Chapter 57
It couldn’t possibly be true that her suitcase was lighter, but it felt that way as she hoisted it onto the conveyor belt at security screening.
The wave of guilt that had washed over her when Evelyn essentially called her a thief—and the realization of her own selfish appropriation of some poor woman’s personal life—made her frantic to extricate herself from this potentially embarrassing situation.
She still had her phone snapshots, so she wasn’t totally separated from the locket.
Evelyn had promised to send it back to the hotel, offering some explanation, and would report the results to Tessa.
“Maybe someone wanted to get rid of it,” Evelyn had said, as she popped the Volvo’s trunk and hefted Tessa’s suitcase onto the sidewalk.
“Maybe it was a hated memory. Or a painful one. You could make up all kinds of stories.” She had paused.
“You, especially, Tessa, that’s what you do, correct? Make up stories?”
Tessa tried to gauge whether Evelyn’s tone carried an undercurrent of sarcasm. Or accusation.
“I do, sure,” Tessa decided to accept it at face value. “An author’s life is full of stories. If we’re lucky.”
“You’ve certainly told a good one.”
At that Tessa had swiveled her suitcase to face Evelyn again, questioning. “A good one?”
“A New York Times bestseller, Tessa, is all I mean.”
“Thank you.” Tessa’s mind was too full to calculate nuance, and her own fears—about Zack and his secret, and the dishwasher episode, and Henry’s mysterious whereabouts, not to mention the personal scrutiny that seemed to be following her—were coloring everything this morning.
When she got the truth about what was happening at home, she could focus on what was happening on the road.
But she was not making stuff up. She was not paranoid.
That unmistakably real threat was in her handbag right now: See you in Des Moines.
“Safe travels, Tessa.” Evelyn had given her a quick hug goodbye. “I’ll be in touch if I hear anything. And I’ll tell your team you’re safely at the airport. They told me, by the way, that someone was meeting you at DSM. Des Moines airport. I’m sure they’ll carry a sign, you’ll see it.”
“Oh, no,” Tessa said, “I don’t need anybody to—”
“It’s simply in case more of your ‘nothing’ happens.” Evelyn had tucked the plastic-wrapped necklace into her brown leather tote. And raised a hand in goodbye. “Be careful out there, Tessa.”
Careful. Of what? She’d wanted to ask. But Evelyn—who could not have given a satisfactory answer anyway—had driven away.
Careful? Annabelle said. That was weird.
Tessa pulled her roller bag toward gate B19, looking out the bank of windows onto the dark asphalt tarmac as she walked.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the VIP sound. Home, or Sadie Bailey, or DJ.
DJ. Her publicist was the best, keeping track of her. Of all the lovely perks she’d imagined about being an author, she hadn’t realized she’d be blessed with such a supportive team. All the cheese. When she got home, when this was over, she’d send them cheese. And champagne.
Tessa stepped into the lee of a Hudson News, passengers lugging suitcases and corralling squally children bustling around her, and a public address system squawking unintelligible announcements.
She’d sign books in the store later, if there was time, and she tapped the button to accept the call, scanning the bookstore for periwinkle.
As the connection was made, she faced the polished tile wall to block out distractions.
“Hey, DJ,” she began, “thank you so much for Evelyn, everything’s—”
“Are you okay?” DJ interrupted.
“Sure,” Tessa said, “thanks. Like I said, uneventful, and—”
“But you canceled.”
Tessa tried to figure out the meaning of the word “canceled.” Canceled what? “Canceled what? I didn’t cancel…” She tried to remember if there was anything DJ might be talking about. No. “I didn’t cancel anything.”
“Well, the bookstore thinks you did.”
“What bookstore?”
“The Des Moines bookstore, Tessa. Oakdale Books. They just called me, frantic, half worried and half enraged, about why we would cancel your appearance. They’d sold however many tickets, they’re—”
“I didn’t cancel, Deej. I didn’t.”
“Nevertheless. They say you did. They put out an email blast to everyone who registered, saying you had called and canceled without explanation. Now they have to return all the money. And the books. Do you understand that? That’s—unacceptable.
