Page 64 of What They'll Say About Us

"I don't want to go to my aunt's house. I can't put her in danger."

"Then we'll find a hotel and figure it out." She paused as my aunt returned. "Did you find out what happened, Vivienne?"

"Someone broke the glass window in the back of the yoga studio. They started the fire down there, which blew open the door leading into the stairwell. The fire alarm went off, and that's probably when they took off, hoping to trap you in the upstairs apartment."

"It almost worked," I muttered.

"Yes." Vivienne gave me a hard look. "This is too much, Tessa. Let the police handle this. Your podcast is not worth your life."

"The police are involved now," I told her. "Detective Cabot, the lead detective on the case, was killed several hours ago."

Shock ran across her face. "Oh, my God! You need to go back to New York first thing tomorrow."

"I'm not running away," I told her. "But I am going to make my whereabouts a little less known. I can't come home with you. I can't make you a target."

"Where will you go?"

"We'll find a hotel."

"It's two o'clock in the morning."

"Something will be open. I'm sorry again about what happened to the apartment."

"That's the least of my concerns." Vivienne took a moment, then said, "Okay, if you're determined to stay in Chicago, I have a friend who runs a boutique hotel in Lincoln Park. I'll call her now and see if she has two rooms."

"We only need one room. We'll stay together tonight, and then we may split up," I said.

Vivienne was already pulling out her phone. After a short conversation, she said, "They have a room with two beds. She's calling the night manager. He'll let you in. I told her you'll be there in ten minutes, because I'm going to drive you there. I also put the room on my credit card."

"I don't want someone to follow you and us to the hotel." An idea suddenly occurred to me. "And, actually, I have a car."

"What car? I thought you parked in the garage."

"Detective Barclay lent me his Jeep earlier."

My aunt gave me a quizzical look. "What?"

"It doesn't matter," I said quickly, not wanting to tell her I was at a murder scene. "I have it until tomorrow. I'll text him in the morning and let him know I'll bring it to him."

Vivienne let out a sigh. "You're so stubbornly independent, Tessa."

"I got that from you. And listen, Aunt Viv, you need to be careful what you say about me, especially to people in the theater. There are too many people working on your production who are part of this: Professor Hale, Carrie, Jay, and Nate Gardiner. Let them know that you're annoyed with me, that you told me to stop, and I wouldn't, and you've washed your hands of me."

"I'm not going to tell anyone that."

"I need them to believe you don't know anything and that you're not talking to me because you're angry with me. Please, do this for me," I pleaded.

"I can't believe any of those people were involved in a murder nine years ago or one several hours ago. I know them all pretty well."

"Well, some of them are actors, and all of them are involved in a world of make-believe. Don't trust anyone."

"Okay. Be careful." She gave me another hug, said goodbye to Morgan, and then headed to her car. I dug around in my bag and found the keys, happy now that I'd had to park down the block as Barclay's Jeep was behind the emergency vehicles.

As we put the fire in the rearview mirror, I input the hotel address into the navigation system. It was a quick trip to Lincoln Park, where the hotel night manager let us in and gave us keys to our room along with a couple of bottles of water.

The room was on the third floor, and as soon as we stepped inside, we both let out a breath of relief. Morgan triple-locked the door while I sat down on one of the two full beds.

"I'm glad we're staying together," Morgan said.