“He visited once or twice, yes,” Charlie says, looking uncertainly at Ripley.
A wave of fear and fury crests in Ripley’s chest.
Will could have been planning this fraud for years. There’s a decent chance he leaked his own abstract to solidify support for his frankenfossil. He’s more than a step or two ahead of her and James—he’s miles away. They’ll never catch up, and she’ll never dig herself out of the hole he put her in, and—
Words tumble from Ripley’s mouth: “We need to see what he looked at. Access your logs. Get into the collection today, if possible.”
“Actually,” James says, a little desperately, “we were hoping to discuss—”
“We think Will’s discovery might be a fraud. You and the museum might be involved.”
Charlie’s face flattens in a blink. “We are extremely vigilant for fraud here at the Royal Tyrrell.”
“And you have the reputation to show for it.” James’s words are smooth in the way only generations of inherited manners can make them. “If we could get back to—”
“I personally take great care to vet everything I put my name on,” Charlie says, stepping back.
“We know you have. We meant to say—”
“I don’t like being set up, Ripley,” Charlie says. He pivots toward steel doors markedAuthorized Personnel Only.
“You’releaving?” Panic grips Ripley like a fist. “But…your horn.” She holds out his slightly gross creation, as if this will lure him back.
“Keep it,” he calls. “I don’t feel like being funny right now.”
The shiny doors swing shut behind him.
By five o’clock, Ripley’s butt is numb from the pleather bench in the lobby, which looks padded but mostly isn’t. Charlie’s ignored six emails from them. Across the room, the guy at the info desk is staring at Ripley and James, psychically beaming the wordsPlease leave.
“I thought Canadians were meant to be polite,” James says, giving the guy an arch look.
“So did I.” Ripley checks her email again, though it’s sucking her battery dry and probably costing her a fortune in roamingcharges. Museum patrons flow around them like she and James are the still point in a time-lapse video.
“Ripley,” James says gently.
“Nope.”
“I know you’re upset. But we could be back at your dad’s place before nightfall if we leave now. If he doesn’t mind,” James adds. “If he doesn’t have plans with—”
“Don’t say it. I’m not yet adjusted to the whole casserole-and-chill situation with Mrs. Gunderson. And the museum’s open till nine,” she says. “Charlie will cool off.”
“It wasn’t your fault he left, Ripley.”
The kindness in James’s voice washes through her misery like salt water through a cut.
“Don’t be nice to me. Just sayI told you soand get it over with.”
“He was always going to go round the bloody bend when we brought up the possibility of fraud.”
“I said don’t be nice. And it wasn’twe.Isaid those things. I just…Ihateit when people walk away from me. I feel so bad. Sobad,James.” She presses her palms to her forehead, hunching over her heart.
“First of all, Ripley, if someone walks away fromyou,they’re making a terrible mistake. Second, you should let them go. Your destiny lies elsewhere.”
She’s in no mood for wholesome memes. “Who said that, the Dalai Lama?”
“I believe it was Julia Roberts,” he says thoughtfully. “Although I’m paraphrasing somewhat.”
Despite herself, she laughs. “JuliaRoberts?”