I was terrified something was wrong, but you sound fine. So what’s going on?”
“I am fine. Well, I mean, I’m not fine now, I’m mystified.
Wait. They did that without talking to you?
” Tessa touched her forehead to the coolness of the tiled wall.
Pulled her suitcase closer to her. The public address system announcements grew louder, or possibly that was the ringing in her ears.
“Or checking with me? No one called me, no one contacted me, or you, no one confirmed that it was a real phone call— wait . They said it was me on the phone?”
“How long until your plane, Tessa?” DJ’s voice had turned abrupt, clipped. “I could not tell the bookstore that you hadn’t canceled, because I didn’t know. So you’re telling me you did not, one hundred percent, you did not cancel your event.”
“Of course not!” Tessa tried to keep the wail from her voice. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re saying someone else called? Who?”
“How do I know? I only know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t.”
“Did you get another note? Are you afraid of whoever is coming to Des Moines? Why?”
“No. I can’t imagine who such a person would be.” She actually could imagine a whole spectrum of horribles, but that’s all they would be, imaginary adversaries. The better question was could she understand it, which she could not.
“Should we bring you home? Is something going on?”
“Oh, no, no. I’m so sorry—”
“Tessa. You can’t cancel an event. You have a plane ticket to Des Moines. Your next plane leaves tomorrow from Des Moines. You can’t break a tour in the middle. You can’t change the schedule without calling me. We’re your team, Tessa. We can’t operate any other way.”
“I would never—I didn’t—”
“Look, Tessa, you told me about some sinister note. We sent Evelyn to take care of you, and she just told me you were upset, and moreover, that you had taken that necklace from the hotel room. I did not know you had stolen it. I thought you had taken a photo of it. Thank goodness no one has claimed it.”
“Oh my God,” Tessa said, “no, that’s—no.
No. I can tell you all about that, but can we talk about the bookstore?
” She squinted toward the glowing electronic numbers on the schedule board across the crowded corridor.
People hurrying, fulfilling travel plans, people whose book tours were not upended by forces unknown.
“My plane boards in half an hour. Should I still go?”
“You have to go, Tessa, if you don’t, the airline could cancel your future flights, and the whole thing will be a mess. I’ll try to put out the fire on this end, but what am I supposed to say to the bookstore?”
“I don’t know.” Tessa felt her voice tighten. “I’m as confused as you are. I would never do such a thing, DJ. You know that.”
Silence on the other end. Tessa filled it with every catastrophe her brain could conjure.
Henry, the kids, the house. Her career. Their livelihood.
Nellie Delaney, with her summer house in Maine.
Her eyes throbbed, nothing stayed in focus.
She had to face it. Someone or someones was deliberately trying to ruin her tour.
And they definitely understood what would be most destructive—to disrupt events, cause thousands of dollars in financial distress, disappoint and alienate her fans and bookstores. Enrage her publisher.
And make it look like it was all her fault.
See you in Des Moines . The note in her purse felt radioactive. Deadly.
“Maybe tell the bookstore the truth?” Tessa suggested, before DJ could answer.
“Which is what , Tessa? We have no idea,” DJ replied. “They’ll think I’m covering up some diva move on your part. Or that someone’s deliberately sabotaging your appearance. They don’t want any security situations. Better to blame some imaginary intern who screwed up and canceled the wrong event.”
“Really?”
“It’s what I do,” DJ said. “And bigger picture, it means we’ll have to—look, get your plane. I’ll get with the powers that be. Figure out what to do. Now and later.”
“I’m so sorry, I don’t—”
“We don’t have time for that. I need to get these sales back, and these people back, and help the store figure out how not to look like idiots. And for us not to look like idiots. I’m gonna get nailed for this. Totally nailed. Luckily nonexistent interns can’t complain.”
“Listen. About Des Moines. I really don’t need an escort.”
“Whatever. I have to go, Tessa. Call me when you get to your hotel.”
“Do you want me to call the bookstore?”
“No. Stay out of it. We’ll post on your socials. Saying how much you’re looking forward to it. I’ll call the store. We’ll make this work. Just—go.”