All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [85]
They worked for a couple of hours, and Noelle was starting to feel pretty crappy. Just as they decided to take a break, her cell phone rang. Noelle excused herself and made her way to the side entrance of the library. She hated talking on her phone in a group setting, she found it rude when people talked on phones in restaurants and grocery stores. So she was mindful of the other students in the library, and she needed some air anyway.
It was a friend from the cycling club, asking if she wanted to go biking in the morning. As much as she wanted to, she turned the offer down, until she was done with her antibiotics, it just wouldn’t be smart to push herself too hard. They chatted for a while as Noelle walked out of the library and sat on the steps. It was getting full dark, and as she hung up the phone, she thought she saw a shadow on the side of the building. She shook it off, there were so many people on campus, anyone could be walking around the corner of the building. Regardless, she decided it would be a good idea to go inside. She’d heard about that poor girl from Virginia, and as she moved toward the door, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She glanced behind her and saw that the shadow had become a man, but she laughed when she realized it was just another student. He was certainly too young and too handsome to be anything but. She gave him a smile and held the door for him.
He smiled back, and that was the last thing Noelle remembered.
Thirty-Two
Taylor woke up with a sense of purpose. Showered, dressed and fed, she grabbed the Tennessean from her front step and plopped down on the couch. Lee Mayfield, a crime reporter who Taylor didn’t get along with, had the byline for the Rainman lead. She read through the article, scoffing. As usual, Mayfield had the details wrong. It wasn’t just the police who couldn’t stand her, her fellow reporters got fed up with her, too. She was infamous for showing up at the end of a press conference, or after shootings had wrapped at a scene, and getting her stories from the other media on the scene rather than doing her own work.
Taylor didn’t bother finishing the article, or the paper, for that matter. Disgusted, she threw the paper on the floor and turned to business she had some control over. Whitney Connolly’s cell phone. Scrolling through the options, she found memo and hit playback. Whitney’s voice floated through the air, running down a to-do list. The last item was interesting, and Taylor replayed it several times.
“Need to talk to Quinn about the notes.”
That was it. No clues, no other directions. It didn’t even sound like this was important. Was she talking about the e-mails?
Taylor picked up the phone and called Quinn Buckley. Quinn answered on the first ring.
“Quinn? It’s Taylor Jackson. I have been going through Whitney’s personal effects that were in her car, and I have your sister’s cell phone here. There’s a recorded memo on the cell phone, I want to play it for you and get your impressions. Okay, I’m going to play it now.”
She held the cell phone up to her own portable phone and replayed the memo. Whitney’s voice rang out like a shot. Taylor couldn’t help but get goose bumps, she didn’t usually commune with the dead. That was Sam’s job. She lifted the receiver back to her ear and heard Quinn crying softly.
“Oh damn, Quinn, I’m sorry, I should have warned you it was going to be her voice.”
“No, that’s okay,” Quinn sniffled through the phone. “I just wasn’t prepared to hear her voice again, like that. Was there nothing else?”
Taylor shook her head though no one was there to see it. “No, Quinn, there wasn’t anything else. Do you know what notes she’s talking about?”
“Who knows with Whitney? I was getting us both some note cards, maybe that’s what she meant. She must have changed her mind about the style, or something. I had so hoped there would be something more.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, but I’ll keep working on it. I’m sorry.”
“No, Taylor, you’re doing your