Seventeen

The intruder was gone.

But so was Justine’s computer and most of her files.

“Now let me get this straight,” Den said, as he paced the floor of the library, with the head of L’Ombragé security standing at the corner of the desk, pale, bereft, embarrassed. “You two are cleaning. You went down the hall to empty trash and saw a suspicious person coming up the stairwell. You”—he lifted his chin toward Kate—“decided to go down the elevator to try to catch her. And Charlotte ran down the stairs. After chatting with the doorman and security officer, you both came back up, planning to come in through the front door, and it was open. Open,” he repeated. He turned to face the head of security.

“This has never happened before. I don’t know how this happened.” The man had said this several times.

“And the only thing missing is Justine’s computer and file folders.”

“As far as I can tell,” I said. “I’ve not done a complete inventory of the place. So I have no idea if anything else is missing. But the boxes and bags of clothes we’ve been packing are still there. Everything in the bedroom and kitchen looks untouched.”

“We’re going to need to get forensics in here,” Den said. “I understand you’re staying here?”

“Yes, in this room,” I replied.

“You’ll need to find another place to stay for a day or so.”

I’d not been back to Cloister Island since Justine’s death, and it seemed like a world away, not just a ferry ride. A simple world, where some days I’d take a break from my work and walk down to Sol’s for lunch, stopping in to see my grandmother at her antique shop. Those images poked at me. That was then; this was now.

“You could stay with me,” Kate said. “I’ve cancelled my dinner engagement.”

“Let me think about it.” Logically, I knew I should feel unsafe and frightened and want to get out. But instead, I was pissed. Someone was messing with me. Worse, I was certain this all linked back to Justine’s killer. What was going on?

“I think it would be best,” Den said. Then his phone buzzed. He answered and said, “Send them up.”

I gathered that forensics was here. I drew in air. “Can I get my laptop?”

“Sorry,” Den said. “You’ll get access to it in a day or so.”

A crew of about three people entered the apartment. They wore matching uniforms.

“Get your things and come with me,” Kate said.

“I really don’t want to leave,” I said.

“Aren’t you afraid to stay here?” she asked.

Right then, I couldn’t feel anything but anger. Moving out of Justine’s apartment felt like giving up. Maybe it was stupid. “I think the intruder got what they came for. They probably won’t be back.”

“If they come back, we’ll be ready for them,” the security guy said. “We’ll watch this place. Believe me. We don’t wish to inconvenience you, Miss Donovan. Please stay here at L’Ombragé. We have a few apartments available for guests. One studio you might find convenient.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Still, we’ve not caught the woman … you know … the Harlow look-alike,” Kate said. “This is starting to creep me out. I don’t feel right about you being alone.” She scrutinized me. “But I can see you’ve made up your mind. I suppose I can stay with you.”

Den was otherwise engaged, speaking with the forensics team, which appeared incongruous with the decor. Suddenly the elegant library, my hideaway from the world, had been invaded by cops and shiny-shoed security people and management. My eyes traveled to the stained glass window. The rose.

I needed a strategy. I needed to figure out what was going on. I had no idea where to begin. My words swirled incomprehensibly. I longed for clarity, but I sensed the foggy mind of my Lyme-diseased self taking over. Or was it just the stress of the moment? I tried to will it off. Instead, I found my way to the kitchen, poured myself some water, and sat down.

I reached for the pen and paper Justine had kept on the counter and doodled. Something solid for my fingers to do while my brain attempted to make sense of things.

“There’s nothing on that computer,” I said to Kate as she came up alongside me. “I mean, I read everything. There’s nothing that could possibly be of any value to anybody.”

“What about in her file cabinets?”

“No Harlow folders. I tried to make sense of what was there. But Justine had her own filing system. I’d just started going through each folder again before you came today. I figured it was the only way.”

“Do you think it all has to do with her murder?” Kate asked after sitting down across the desk from me.

“Yes,” I said. “The Harlow look-alike … what was she doing here?”

“A distraction. Obviously she’s working with someone. The person who took Justine’s computer.”

I nodded. “Yes, but she looked as if she was looking for something or someone. And how did she know we were going to be in the hallway then? It doesn’t seem as if she was merely a distraction for us. There’s something more going on there.”

“We need to find her,” Den said from the doorway. “I agree. Something more is going on with the look-alike. She might be the key to the whole case.”

I doodled. Fingers pushed the pen. Roses. Leaves. Jagged little thorns.