CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

 

 

Sylvia looked at Henry and cocked her head to the side. It was obvious to her that he was deep in thought. She didn't understand why he suddenly felt like he had to sit down.

"Are you okay? Would you like a drink?" she asked.

"I am fine, thank you, and yes, please," Henry said, still looking at the back of Bobby's card and the business card that Sylvia had just handed him. He knew he didn't want to explain what he was thinking. The address would have seemed impossible were it not for his closet, which he had grown to accept. He couldn't imagine being able to explain it to Sylvia.

The distinctive sound of ice cubes landing in fine crystal went unnoticed by Henry. Sylvia poured a Scotch rocks; she hadn't asked what he wanted because he looked lost in the same place her father went just before his mind unraveled a mystery. She had seen it on her father's face many times and knew it was best not to break his train of thought. With the grace of a cat, she set the drink on a coaster in front of Henry.

Henry was staring at the bookshelves behind the desk, but it looked like he was seeing past them and off into the horizon. Off to the ends of the earth for all she knew. A minute passed. Henry slowly reached out, slowly picked up the Scotch, and took a sip. He didn't change his stare but said, "Thanks; this is excellent."

Sylvia whispered, "You're welcome." She returned to the desk and watched him, completely intrigued by his motionlessness. It was as if she stared into his eyes hard enough, she might see what he was thinking.

The deafening silence was shattered when Henry asked, "May I see your father's lab?"

"Sure." Sylvia said, startled at the suddenness of his question. She stood up, grabbed her drink, and headed into the hall. Henry followed, taking sips of his drink as he walked. They crossed the entryway and headed down a hall that was the mirror image of the one they had just left. Henry was no longer paying attention to the art. Before they got to the end, Sylvia opened the last door on the left, and Henry followed her through it.

The room was long and rectangular. They passed through it to a door at the far end. The door led to a spiral staircase that headed down. Though Henry was still deep in thought, he did notice that they seemed to be going down more than just one story. It felt like two or three. They had passed a small door and continued on until they arrived at a heavy wooden door. Sylvia lifted the latch and pushed the door open. The hallway was made entirely of stone and felt like a dungeon, though it was lit with modern lighting. Henry felt he should be carrying a torch.

Sylvia paused by the door at the end of the hall. "I haven't been down here since the explosion. If you don't mind, I'll stay outside." She leaned down and pulled a flashlight out of a little wooden box sitting by the door. She handed it to Henry.

"I understand," he said, clicking on the light. Henry opened the door and walked into the lab. The odor of the fire lingered, but it wasn't the same as his office. It was more of a sulfur smell. The room was large and circular in shape with a very high domed ceiling. It looked like there had been three workstations around a center area where there must have been something massive. All that remained now was a crater. The edges of the room had piles of equipment, glass, and wood that had been blasted from the center. Large pieces of the ceiling lay on the floor. The basic structure still seemed sound, but the lab and its contents had been turned into a pile of rubble.

Henry walked all the way around the room. He didn't see anything helpful. Returning to Sylvia, he turned off the flashlight and put it back in the box. He wanted to ask her something, but he wasn't sure how to broach the subject. He already knew that Sylvia wasn't tuned into her father's work, but he had a theory, a crazy theory, so he decided to ease into the question.

"Was your father alone when the accident happened?"

Sylvia said, "Yes, he always worked alone."

"Were you home when it happened?" Henry asked, lowering his voice slightly.

"I was shopping at Macy's when Winston called the store and told me what had happened."

"Winston?" Henry asked.

"He manages the house; you met him earlier," she said and gave a heavy sigh as she remembered getting the call.

"Winston found the body, I mean, er, your father?" Henry asked, stumbling a bit with his words. That was the question he wanted to ask but had hoped to be able to do it more delicately.

"We never found a body. Everything was destroyed in the explosion. He was the first one down here, if that is what you mean."

"And you don't have any idea what your father was working on?" Henry asked, though he knew the answer.

"No idea at all."

Henry had his answer. A theory was beginning to form, but he was a long way from figuring out where to find the next clue. He needed to get the journal to the district attorney and find the key that would unravel its contents. He was sure something in this house would point him in the right direction. In his mind, there was only one question: would he be able to spot it? He decided to head back to Mr. Culberson's office and take a closer look at the books. Every clue had been subtle; it seemed reasonable that trend would continue. He would need to talk to Winston.