“No.” He shook his head. “Still going to voicemail.”

“Well, where to next? I suggested Lemonhead, and I confirmed that I was here. So, that’s something. More than you.” She should probably suggest the athletic complex, tell him about the pool. Disclose the rest about the scavenger hunt. But she didn’t.

“And you confirmed I wasn’t with you?” Ezra pulled out a stool and sat, as if he were too weary to remain on his feet for another second. “Before the rehearsal dinner? You’d think I could remember that at least. I didn’t think I was that wasted when I left the hotel.”

Frankie hesitated. Ezra’s initial premise was correct: he hadn’t been at Lemonhead before the rehearsal dinner. It was only hours later that he’d dropped by, that she spotted them together on the VCR tape, and until she understood why, Frankie wasn’t yet ready to tell Ezra that yes, at around 10 p.m. last night, they were arm in arm in the lobby of Lemonhead; that twelve hours ago, they appeared happy.

“No,” she said. “Just Laila and me.”

“So let’s find Laila,” he said.

“Like I haven’t thought of that.”

He rubbed his temples. “Well, I guess we could go back to the Inn?”

Frankie considered this. It wasn’t a bad suggestion. They could knock on doors until they found someone who was with them. She glanced down. She was still wearing the same clothes as she left in though, and she assumed as much about Ezra.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t go back there,” she said. “Also, it’s a long way to walk in a blizzard.”

Ezra nodded because she wasn’t wrong: without the snow, they could probably get back in forty-five minutes. Today, undoable. Frankie supposed they could call a taxi, but then what? They’d be stuck off-campus when seemingly everything they needed to solve for was here.

He looked down at his own attire and exhaled. “Let me try Gregory again.”

“Maybe he was our best man,” Frankie said, and she meant it to be funny, to lighten the gloom of the moment because it was all just so ridiculous.

“Don’t even joke.” Ezra slapped his hand on the bar. “Do not even joke.”

He rose as if he had the weight of their shared history on his shoulders and returned to the back room. “I’ll try to reach him. You come up with plan B.”

“We are already on plan C,” she said.

“Wonderful,” he replied before she heard the office door close.

Frankie didn’t know what to do now. Ezra was right: she probably shouldn’t be drinking this early, and besides, her concussion felt like it was progressing from bad to worse. Could concussions do that? She didn’t know. Maybe it was a brain bleed; maybe she was actually dying. She shuddered. Now she was spiraling like Ezra would. She tilted over and tried to see the lump on the shiny gold railing that decorated the side of the bar. Her back spasmed, and she righted herself. She headed to the bathroom for a better view.