Page 44 of Without a Clue

“What are you doing?” Nash whispers in a tone of have you gone mad?

“What does it look like? I want to find out what’s going on,” I say, pulling on my flats. “Are you coming or not?”

Please come.

And I guess that’s two things I’ve discovered about myself overnight.

The first is that yes, I am the scared girl who would walk herself into a basement when she hears danger. I’m the terrified girl. I’m no stranger to fear.

But the other is that in the case of fight or flight, I am not the kind of person who can just let things go and slink off in the distance. I’m brave and afraid.

I need to know what’s going on, for better or worse.

And I entirely intend to find out.

Chapter 10

The hallway is silent and Nash is two minutes behind.

Sconces glow softly, the fabricated flicker of the antique-looking flames giving an unnerving glow.

Even Nash for all his nonchalance has his hands at his sides, as if halfway expecting to have to knock something or someone down at any moment.

But nothing jumps out at us.

We even go back to Neena’s door and listen a minute or two.

Nothing.

There’s a list of activities inside a gold frame next to the elevator.

Nash scans the list.

“They have three things still alive this time of night,” Nash says, then sees my face. “Sorry. Not the best choice of words. Caree’s Casino. A piano bar. And the Blue Lagoon Lounge. Want to take the elevator down?”

I shake my head.

“I can’t imagine Neena breaking out in the middle of the night to go to a piano bar. Either she’s made her entire life a lie and she’s a killer, or she did the same thing we did and broke into Gordon’s room for safety. I’m banking on her going to Gordon’s.”

I scan Nash’s face.

He nods wearily and I feel a pang of sympathy for him. And a bit of guilt for having dragged him out of bed for nothing.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten you up for this. Let’s just go back to bed.”

Nash and I turn back.

Nothing, not a fingerprint on a doorjamb, not a hair out of place, is anywhere for us to find.

It’s depressing, actually.

It’s never this slow in the books.

There’s always a most convenient clue just lying about.

A perfect imprint of a soggy boot left by the doorway.

A scream sounding right at the moment of the fireworks that you still can just vaguely hear.