“Miss Salvatore should have given you my card,” he says. “Must we really shout through the door?”
I sigh and open the door a fraction, just enough to let him see my face. “No,” I say, “I can tell you to go to hell like this if you want.”
“Amusing,” he says. “Look, I just want a moment of your time to talk about Mrs. Sanders.”
“I don’t know her, either,” I say. “Look, you must have the wrong person. I don’t know you and I don’t care to.”
“But I know you,” he says. “In fact, I came here specifically because I know you. I need your help, Miss Minervudottir.”
“I don’t want to help you,” I say.
“I know about the car crash that woke you this morning,” he says.
The blood freezes in my veins. “What car crash?”
“Please don’t play dumb, Miss Minervudottir,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The car crash that you heard, but Miss Salvatore did not. I know you heard it, and I need your help to fix it. May I please come in?”
Dumbly, I open the door and gesture weakly to the couch. Reynolds enters, nodding as he does, and removes his shoes just inside the doorway. “You don’t need to–”