Page 23 of 44.1644° North
“Maybe we should visit the nearest emergency room,” he said.
“Ugh.”
“Sure, but at the least they can give you IV therapy.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Not for a hangover, no. But I’ve used to keep going when I’m under the weather, sure. You do what you have to do to get the job done.”
I muttered, “I wish to God I hadn’t come here.”
“I admit I was surprised to see you yesterday. Whydidyou come?”
I opened my eyes, glared at him. “Because no one answered. No one responded. I thoughtsomebodyshould probably try to do something.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Not this!”
He laughed.
“Oh, thanks a lot,” I said bitterly.
He patted my feet beneath the coverlet. “Well, you did receive death threats. You had to know you might be a target for, at the least, mischief.” His sigh was unexpectedly weary. “On the other hand, it’s not like I’m doing such a bang-up job of keeping an eye on you.”
I opened my eyes. “Is that what you’re supposed to be doing?”
“It is now. Like I said, no one thought you’d be…you’d show up here.”
I translated his pause. “Be dumb enough? It was a last-minute decision. That I sincerely regret.”
He patted my feet again, which was unexpectedly comforting. Or maybe I was reassured by the fact that the nausea was once more receding.
I cautiously sat up and began hunting for my phone. “What time is it?”
Rory glanced at his watch. “Eight thirty.”
“Oh shit!”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ve got an interview with Pat O’Donnell at nine.” I jumped off the bed and began, in wobbly fashion, to try to locate my jeans. I found them neatly folded on the room’s battered dresser. My phone was still in my pocket, along with my wallet.
Rory threw back the bedclothes and, yes, he was completely dressed right down to his socks. “Right. Let’s meet for breakfast afterward.”
I gave a full body shudder. “We can meet, but I won’t be eating for the rest of the weekend.”
He laughed. “Okay, you can watch me have breakfast, then.”
I stopped ransacking my suitcase and gave him my full frowning attention. “And why are we getting together again?”
“Because we have a lot to talk about.”
“Do we? Because the FBI had almost twenty years to solve this case. I can’t see that much has changed since I first wrote you guys. Nor am I the first or only podcaster or blogger or YouTuber to get threatening emails about poking into Deirdre’s disappearance.”
He said patiently, “Like I said, it took a while for your letter to reach the right department.”
“Which is what? Department of Lost Causes?”
