More Bitter Than Death: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,55

leave it off. I love you, pork chop.”

I hung up, trying not to think about how depressed he was, and how bad off Kam must be, when they’d been so looking forward to being guys together, as they had been when they were roommates. At least Brian was safe, and Marty, and that was the important thing. But it was sure not the fun they had planned.

Jay and Chris came in about ten minutes later, and Brad a few minutes after that. Jay had calmed down or sobered up since the events in the ballroom, and Brad was ashen. Chris looked troubled.

“I’m going up to bed,” Brad announced suddenly. “I’m not feeling very well, I think I’m coming down with something.”

“Hey man, I haven’t seen you all day almost, Braddyboy” Chris said. “I’ve got some NyQuil if you want it. Take it prophylactically, get you some sleep anyway.”

“What am I supposed to do, rub it on my dick?” Brad said.

We all looked up; it was unlike him to make rude jokes.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, no thanks, Chris, I’ve got some echinacea and goldenseal I can take. I really am feeling poorly, though, so I’ll say good night.” He lifted a hand vaguely and moved to the elevators.

“That was strange,” Jay said. His phone was out of sight now, and he seemed to be drinking a coke. “But what happened to you? What did the cops say?”

“They were just asking about the last time I saw Garrison, where I was last night,” I said.

“Holy shit,” Chris said. “I wonder if it had anything to do with the artifacts that were stolen?”

“Or the shots that were fired,” Jay added.

“They didn’t say anything useful about them,” I said. “Chris, are you talking about Bea’s artifacts, or the repros from the book room?”

“Either. There’s a hell of a lot going on here, now,” he answered. “The cops talked to you, huh?”

I exchanged a look with Chris; he knew that I’d had experience talking to the police from a nasty little event that took place near his place of work in western Massachusetts. I guessed it was his way of asking how I was doing.

“What were they talking to you about?” Jay asked.

“It wasn’t anything special,” I said, after a moment. “They weren’t accusing me of anything. Though they did make a meal of the fact that Garrison and I spent time alone out at the site yesterday. He and I spoke for maybe two minutes on the way up the hill to the bus.”

“Damn, Em,” Jay said. “That’s messed up.”

I spread my hands. “Tell me about it. But that’s all it was, really.”

“Quite the news about Garrison, huh? And after we were all just talking about him last night?” Carla had joined us. “It’s enough to make me want to start smoking again.”

We greeted her, but we were all really wrapped up in our own thoughts.

“Hey, you.” She nudged me. “Serious weirdness going on, huh?”

I nodded. “You can say that again. Say,” I asked her, keeping my voice low, “the slide with the frog in the fez—that was the only thing you left for me, right?”

“Whatever do you mean?” she said, batting her eyes at me. Something in my face must have clued her in, because she stopped fooling around right away. “Yeah. Why do you ask? What’s wrong?”

“Someone left me a nasty note,” I said. “Real nasty. The cops tried to make out like it was a joke, but at the same time, they suggested I don’t go wandering off on my own, you know what I mean?”

She shook her head. “No way, it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t—”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I just thought I’d make sure, you know.”

The bar was filling up now, and maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the density of souls that was bringing a little more life to the gathering. Liveliness went straight into a kind of high-tension frenzy, as people put a little too much effort into putting the evening behind them or into perspective.

Jay went up to the bar to buy drinks. I watched him order, then his attention was drawn to the fight on the television. I glanced at it briefly—it was a heavyweight match, and so a little slow-going for me; those big guys don’t often have the speed to keep moving for very long. Jay, still watching the television, motioned for the bartender, asked him a question; the bartender scowled, shook his head, held up his hands. Jay