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He sprinted for the Jetta. He jammed the keyless start button before his butt had hit the seat, and as the car purred to life, he hammered the shifter into reverse. Another shot came as Jem reversed, the car slewing across the loose stone in an arc that almost brought Jem crashing into the cars behind him. Then he hit the shifter again, and the Jetta lurched forward, carrying him out of the lot.
5
Tean had given up on pacing. He’d given up on sitting. He stood in the Santaland lobby, phone clutched in one hand, and was useless. Totally, perfectly useless.
Of course, he was in good company.
“I’m sure everything’s all right.” Kristin, Missy’s friend who had been planning on going to dinner with them, had stuck with Tean since the police officer had taken Missy for questioning. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“I have a terrible feeling about this,” Heather the animal psychic said. She’d shown up in the lobby, announcing that she’d been drawn by psychic danger. Kristin had told Tean in an aside, though, that she’d seen one of Heather’s friends recording a video of Missy being led away by the police. Heather put her fingertips to her temples and frowned. Maybe, Tean thought, her abilities worked like broadcast television. Maybe she needed a bunny-ear antenna.
Rod snorted. Tean had seen him earlier, at Rod’s one-man “panel,” which had mostly consisted of him boasting about his success with the cat sanctuary, interspersed with a few softball questions from people who were clearly his friends—or at least his sycophants. And, of course, interrupted magnificently by his spat with Missy. Rod had joined them in the lobby without any explanation. Now, he eyed Tean and said, “You don’t have to stick around if you don’t want.”
It was at least the fourth time he’d said it.
“No,” Tean said, but he heard the strain in his voice. “I’ll wait.”
With most of the conference-goers occupied either by dinner, drinks, or last-minute preparations for their paper or panel, the Santaland lobby was practically empty. As the minutes dragged past, it took on a nightmarish quality. Nat King Cole blatted on the blown speakers. A Starbucks cup perched on the trim of Santa’s sleigh. The Christmas trees drooped, and tinsel fluttered in a draft, and one flickering section of lights seemed to be communicating in Morse code.
Tean checked his phone again. Still nothing from Jem, and it had been over an hour since that first, frantic text, not to mention all the others since.
He tried another one:Are you ok? Where are you?
“If you’ve got something better to do—” Rod began.
“I’m staying,” Tean snapped.
A woman in a blazer and a polka-dot skirt crossed the lobby toward them, her gait somewhere between a half-hearted run and a power walk. By the time she reached them, her cheeks were red, and she was huffing slightly. She nodded slightly to Kristin and Heather and asked, “Have any of you seen Yesenia?”
Tean shook his head. Rod snorted. Heather touched her temples again. Maybe there was a titmouse near Yesenia, and Heather could contact her that way.
“Sorry,” Kristin said. “I haven’t seen her today.”
The woman let out a despairing noise. “Dr. Trevino is furious. She says she won’t stay in a normal hotel room. She says she has to have a suite.”
“Well…” Kristin said, and she turned a hopeful look toward Tean, of all people.
“It doesn’t matter what she wants,” Heather snapped, dropping her hands from her temples. “She’s a guest. She might be the keynote speaker, but we invited her. If she doesn’t like it, she can leave.”
“Maybe the resort would be willing to upgrade her room,” Tean said. “We can ask.”
Rod shook his head, his mullet swaying against his collar. “I’ll take care of it. Tell her I’ll get her settled.”
The woman beamed a smile at Rod before scurrying off again.
She’d barely disappeared when a young guy rushed up to them. He was buttoned up in a three-piece suit and wringing his hands (which Tean didn’t know if he’d ever seen outside of a movie before), and his voice was high-pitched and femme when he said, “Where’s Dr. Alvarez? Have you seen Dr. Alvarez?”
This time, Kristin and Heather traded a look.
“Don’t know, son,” Rod said.
“But I need her! An entire panel of herpetologists got into one of the fountains, and they’re making the elves do inappropriate things! They’re going to get kicked out of the conference!”
“You might remind them—” Tean began.
“Now, hold on,” Rod said, holding up a hand to Tean. “I’ll handle this. Son, you go take a few pictures, and then you tell them you’re forwarding those pictures to the chancellor or president or whatever you want to call it at their universities. And tell them to put the elves back, or I’ll have something to say about it.”
The young man kept wringing his hands, his gaze fixed on Rod.
