The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,136
Last time she had used it … the pilots. She had used it when she’d been in the cockpit of Richard’s jet. Had she lost the thing?
It wasn’t on the bed stand. Nor under the bed. Nor on top of the decorative bureau.
And it wasn’t in her purse.
Distantly aware of a rising panic, she went into her dressing room. The mess she’d made at the make-up station was tidied up—and for a moment, she stopped to think of what might have been involved in the cleaning of it all. There had been powder everywhere on the rolling table, streaks of eye pencil, tubes of lipstick and liner left out. So, in addition to putting everything that was still usable back in its place, Marls must have had to get glass cleaner or something, paper towels … who knew what.
Even the carpet underneath, the white carpet, was pristine.
“Thank you,” she whispered, even though she was alone.
Walking over to the open shelves where she kept her collection of Gucci, Vuitton, Prada, and Hermès bags, she tried to remember what she’d taken with her—
The sound of ringing snapped her head around.
Tracing the ding-a-ling-a-ling across to the hanging sections of the room, she opened the panel closest to the noise … and pulled out a pink, white, and cream Akris silk coat.
She found the phone in the pocket and answered the call even though whoever it was didn’t register in her contacts.
Maybe it was God, letting her know what to do next.
After all, it was entirely conceivable that Miss Aurora might have that kind of pull.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Baldwine?” a female voice said.
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Jules Antle. I’m the house parent on your daughter’s floor at her dorm?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” This explained the 860 area code. “Are you. looking for me to make arrangements to pick up Amelia’s things?”
Shit, Mr. Harris had left. Who could handle—
“I’m sorry? Pick up her things?”
“Yes, I shall have someone collect her things immediately. Which dorm is she in again?”
“The semester’s not over with.”
“So you would prefer us to wait until the other students leave?”
“I’m—please forgive me, but I’m not following. I called to see when she was coming back. I took the liberty of speaking with her professors, and if she needs to take her finals from home after the study break, she’s more than welcome to.”
Gin frowned. “Exams?”
Ms. Antle, or Jules, or Mrs. House Parent, slowed her speech down, like maybe she thought Gin had cognitive difficulties. “Yes, the tests before summer break. They’re going to be taken soon.”
“But why would she … I’m sorry, it was my understanding that Amelia was asked to leave school.”
“Amelia? No. Why would she have been? In fact, she’s one of our favorites here. I could see her being a proctor when she’s a senior. She’s always helping people out, generous with tutoring, always there for anybody. But that’s probably why she was elected class president.”
Gin blinked and became aware that she’d turned such that she could see her own reflection in one of the mirrors by the hairdressing chair. Dear Lord, she looked awful. But then she’d fallen asleep with all her make-up on, so that although her hair wasn’t that much of a tangle, her face looked like an evil clown with haunted eyes.
Rather ironic that she appeared such a mess while finding out her daughter’s life was actually going quite well.
“Hello?” Miss Antlers or Anteater or whatever her name was prompted. “Ms. Baldwine?”
There was no reason to go into the lie with the woman. “I’m sorry. There’s a lot going on here.”
“I know, and we’re so sorry. When Amelia learned that her grandfather had died, she really wanted to go home for the funeral. And again, if she would like to stay and be with family, we understand and are willing to make accommodations. We will need to know what she’s going to do, however.”
“I’ll speak with her,” Gin heard herself say. “And call you back directly.”
“That would be great. Again, we think the world of her. You’re raising a wonderful young woman who’s going to do a lot of good in the world.”
As Gin ended the call, she continued to stare at her reflection. Then she went over to the hair and make-up chair and sat down.
How she wished there was a guru you could go to and have everything put to rights in your life. One could try different styles of fixes: Caring Mother; Charismatic Professional; Sultry, But Not Morally Corrupt Thirty-Three-Year-Old.