The Witch's Grave Part 17

"What disks?" My hands tightened on the railing with excitement.

"Stephen is paranoid when he's working on a book. Everyone knows about his quirk-he jokes about it on his website." Her fingers fidgeted with the blanket. "He puts everything-notes, ma.n.u.script-on disks. He doesn't leave anything on his hard drive. I know they were after the disks."

"Have you looked at them?"

"No, I never read the ones that deal with his nonfiction until he's finished. I go through the notes at the same time as the ma.n.u.script and check for accuracy."

"Did you have any disks last night when you were mugged?" I asked.

"Yes. When he's out of town, he sends them to me at a post office box-registered mail. I sign for the package, then put the disks in his fireproof box." She swallowed with effort. "I was taking the latest disks to his condo."

Abby held the straw to Karen's lips again, and she took another long drink.

"Did they take them?" I asked.

"Yes. The police said my purse was stolen. They were in it."

I felt my excitement come crashing down. So close So close. "Everything's lost?"

"No, just the ones he mailed from Iowa. The rest are in the box."

"Karen..." I tried to keep the antic.i.p.ation out of my voice. "May we borrow them?"

Her eyes traveled to the window, and the war going on inside her was apparent in her features. Loyalty to Stephen, fear, hesitation, all flitted across her damaged face. The last expression was resignation.

She lifted a hand as if it took great effort and pointed toward the closet. "The keys to Stephen's condo and the box are on a small key ring in the pocket of my slacks." She paused. "At least they were."

Almost holding my breath, I rushed to the closet and grabbed the pants. I fished around in the pocket until my fingers found a metal ring. With a sigh of relief, I held them up to her. "These?"

"Yes," she replied in a weak voice.

Crossing to the bed, I took her hand gently in mine. "Thank you, Karen. I know this is going to help catch the man who hurt you."

Another tear leaked from the corner of her eye. "I hope so."

Abby leaned close to her. "Do you have anyone to care for you after you're released?"

She nodded slightly. "A friend. The doctor said I can leave as soon as she gets here." Karen twisted her hands. "She's taking me away from the city."

Ripping a corner off the menu on the stand, I picked up a pen and scribbled on it. "Here's my cell phone number," I said, tucking it in her hand. "Stay in touch, okay?"

She glanced down at the paper. "Thanks, but like I said, I'm going away...far, far away."

Abby and I grabbed a quick sandwich and ate in the car on the way to Stephen's condo. It was located a short distance from Karen's apartment, in an old industrial building that had been converted to housing. It sat squarely on a corner, and across the cobblestone street, bars, bookstores, and antique shops lined the block. An outdoor cafe was within easy walking distance. Brightly striped awnings covered the doorway, and tables with tall umbrellas littered the brick sidewalk. Next to the cafe, at the end of the street, the Gateway Arch rose in the bright sunshine, towering above the brick buildings.

Pausing at the entrance of the condo, I could see what Stephen had meant when he talked about the energy of this place. People jammed the sidewalks-tourists, with cameras hanging around their necks, loaded with shopping bags; businessmen sitting at wrought-iron tables at the outdoor cafe, enjoying their lunch; couples strolling hand in hand, stopping now and again to browse the window displays. The air sizzled with an excitement that seemed to say, Life's good, let's party Life's good, let's party.

We walked into the building and headed straight for the elevator.

"Wait," the concierge called out, rushing out from behind his desk. "May I help you?"

Pivoting, we both stared at him. "Ah...ah..." I stumbled. I hadn't expected the gates to be guarded.

Abby stepped forward and extended her hand. "h.e.l.lo, I'm Abigail McDonald, and this is my granddaughter, Ophelia Jensen. We're friends of Miss Burns." She gave him a gracious smile. "You know Miss Burns, don't you?"

"Yes," he replied with hesitation.

Abby's smile slipped away. "Did you hear of her misfortune?"

His eyes popped wide. "No, what happened?"

"She was mugged last night."

"No." His brows knitted together. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Yes, they're releasing her from the hospital today. In fact, we've just come from there." She smiled again. "Karen asked us to stop by Mr. La.r.s.en's and pick up some important papers for her." She motioned to me. "We have her keys."

