Page 49 of Jack

Something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put a name to it, but . . .

Harper shook her head. “Okay, I’m calling Franco.” She got up.

“See you tonight for your next dance lesson?”

Oh no.

“Perfect,” Harper said and opened the door, holding her phone.

Jack thanked Julian and walked out behind her. She paced the hallway, nodding, talking to someone on the phone. She finally hung up and headed back to him.

“Okay, I called her house and talked with her security guy. He said that he’d heard from her—that she’d gone back to Minneapolis to chase a lead for her podcast.” She pocketed her phone. “Maybe she found out something that she had to edit before the show dropped.”

“Feels like she’d say something,” Jack said.

“I know, but . . . she’s a little over dedicated to her show—” She pulled out her phone. “It’s a text from Boo. I need to go back to the inn for a dress fitting, and you’re due at the tux rental place in town.”

Right. Fine.

He headed down the hallway, the image of Penelope standing by the door, texting, reaching back to him. “She was upset.”

“That’s what Ethan said. But given his state . . . who knows?” She reached the door, but Jack put his hand on it.

“Call her again.”

“Fine.” She pulled out her phone as she headed outside, and dialed. “See. Voicemail.” She started across the parking lot, hanging up.

A sound trilled from nearby, and he stilled. “Is that a phone?”

“Sounds like ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’” She, too, stilled.

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”

He put his hands on his hips, scanned the empty lot. Rounded back to Harper.

“Queen,” she said.

“I know.” He shook his head.

The song kept playing.“No escape from reality . . .”

Pine trees in planters lined the front walk of the supper club, and he walked near. The song died and then revived again. He searched the planters. Nothing.

The phone kept playing, and he walked down the row of pine trees.

“Because I’m easy come, easy go . . .”

He stopped at the end of the row, where the driveway turned toward the street.

The song had died.

Silence, just the shifting of the trees.

He listened a bit longer, searched the snowbank, but found nothing.

“We need to go,” Harper said.

He nodded and turned back to the car.