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I moved toward the crowd, scanning it with each step. I wondered if he’d already seen me. I felt eyes on my back and whirled around to see a cop car, creeping by.
I turned away and hustled into the throng, which was growing dense with people coming out of the Metro.
Pulling the hat’s brim down and peering out from beneath it, I looked at the street. The cop car wasn’t there. I exhaled, releasing the tension that had hiked my shoulders halfway to my ears.
I continued to thread my way through the ever-increasing crowd. A small band with keyboard, guitars, and drums was setting up in a roped-off area below. The guitarist was tuning, and another man was testing mics. My nerves had made my mouth so dry, I thought my tongue might stick to the roof of my mouth. In the distance, I saw a deli. Desperate for water, I headed toward the deli, diagonally up the steps, sidestepping audience members. The crowd thinned out in the plaza at the top.
I glanced back. The woman behind me stopped short when I looked at her. I held my gaze a moment too long for her comfort, apparently. She turned away and hurried off.
Surveying the area one last time, before entering the deli, I shook my head. What am I doing?
I walked inside and ordered a large bottled water. Moments later, clutching the bottle, I emerged into the sunlit plaza.
The band was warming up now. I figured I’d stand at the edge of the crowd until my “date” appeared.
I felt a light touch on my elbow and heard the voice. “Jessica?”
I caught my breath and turned. The man was short with sandy, disheveled hair and an incipient beard that would have looked grungy cool if his expression weren’t so distraught. He looked oddly familiar.
“You’re the one who called me?” I said.
He nodded. “Let’s take a seat,” he said, in the husky voice I recognized from the calls.
We worked our way through the crowd on the steps and sat among the spectators.
“So what’s going on?” I asked, after sipping my water.
He frowned. “You need to keep away from the two men who are following you.”
“I may be slow, but I’ve figured that much out.” I took another drink, but my mouth still felt gluey. “First things first, though. Who are you?” I said, enunciating with care, since my dry lips felt stuck to my teeth.
“I guess you don’t remember. Fred introduced us once. On campus?”
“Right!” I remembered then where I’d seen him. We’d been walking across campus and this man—clean-shaven at the time—had approached. Fred had seemed uncomfortable but still introduced him. I tried to think of the name. Something unusual.
“Selby,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Selby Harris.”
“Yes! I remember now.” I took another swig of water and waited for Selby to go on. When he didn’t, I said, “So, Selby, what the hell is going on? Did those men kill Fred?”
“To be honest, I don’t know if they did. I don’t even know who they are, but if I were you, I wouldn’t trust them.”
I started to agree, then stopped myself. “Hold on. If you don’t know anything about them, how come you don’t trust them?”
“How c
ome you don’t?”
Because they followed me from Fred’s place and they’ve been spying on me, I wanted to say. Instead, I held my tongue. I wanted to hear his thoughts, unadulterated by my own opinions.
“That’s not an answer,” I finally said. “In fact, you still haven’t told me anything. Like, why all the secrecy? Why couldn’t we talk on the phone? And what’s this all about, anyway?”
Selby’s glance darted around. The band launched into its first number. Classic rock, sounding like the Rolling Stones or maybe the Kinks. He said something I could barely hear for the music.
“What?” I yelled.
“I said, it’s about your book.”
“About my book?” I scowled and leaned toward him, so he could hear me. “Why would someone kill Fred because of my book?”