On cue, I removed the small key ring from my pocket and dangled them in the air.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked first at me, then Abby.

Abby met his gaze with an innocent one of her own.

Sizing us up, his face relaxed. "All right...you can't be too careful, you know. Our tenants don't like strangers wandering around the halls."

Abby gave him a small nod. "I'm sure they appreciate your diligence."

The concierge preened at her praise. "I do my best," he replied as he smoothed his tie.

"We'll just be a minute," she said, holding up one finger.

"Oh, take your time, ma'am."

In the elevator, I kept my eyes on the numbers as I rocked back and forth on my heels. "For someone who doesn't like lies, you sure spin a good one."

I caught her smirk from the corner of my eye.

"It wasn't a lie-I simply took the truth and bent it a bit."

"Uh-huh," I answered with a nod. "I'll remember that one."

As I stepped from the elevator, I heard Abby's chuckle.

Crossing to Stephen's door, I inserted the key, unlocking it, and carefully pushed it open. I stepped inside. A musty, not-lived-in smell greeted me. With a soft click, Abby closed the door.

Curtains covered a bank of windows along the far wall of the large room. Brick walls rose to a vaulted ceiling. A fireplace, flanked by rich burgundy leather couches, took up s.p.a.ce on the wall to my left. A long table with a gla.s.s top, ringed by eight padded, wrought-iron chairs, sat adjacent to the kitchen. From where I stood, I could see a fine layer of dust covering the table's surface.

"This is kind of a lonely place, isn't it?" Abby said in a quiet voice. "It's beautiful, but it somehow lacks spirit."

I understood what she meant as my eyes roamed the carefully decorated room. Lovely, but it said nothing of the man who lived here. Is that why Stephen spent so much time on the road, so much time writing? Was he trying to escape the loneliness by creating a different world in his mind?

My gaze landed on a hallway jutting back from the kitchen.

"Come on," I said, striding across the room. "Stephen's office must be down the hall."

Abby followed me as I pa.s.sed a bathroom and two bedrooms. Double doors marked the end of the hallway. Opening them, I stepped inside Stephen's office.

The atmosphere in this room was definitely different. This was where Stephen spent his life.

Framed covers of his books hung on the walls, along with photographs of Stephen at various book signings. A large desk faced a window with a magnificent view of the river. His computer screen sat on top of the desk along with his keyboard. A Nerf football was placed next to it, and I imagined Stephen playing with it as he studied his notes. Louvered doors covered the wall to my right.

The closet-I would have bet the fire box was in there.

Turning sharply, I pulled the doors wide, and there it was, on the closet floor. I squatted down and, using the key, opened the lid. It was crammed with rows and rows of disks.

Great, I hope Karen had labeled them.

I picked up a handful and shuffled through them. There was one marked terror on the seine. Another set had just the word mob written on the top case-notes for the book Darci had mentioned. Boy, I bet they contained some juicy information. Boy, I bet they contained some juicy information.

I felt the sudden sensation of someone standing close. Whipping my head around, I noticed Abby wandering around the room, a distance away. I shook the feeling off, but rifled the disks faster. Finally, I saw a set of disks labeled BOSTON BOSTON. Karen had said the inspiration for his new book had come to him there. These had to be the right ones.

I shoved them into my purse, got to my feet and turned toward Abby. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Perplexed by my sudden haste, she said nothing, but without comment followed me down the hall and out of the condo. In the hallway, I spun around and quickly locked the door. I almost fled to the elevator.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Abby asked in a puzzled voice.

"I don't know," I replied, punching the Down b.u.t.ton a couple of times, "I just am."

Shifting my weight back and forth on my feet, my eyes were glued to the numbers above the elevator. I watched as each floor slowly lit up as the elevator rose. And as they did, the tension I felt seemed to build. Finally the doors opened, at the same time as the one next to us did. Hustling Abby into the elevator, I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man exiting the other elevator.

The doors slid smoothly shut, and with them, my nervousness slowly ebbed away.

As we crossed the lobby floor, I noticed that the concierge was gone.

