing else could.
The door opened. I glanced over.
It was Duncan.
I would have gnawed off my leg, like an animal in a trap, to get away from there. I very nearly turned and ran when I saw that we were going to be alone in there, but pride wouldn’t let me do that, and since I was already halfway done, I kept on going, stomach churning. Duncan paused by me, then went to work on his own slides. Maybe he would see that I wasn’t interested in talking. I would run through my slides as quickly as I could and get the hell out, pride intact, boundaries maintained, and no messy interactions.
It was a good plan, but it went awry right away. I have a fifty-fifty chance of having the kind of carousel that doesn’t work on the projectors at any given conference, and I’d come up short this time. I kept promising myself that I was going to go to one of those computerized presentation programs, but I always worry about other, more pressing things and never got around to it. Now I was paying the price for it. I turned the carousel over to make sure that the little metal flange was in the right place, and then the plastic circle that keeps the slides in place fell off and my slides tumbled to the carpet, some of them cartwheeling clear across the room.
“Fuck!” The word came unbidden and was pure acid; my emotions were getting the better of me. It had nothing to do with the possibility of getting lint on my slides.
I got most of them and then paused as I crouched; there were three over by Duncan’s chair. Correction, there had been three. He’d picked them up and come over to where I was. I stood up slowly, and took them by the white plastic frames, careful not to touch the film or his hand.
“Thanks.” I didn’t really meet his gaze, just gave him a casual flip of the head and an unconvincing imitation smile as I turned back to the carousel on the table.
I could practically feel him hesitate behind me, and sighed with relief as he moved toward the door. I heard it shut and relaxed, just then noticing how my fingers were trembling as I tried to replace my slides in order.
Then I heard soft footsteps on the carpet behind me.