"I'll bet that wasn't all he was interested in," Eleanor added with raised eyebrows. "I'm delighted. It's time you had some fun."
"We're going to dinner again tonight. Alva knows this wonderful place in Virginia, and we're going to make a real evening of it. I feel like my first date."
She laughed, and Eleanor noticed that she looked like a teenager.
"I'm glad to know that having my apartment and my office trashed served some purpose. Do you mind if I ask what Rousel wanted to know about me?"
Betty's expression sobered, and Eleanor saw a cautious light touch her eyes. "Not really that much. He asked about your work. He wanted to know about your background. I couldn't help him much with that. I never realized it until he started asking questions, but I don't know anything about you, Eleanor. You grew up in Tennessee, and that's about the extent of it."
"You knew I was married," Eleanor said. Discomfort made her tuck her hands into the pockets of her skirt.
"Yes, you mentioned that. A bad marriage, as I recall."
"A fatal marriage. My husband was killed." Eleanor wasn't sure if she said that to test her own reactions or Betty's.
Remembrance lightened Betty's expression. "Now I remember. Car wreck in the mountains. I thought it was interesting that you grew up in the Smokies and lived in the Rockies and finally ended up in Washington."
"What else did Rousel ask?"
"Alva wanted to know if you were maintaining an active social life and— " she lifted both hands "— if you were an animal nut. I told him no to both questions. He did imply that he thought you'd been mixed up in some break-in at a lab, but I set him straight on that. I've never met a more law-abiding person, I told him that very clearly."
"Thanks," Eleanor said. She felt a slight turbulence in her stomach. At least Rousel hadn't gone into the sordid details of her past with Carter.
"What was that you said to me the other day about a visit from your dead husband?" Betty straightened a stack of books on her desk. "You sounded frightened."
"Someone in the parking garage startled me. I had this insane feeling that it was Carter, my ex. He talked like him, he acted like him. I must have been delirious. Carter's been dead nine years. It was just my imagination." Now Eleanor regretted blurting out that tidbit the day before, especially in view of the new relationship between Betty and Alva Rousel.
"Are you sure?" Betty probed.
"Yes, you can tell Mr. Rousel that I thought I saw a ghost, but it must have been my poor eyesight or an overactive imagination." She smiled. "Just tell Mr. Rousel that contrary to popular belief, the past is dead and buried."
Betty's brow furrowed. "Whatever that means."
"And have a wonderful evening. I'd better get busy on my own work, or you'll surely snatch that grant from under my nose."
Eleanor spent the rest of the day sorting through her office and rearranging the shelves. Although there were several expensive ceramic pieces, nothing of value appeared to be missing. She called campus security to check on the progress of the investigation, but they had no news for her. The intruder had worn gloves of some type. Without her computer it was difficult to actually work, so she finished the cleanup and prepared to go home.
The event with Joey Knight continued to nag at her. She'd never suspected the young man would have a personal interest in her. She sighed. There were times when even with the best intentions, she took the wrong course of action.
With all of the unpleasant happenings, it was good to see Betty so happy. In the two years they'd known each other, Betty had often commented on her desire for a serious relationship. Now it looked as if that wish might be coming true.
And what of her own romantic desires? The memory of Peter's concern was like an intimacy, very delicate and treasured. In that moment of magic, much had changed between them. Now the future depended on her ability to trust him enough to tell the whole truth. Trust No One was a motto she'd have to learn to discard.
She walked slowly to the parking lot, half expecting to run into an apologetic Joey. The kid was confused, and she felt a spark of guilt. Everyone but herself had seen it coming. She'd allowed the young man to spend extra time with her. She'd never realized he was developing a painful and unresolvable crush. I should have been more observant, she thought as she drove home.
To her delight, there were three empty parking spaces on the curb. No garage scenes for her. She whipped into one and hurried into the building.