Twenty.

As Abby and I left the building, I saw the concierge down the street, arguing with a cab driver. Whatever the argument was about, it looked heated. Abby gave him a little wave, but he was too busy with the driver to notice.

On the way to the hotel, we made the decision not to drive back to Iowa today. It was approaching four o'clock, and Abby didn't relish driving six hours at night. I reluctantly agreed, mentally cursing myself for leaving my laptop at home. I was dying to read what was on the disks snuggled safely in my purse.

Hmm, maybe there's an Internet cafe nearby? Or I could use the hotel's business center? Patience was never my strong suit, and I was eager to peruse those disks. Patience was never my strong suit, and I was eager to peruse those disks. Nope, better not Nope, better not. The runes had stressed caution, and maybe now would be a good time to put that into practice. I could wait twenty-four hours.

In my room again, I called Tink for a quick update. Yes, she was having a good time. Yes, Great-Aunt Mary was making her do her lessons-but she was a hard task-master.

That comment caused me to smirk. I'd told Tink that Great-Aunt Mary wasn't a pushover, but she hadn't believed me.

But then Tink spoiled my moment by informing me that Great-Aunt Mary wasn't nearly as ghastly as I'd said. She was actually kind of nice in her own way.

Her reaction didn't stack up to my memories of the woman, but then again, maybe Great-Aunt Mary just didn't like me me.

Tink concluded the conversation by grousing about getting up early with Aunt Dot to commune with the fairies. No, she hadn't seen them, and no, Aunt Dot hadn't been tippling the elderberry wine that early in the morning.

After my phone call to Tink, I felt antsy. I missed her, I missed my pets, and I missed my cottage. Suddenly, I regretted our decision to wait until morning to go home. Maybe a walk would help? I'd never been in St. Louis before and it seemed a shame to return home without at least getting a closer look at the Gateway Arch. I picked up the brochure on the nightstand and read it.

The arch was less than a mile away. A short distance for someone who'd grown up roaming the woods around Abby's farm.

I rapped sharply on the connecting door to Abby's room. When she opened it, I saw she was on the phone.

"Just a minute," she said into the receiver, then mouthed Arthur Arthur to me. to me.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I'm feeling cooped up. I'm going for a walk. Want to come?"

"Thank you, dear, but I'm rather tired. I think I'll rest a bit before dinner."

"Okay, I'm going to walk down to the Gateway Arch. I'll be back soon."

"Be careful."

"I will," I replied, shutting the door. Grabbing my purse, I checked to make sure I had my key card and removed the disks.

"Hmm," I said to myself as I slapped the case on the palm of my hand, wondering where to put them.

My suitcase-it locked.

Confident the disks were safe, I left the hotel and began walking east toward the Mississippi River. I pa.s.sed office buildings and a couple of restaurants before turning to my right and heading south.

The tall buildings along this stretch cast deep shadows on the sidewalk. The air seemed close, and I felt hemmed in. As I got closer to the arch, the office buildings were replaced by a parking ramp. On the next block sat the Old Courthouse, taking up the entire s.p.a.ce. I stopped and admired the fine old building.

In the background, the arch rose above the green dome of the Old Courthouse like a silver rainbow. And atop the white building, a tall flagpole extended high into the cloudless sky. An American flag fluttered from its pinnacle.

Pulling the brochure out of my back pocket, I read about the building.

The Dred Scott trials began in there, and now, two of the historic courtrooms had been restored to hold mock trials. It also contained a museum with artifacts and a theater showing a film about the history of St. Louis. That would be interesting-a nice break from all the mayhem. That would be interesting-a nice break from all the mayhem. I scanned the brochure for the hours. I scanned the brochure for the hours. Dang, it closed at four-thirty. Dang, it closed at four-thirty.

Turning my head, I glanced across the street. A green park, with wide paths and a pool with sprays of water shooting up around a statue of a runner, took up the other block. I switched my gaze to the Old Courthouse-the arch was on the other side, to the east. Did I want to continue walking, or plant myself on one of the benches in the park?

The cool greenness and the sound of splashing water coming from the pool called to me. I voted for the park.