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Jules wasn’t interested in rehashing her love life, so she turned the conversation around. “What about you two?”
Erin’s eyes flashed, as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask. “You won’t believe this, but I actually found someone online.”
“Craigslist,” Gerri offered.
Erin rolled her eyes. “Not quite.”
“Close enough. His name is Franklin, and he’s all she ever talks about,” Gerri said, shaking her head. “I’m surprised it’s taken so long to get to the subject.”
Erin sighed. “Franklin is the best.”
“Despite his name,” Gerri teased.
“It’s a great name.” Erin wasn’t about to hear one bad word about the new man in her life.
“So what about you, Gerri?” Jules persisted.
“Nothing. Just broke up with a guy I dated all of six weeks.” She rolled her expressive eyes. “He definitely wasn’t the one.”
“I don’t know if there is such a thing,” Jules said, glad the conversation had sh
ifted away from the unsettling topic of Cooper Trent. “So, come on,” she urged Erin, “tell me about Franklin.”
The waitress paused at their table. “More of the same?” she asked, and they ordered another round.
“So … back to Franklin.” Erin waxed poetic and went on about the new love of her life, a car salesman who was taking classes to become an accountant.
Gerri rolled her eyes, an unspoken B-O-R-I-N-G in her gaze, but Jules enjoyed the easy exchange among friends, catching up as they talked and laughed over the next two hours.
By the time she returned to her car, Jules felt better, more balanced. Luckily, she hadn’t collected a parking ticket, though the meter had run out, and she drove home without incident.
“Things are looking up,” she told herself as she locked her car and stepped through a puddle on her way to the front door.
Inside, she shook off her wet jacket and spent a few minutes playing with Diablo when she found his one-eyed catnip mouse under the couch. “Right where you left it,” she admonished as he slunk off, carrying the shredded thing between his jaws.
“Fine, be that way,” she kidded, then walked to the kitchen to check her messages.
There was only one. No caller ID.
“Jules,” Shay’s voice, a whisper, quivered on the recording. Jules froze, staring at the answering machine.
“Are you there?” Shay asked. “Jules? Oh, God, please pick up! It’s Shay …”
Jules’s heart was beating in her eardrums as she tried to hear Shay’s soft, frightened voice.
“You have to get me out of here, Jules,” Shay whispered frantically. “This place is horrible. But you can’t call. I’m not supposed to be on the phone. Just please, please find a way to get me out of here! Uh-oh—”
The line went dead.
CHAPTER 9
Anxiously, trying not to make a sound, Shay clicked off the phone. Was it her imagination, or was someone on the other side of the door to this darkened office? It was supposed to be empty, but Shay had sneaked through a back way that didn’t quite lock, the entrance used by cleaning staff.
One of the students, JoAnne Harris, the girl who was never far from her banjo, mandolin, or guitar, had clued her in. That JoAnne went by the name of Banjo was just plain lame. But at least, while they had sat near each other cleaning tack earlier today, Banjo had let it slip that there was a secret way to call out to the real world. If you could sneak into the admin building, you could get through with a special code that one of the students had found while cleaning Charla King’s desk. That was how Shaylee had been able to reach Jules, who hopefully would find a way to spring her.
The codes changed monthly, Banjo had confided, but Charla King kept the list taped to the inside of a desk drawer that she sometimes forgot to lock.
So, even if Banjo’s name was stupid, at least she was willing to give up a few secrets of this place.
