Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8) by Vanessa Gray Bartal Page B

late, but it’s good. There’s not much time to miss you.”
    “Is there a communal shower?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Did you clean it?” she asked.
    “Every day so far, but I wake up before everyone else, so my secret is safe,” he said. “I hate to cut this short, but I’m at the mess hall.”
    “How’s the food?” she asked.
    “Edible, but not fresh. I miss green lettuce. Here it’s white and wilted.”
    “When you come home, I’ll make you a kale salad and let you organize my sweater drawers.”
    “Stop it. Don’t talk like that when I’m too far away to do anything about it. Tease,” he accused.
    “And people think I’m the weird one,” she said. “After this week is over, can we agree that we’ll never, ever, ever be apart again?”
    “Sounds reasonable and healthy,” he said. “I have classes tonight, but text me and let me know how dodgeball goes.”
    “Will do,” she promised.
    “Good luck. You’re going to do great.”
    “Every time you lie, a baby dove dies,” she said.
    “Doves are basically pigeons, so my conscience is clear,” he said.
    There was a lull, but the silence wasn’t awkward. Neither wanted to be the first to say goodbye.
    “If I don’t go eat, all the good gruel is going to get taken,” Jason said.
    “All right,” she said, but they still lingered.
    “Never going to be apart after this again, right?” he said.
    “Never, ever,” she promised.
    “All right. I’ll call when I can. Love you.”
    “Love you,” she said, and they hung up. There was no time to feel sad because she had to change for dodgeball. She had purposely cut it close so she wouldn’t have time to panic.
    Travis met her on the court. “Nice face mask. Are you umping a baseball game after this?”
    “Words hurt,” Lacy said, popping out her mouth guard so she could speak.
    “Not as bad as that thing on your face, I bet. Did Jason go over the rules with you?” he asked.
    “Absolutely,” she said.
    “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” he asked.
    “Absolutely not,” she said.
    “It’s okay. Just stay by me,” he said.
    The whistle blew to start the game. Lacy shoved her mouth guard in just in time. A ball whizzed at her and crashed hard against her ribs. She made an “oof” sound as the air whooshed out of her.
    “Out!” the referee called and pointed to her.
    She turned and made her way toward the edge of the court, relieved it was over so quickly.
    A ball smacked the backs of her calves. She stumbled and quickened her step.
    Another ball beaned her in the shoulder. Her trot turned into a jog.
    Two more balls hit her in the back. She started to sprint.
    As she reached the edge of the court, a ball smacked her in the back of the head so hard that she tumbled forward. Landing on her hands and knees, she started to crawl. It was apparent to her now that nowhere was safe in this game. Even if she made it off the court, the balls would find her. And probably kill her.
    Ahead, she saw an opening behind the bleachers. It was like a dark beacon of hope. If she could make it there, she could hide until the rest of the game was over.
    A ball pinged off the side of her thigh and her knee gave out. She dragged that leg behind her and continued forward.
    The bleachers seemed forever away. Meanwhile the hits kept coming. Three in a row pelted her in the face. If not for her mouth guard, they might have loosened a few teeth.
    At last she reached the opening of the bleachers and scuttled inside. Balls began to rebound off the bleachers—BAM! BAM! BAM! To Lacy, each hit felt personal, as if it had been meant for her. She closed her eyes, put her hands over her ears, and waited for it to be over.
    Someone touched her arm. She screamed and dropped her mouth guard.
    “Lacy, it’s me, it’s Travis.” He shook her. She opened her eyes and blinked at him. She could barely make out his outline in the darkness.
    “Travis? What are you doing here?”
    “It’s over.”
    “The