Veronica turned to look at her husband without smiling. “No, Michael. We were discussing Buist Rivers dorm.”
His eyes widened in question.
“Adrienne’s dorm,” Veronica explained.
“Right,” he said before sighing heavily and looking down at his feet. “Is it on the tour? Because we don’t have to go inside.”
“No, it’s not.” Veronica paused. “But I do want to see if Melanie and I can get into the dorm to look around. I bet we could find someone to let us in.”
I was surprised to see the resignation in Michael’s expression instead of the anger or antagonism I’d been expecting. All of our past conversations on the subject of finding out what had happened to Adrienne had ended badly. Maybe the mere fact that Veronica had finally agreed to sell the family house was the olive branch he’d needed. Or the water on the fire. The flames might have been out, but I was pretty sure I could still feel the steam.
“Fine,” he said. “But you two are on your own. I want no part in any of that mumbo jumbo, Melanie. Whether you really can talk to dead people or just pretend, I don’t care. Do what you have to do and rejoin the tour. I’m staying with Jack and the girls.”
He began to walk away, then briefly turned back to look at Veronica before shaking his head and leaving. I searched for Jack, easily catching sight of him because he and Michael were the tallest people in the group. He stood behind Nola, but was watching me with raised eyebrows.
“Can you let Jack know, Michael?”
He nodded without looking back while Veronica and I headed toward Adrienne’s old dorm, the scent of Vanilla Musk growing heavier the closer we got.
“Do you smell that?” I asked.
Veronica shook her head. “Is it her perfume? I used to smell it a lot after she died, but not so much anymore.”
I nodded, then looked up at the brown stucco building. “This is really ugly. I wouldn’t want to live here, either.”
I turned to Veronica to get her reaction, but she was staring at the glass front doors, her head tilted to the side. “It’s changed a lot since I was here . . . the last time.”
“When was that?”
Her eyes met mine. “When I came to pack up her things after . . . afterward. I thought I’d have to do it alone because my parents couldn’t face it, but Michael came to help. I couldn’t have done it without him.”
“Too bad it’s locked,” I said, tugging on the handle, ready to turn away.
Just then, two students approached, both laden with backpacks, too focused on their conversation to pay attention to us. One of the girls swiped an ID card and they both entered. Before the door could close, Veronica reached forward and held it open for me.
I hesitated as she stood by the open door. “I know this is a hard thing for you, Melanie. And I hate asking you now, while you’re dealing with so much. But I feel an urgency that I’ve never felt before. Adrienne is running out of time.” She paused, an odd expression crossing her face. “I can’t let her down again.”
Before I could ask her what she meant, another resident approached the door with her ID in hand. Veronica and I stepped into the lobby and held the door for her before letting the door close behind us.
The Vanilla Musk scent here nearly choked me, and I found myself gagging as if it had been poured down my throat and squirted up my nostrils. Veronica grabbed a clean tissue from her purse and handed it to me. “Are you all right?”
I held up my hand and nodded. “In a minute.”
I pointed to my purse and she scrambled to open it and pull out the small bottle of water I always carried with me. Her eyes widened as she noticed my just-in-case kit that included a small can of WD-40, a container of hand sanitizer, a Mace spritzer, and a pair of pliers, among other necessities. Without a word she twisted off the bottle cap and handed me the water.
“Thank you,” I said after I had downed half of the bottle. “It was . . .”
“Adrienne?”
I nodded. “I think she was trying to get my attention.” I glanced around the deserted lobby filled with sterile furniture and fluorescent lights. “It worked.”
I stood still, waiting for the Vanilla Musk scent to dissipate. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That music?”
Veronica shook her head. “No. But we’re in a college dorm, so it wouldn’t be that unusual, would it?”
“No, but it’s an old song. Not something the kids today would listen to. Nola would rather shave her head.”
“Do you think it’s Adrienne?”
“I don’t know. But I think I’m supposed to find out where it’s coming from.” I walked to the elevator and pushed the button. “Room 210?”
Veronica nodded, her face gone pale.
“You can stay here if you like. I doubt I can get into the room, so it shouldn’t take long.”
“I’m fine. Really. It looks so different from . . . before.”
The door opened and we stepped into the elevator. “It’s been renovated, remember. So it won’t be the same.”
We stepped out onto the second floor and Veronica turned right. I followed her although I didn’t have to. The sound of the music grew louder as we walked, the scent of Adrienne’s perfume returning. We stopped at the same time in front of a white-painted door, the number 210 in black on the wall beside it, the door covered with pictures of sorority mascots and Greek letters. The names of the occupants were printed in pretty calligraphy on laminated cardboard stock on either side of the door.
Veronica wore a wobbly smile. “It’s just like when Adrienne was here. Just different names.”
The song was now playing at such a high decibel level that I was sure Veronica was able to hear it. I’d begun to ask her when the door was flung open and the music stopped abruptly.
The young woman—either Jessica or Rachel, according to the signs—stepped back with surprise that quickly turned to alarm. She removed headphones from her ears, the tinny beat of a rap song continuing to play. I stared at the headphones, realizing that whatever the woman was listening to definitely wasn’t the music I’d heard.