"Eleanor!" Wessy called to her when she stopped at the desk to check her mail. "Come here." He motioned her into a small alcove near the door, then glanced furtively around the lobby to make sure no one could hear them.
"What is it?" she asked, an uneasy feeling creeping over her skin.
"Dr. Curry called and left a message. He didn't want anyone to hear it but you."
Eleanor's suspicions grew. Peter would never give an important message to Wessy. He didn't trust the doorman.
"When did he call?" Eleanor asked.
"About ten minutes ago. He must have missed you at the university. But he said it was urgent. He said that Magdalena Caruso had been attacked and injured. He wanted you to come to her house immediately."
"Are you sure?" Eleanor clutched her purse. Magdalena's house was across town.
"Positive. He said it was urgent."
"I'd better call," Eleanor said, hurrying to the telephone on the desk. She dumped her purse's contents onto the marble countertop and looked until she found the number Magdalena had written out for her. She dialed and got a busy signal. After three tries, she called an operator.
"The number is out of service," the operator said.
"Can you tell me why?"
"I'm sorry, but there's no way for me to tell."
"Thanks." She hung up, reassembled her purse and started out the front door.
"Be careful," Wessy called after her.
"I have to be," Eleanor shot back. She rushed back into the street, aware that the night was turning bitter once again. Even the Santa walking down the street had a sinister appearance. Everything that had once been familiar now seemed filled with fear.
* * *
THE FOUR PATROL CARS parked outside Magdalena's small house, blue lights still flashing, made Eleanor doubly upset. A burly patrolman stopped her at the door, but Peter soon persuaded him to let her inside.
"Magdalena was asking for you," Peter explained. "She was almost in shock when I found her."
"Wessy said for me to come right away." She looked at him in bewilderment. "I tried to call, but the phone was out of service."
"The attacker jerked it from the wall. I had to go next door to call you. I had no choice but to leave the message with Wessy."
The house was completely wrecked. Broken china was all over the floor, and the teapot had been smashed against the hearth. Magdalena had enjoyed that pot. Eleanor felt a lump swelling in her throat.
"How is she?" she whispered.
"The paramedics are with her. They didn't want to move her," Peter said. "Hey— " he gave her a smile "— it isn't going to be fatal. I think I'm more worried about you."
The first tear slipped down Eleanor's face. "Are you sure she's okay?"
"A hundred percent. She's hurt, but not too bad. She's a tough old lady. Remember?"
"I feel so responsible," Eleanor said. "Look at this place. And what about the cats?"
"They escaped into the backyard. I think I've rounded up most of them in the kitchen, but only Magdalena will be able to tell. There are over two dozen. All spayed and neutered." He wiped the tear from Eleanor's cheek. "She's a remarkable lady."
"I know," Eleanor said. "We have to stop all of this. I have to tell you something really important. About the parking garage. About me."
"It can wait until we get home," he said. "You're upset and worried, and now isn't the time." She looked on the verge of snapping. As much as he wanted to hear what she had to say, it would have to wait.
"Why was Magdalena
attacked?" Eleanor asked.
"We haven't been able to discover a reason. Why don't we go talk to her?" He put his arm around her back for support and led her to the door.
Eleanor cautiously approached the bedroom. Magdalena was sitting propped up in bed, two paramedics in attendance. Her face was wan, but she smiled warmly at Eleanor. "Entrez, my half-molded young radical. I'm slightly battered but not really harmed."
"What happened?" Eleanor asked as she and Peter slipped into the room.
"I was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for my furry friends, when I heard something in the living room." She waved the paramedic away when he tried to slip a blood pressure cuff onto her arm. "I thought it was one of the cats, roaming around for his spot to sleep, but it didn't sound like a cat. Felines are so careful. They can walk through an entire collection of glass and never budge a piece, unless they want to make a mess. I knew it wasn't a cat, because I heard something break."
