48
In front of MacDonald Hall, the sun glared down from a baleful blue sky. Dale squinted and raised a hand to shield his abruptly aching eyes. The morning’s chill and humidity had burned away, replaced with a drier heat that promised to suck the cool clamminess from Dale’s skin. His stomach still burned with indigestion and his back ached with the weight of his backpack.
Plus, he hadn’t checked his email today. His boss was going to be annoyed.
Maybe he could find a spot to do that now.
Heck, maybe he’d leave the con entirely. Nobody could blame him. What would they say? “He almost got killed by Deck’s fall and was interrogated by the police. How dare he not show up to give his talk? Maybe the police kept him?”
That was, if the con even bothered to reschedule his session.
Or any of