"Her pulse is normal, no sign of concussion," the paramedic said into his radio. "Bruises, cuts, and a large lump on her head from the blow, but no serious injury."
"Ten four," the answer crackled back. "Since she refuses transfer to a hospital, bring yourselves home."
"Ten four and out," the paramedic responded.
"Young man, I'm trying to tell these people what happened," Magdalena said huffily.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered, repacking his black case as he talked.
"I keep several weapons in the house, and I found my little .22 pistol in the kitchen drawer. I know it isn't the most effective weapon in the world, but it would discourage a burglar, wouldn't it?" She didn't wait for an answer.
Eleanor took a seat on the bed. There was a goose egg-sized lump on the side of Magdalena's forehead, but other than that, she seemed to enjoy being the center of attention.
"I took my pistol and started into the living room. Then wham! The kitchen door flew right into me and knocked me back. Then this big man rushed through. I'd fallen to the floor, and he raised his arm. I can't remember what he was holding, some trophy or something, and he crashed it down on my head. That was it. I didn't have time to fire a single shot. And when I came to, I was still lying on the kitchen floor and the back door was open. All of the cats were milling around, and I knew I had to get up and close the door before they got out into the street."
"The cats are fine," Eleanor reassured her. "Peter put them in the kitchen. He thinks he's got them all, but he needs you for a head count when you feel better."
"I'd feel better if I could get that guy who hit me. Is anything missing?"
Eleanor shook her head. "I can't really tell, but it looks more like vandalism than burglary. My apartment and my office have both been broken into and ransacked."
"My dear!" For the first time Magdalena looked as if she were taking the break-in to heart. "What's going on?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Eleanor said. "Did you get a look at the man?"
"The police have questioned me over and over again. He was tall, big shoulders, dark suit."
"That's it?" Eleanor couldn't hide her disappointment.
"There was something else. He said the strangest thing to me. It doesn't make a bit of sense, even though I remember it clearly."
"What?" Peter asked.
"He said, 'Tell my wife she's going to die.' I was almost unconscious, but I remember the words very clearly. It was almost as if he'd broken in here to deliver that message. But there's not a soul I can tell that message to, since I know all of my married friends' husbands." She looked at Peter. "It was so strange. Just the memory makes my skin crawl. His eyes. I seem to remember the way his eyes were focused on me. 'Tell my wife she's going to die.' Terrible!"
Chapter Ten
In the floating light of passing cars, Peter examined Eleanor's face. She hadn't spoken a word since they left Magdalena's house. The strange and threatening message delivered by the older woman had had a paralyzing effect on her.
A million questions rose in his mind, but he kept his mouth closed. What was her involvement? He was beginning to strongly doubt that she knew anything about the lab break-in, Magdalena, Evans or anything else.
On the spur of the moment, he decided a simple test was in order.
"How about a moonlight drive?"
"What?" She turned to him, her ivory skin luminous in the passing headlights of the cars.
"I said how about a drive along the river? I know a nice, quiet place where we can talk. You said you had something to tell me."
"A drive would be fine." She looked away from him, lost in her own thoughts again.
"Pier 27 has a wonderful view of the city from the river. I have a friend with a houseboat."
"That's nice. I've never been on the river." She spoke like an automaton.
"Pier 27 is a great place." He was pushing her to make the connection.
She looked at him. "Then let's go."
Her reaction was completely innocent. He turned toward the river, hoping that he wasn't making a serious miscalculation. He wanted to check out the AFA rally. He'd wanted to find a branch of that organization for a long time. The AFA was intensely secret, and for good cause. Their activities had devastated a number of different research groups. If Eleanor was as innocent as she pretended, she was the perfect spy to send inside. The flyer was essentially an invitation. They'd be waiting, watching. Peter's spine tingled. He couldn't go because he might be recognized; Magdalena had almost remembered. But Eleanor was perfect.
"Peter, if a woman started seeing her dead ex-husband behind every bush and trash can, would you say that she might be having a nervous breakdown?"
Eleanor's question drew him from the tangle of his own thoughts. She was troubled; he hadn't realized the extent. "I don't know, Eleanor." He smiled at her, reaching over and pulling her against him. "I think you need a little species-to-species comforting."
In the darkness she smiled for the first time. "I think I do, too. But it isn't going to make what's happening around me go away. Today I called the newspaper and the police in Colorado. I had to ask them to make certain that Carter was dead."
Peter's shock was evident in the way he turned to face her, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Why?"
"They assured me he was dead. Absolutely dead." Her voice began to tremble. "Even Carter's best friend believes he's dead."
"And you don't?"
"I did. Until he appeared in the apartment building parking garage."
"What are you saying?" He swerved to miss a car that had slowed.
"He was waiting for me. He came out of the shadows and he threatened me. He said he wasn't dead and that I had something he wanted."
"So that's why you freaked out and nearly ran over Joey." Understanding touched his face. His arm around her tightened slightly, giving a squeeze of reassurance. "Why didn't you say something before?"
Eleanor shook her head. "Because it sounded so crazy. I mean, listen to the things I've told you. Everything I say reverts to Carter. I sound obsessed. Even to myself. And now I'm claiming to see a dead man in a parking garage. That sounds crazy, even to me."
Peter wasn't certain what he thought, but he was certain how he felt. Eleanor Duncan was one of the sanest people he'd ever met.
"I don't think for a minute that you have a crazy bone in your body."
"That business with Magdalena. I think it was Carter, and I think the message was meant for me. He intends to kill me."
Peter pulled his car to the side of the road and cut the engine. Eleanor's fears were too big, too intense. He had to do something to alleviate her suffering. For the moment Pier 27 was forgotten.
"Why, Eleanor? Why would Carter want to do anything to hurt you? Why after nine years?"
"I've asked myself that question a million times."
"And?"
"And I get the same answer. I don't know. In the garage he said I'd taken something and he wanted it back."
"A deed, something like that?
"
Eleanor shook her head. Peter's arm was the only comfort she had. Instead of talking, she wanted to burrow against his chest and rest. "There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I've racked my brain."
Peter turned so that he could hold her in both arms. For a moment he cradled her against his chest. If this was the secret she'd been hiding, it certainly wasn't what he'd expected.
"If it isn't Carter, can you think of anyone who might want to impersonate him?"
"No," Eleanor whispered. "I even called his best friend. He thinks Carter is dead. I'm the only one with visions and doubts." She looked up at him. "I'm beginning to think I'm crazy."
"You're a long way from crazy, but the things that are happening around you are enough to make you question your sanity," he said angrily. "And I haven't been the greatest help!"
The night seemed to be closing in around her, and she cast a furtive glance out the window. "It isn't my imagination. He's real!"
"When I was looking around your car after I found you so scared in the garage, the only thing I found was a cigarette stub," Peter said.
"Dunhill, right?" Eleanor asked. There was a hopeless tone in her voice.
When Peter didn't answer she turned to him. "It was Dunhill, wasn't it?"
He nodded. "You really aren't part of the movement that stole those cats, are you?"
She drew back from him. "Of course not." Her eyes widened. "But you never really believed me, did you?"
"I did and I didn't. That isn't important now. Listen, we'll have to resolve this business about your dead husband, but first I need your help. There's a meeting at Pier 27. I'd like you to go." He smiled at her, bending to kiss her forehead. Maybe his scheme would help, after all. There was no telling who might show up for the get-together. Maybe even the person who was trying to drive her crazy.
"What kind of help?"
"We have to get to the bottom of all of this, and I have a really sneaky feeling that once we find out who broke into that lab, we'll find out why your 'dead' husband is wandering around threatening people."
"Do you really think so?" Eleanor's face brightened. "I've tried to make a connection between all of this and Familiar, but so far I haven't been able to."
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