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Ann snatched the lid of her dad’s lockbox open and pawed through it before realizing she needed a more methodological approach. She didn’t know what she was looking for, after all, and needed to slow down.
Her high school graduation picture sat right on top. She wore the maroon robe and mortarboard with a gold tassel. Harmony High’s colors. The next day she had left her life in the tiny town behind her—Derrick, her dad, a future of small-town mundanity—and enrolled in the Denver Police Academy. She moved the picture aside.
Next was a small envelope with the RSVP card for her academy graduation. Her dad had checked yes, but he’d never mailed the card. He also didn’t attend.
Under the card were three Lufthansa ticket stubs for flights to Egypt. One of them was dated the day before her academy graduation. A tingle prickled across her scalp.
Three trips to Egypt.
Four.
The stub for his final trip wouldn’t be in this box. She put them aside.
There were three items left. All were folded sheets of paper. The first one was a grid full of letters. A standard tabula recta he probably used to solve the puzzles in the paper. The second was folded in fourths and proved to be the introductory page of an application for an adoption home study. The organization listed at the top was The Protectorate. Their tagline—“Protecting the needs of children everywhere”—appeared beneath their logo.
Ann narrowed her eyes. An adoption agency? Raghib said they were some kind of organization of assassins or something. Not an adoption agency. Even so, why would her dad have an application for an adoption home study? She turned to the last item. The smaller paper was folded in half. Ann unfolded it to reveal a list of names in her dad’s handwriting. Some were crossed out. Ann only recognized the first name.
Louise Marga. Louise’s name had a question mark next to it. Ann stuffed everything back into the box and shut the lid.
Behind her on top of a filing cabinet, four handheld radios sat in their chargers. She grabbed two of them and turned them on.
“I need to take care of something,” she said to George. She handed him one of the radios. “I’m guessing these have a long range?”
He nodded. “We can chat from opposite ends of town on these puppies.”
“Good. If anything comes up, call me.” She grabbed her coat and headed out into the chilly late-afternoon.
* * *
Ann drove the station vehicle to Louise’s. She took the porch steps two at a time and knocked on the door. Inside, cats wailed.
Louise opened up after Ann’s third set of pounding knocks, a little out of breath. Her long hair was up in a bun, but a few strands hung in her face, and a sheen of sweat dampened her forehead.
“Ann,” Louise said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Last time I was here you said to come back,” Ann said with a smile. “Here I am.”
“You really ought to call first. Common courtesy and all.” Louise opened the door a little further.
Ann stepped inside. A couple of cats scattered. The little house was meat-falling-off-the-bone hot. That would explain the sweat. She unzipped her jacket.
“Tea?” Louise closed the door softly behind her.
“No, thanks.” Ann didn’t want a cup of eau de Louise. Louise put the kettle on anyway. Old ladies and their tea. Ann took off her jacket and glanced around. Muffled music still played behind the bolted door at the entrance to the hallway, and a seemingly different handful of cats lounged around the immediate area.
“Take a seat.” Louise motioned to the little table in the kitchen.
Ann moved toward the chair, tugging at the buttons on her shirt. “You torturing Eskimos in here?”
Louise’s eyebrows shot up. “Torture? Torturing? Oh.” She laughed. “A joke. Funny.” She moved to a wood stove in the corner of the choked living room and opened the hatch. “I haven’t used this thing in years. I forgot it put out so much heat. The furnace is broken. Damn rats.” She jabbed at the glowing logs with a poker.
Ann scanned the adjoining room before taking a seat at the table, taking note of how many cats were in there.
“You have a rat problem with all these cats?”
Louise laughed. “They’re worthless. Completely and totally domesticated. They couldn’t even catch flies if they had honey.” Louise closed the stove and returned to the sink. “So very nice to see you again, dear, but I really wish you would have called. I was in the middle of something.”
“I won’t keep you then,” Ann said. She put the list of names on the table. “I found this in my dad’s locker. Why is your name on this list? Are any of these other names familiar?”
Louise picked it up and examined it. “I’ve never seen these names before, well, except my own.” She smiled. “Your father stopped by a couple months ago—”
“Last time I was here you said it had been a few months, and you thought you saw him at the station or the diner.”
Louise stared at Ann. “Oh, I must have forgotten.” She pointed at her temple. “I’m old and senile.” The kettle whistled. Louise started to stand.
“I’ll get it,” Ann said.
“Thank you, dear. Tea bags are in the cupboard over the sink.”
“What did my dad want to talk to you about?” Ann quietly peeked in each cupboard, unsure of what she might be looking for.
“The Nag Hammadi Library and other secret texts. He knew I studied them,” Louise said. “I was interviewed in the paper for being the oldest resident of Harmony. I mentioned I’d studied comparative mythology.” Her voice held a smile. Her chair creaked. Ann closed the cupboard she was looking in. Louise had turned around. “Over the sink dear. Like I said.”
Ann retrieved the tea bags and glanced in the sink. Two metal bowls sat inside along with an empty can of dog food.
“Where’s your dog?” Ann knew full well Louise didn’t own a dog. She had a million cats though.
Louise looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Dog?”
Ann pointed to the bowls.
“Oh, those . . . To poison the rats. They can’t stay away from that stuff.”
“Your cats don’t mess with it?”
She shook her head, staring straight ahead. “They aren’t allowed in the basement.”
“You seem nervous,” Ann said. She put a teabag in a cup and poured hot water over it.
“You caught me at a bad time is all.” Louise brushed a strand of hair off her forehead again and looked over her shoulder, smiling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” It sounded like a dismissal. Ann placed Louise’s cup on the table in front of her and moved around to the opposite side.
“Is there something else?” Louise’s eyes darted over Ann’s right shoulder. Ann turned and followed her gaze to the bolted door.
“What’s behind that door?” Ann asked.
“The basement.”
“What’s in the basement, besides rats?”
Louise shrugged. “The usual things one places in one’s basement.” Her eyes darted to the door again. “Christmas decorations, old clothes to donate . . .” Her hand shook when she lifted her cup. She set it back down, splashing some tea onto the saucer.
“Mind if I take a look?” Ann asked. She stepped toward the door. Louise glided out of her chair and moved around the table, and somehow reached the door before Ann. She stopped and cocked her head, hand on the knob.
“Do you have a warrant, Detective?” Her face turned smug.
“Should I have a reason to get one?”
Louise retrieved the list from the table and held it out to Ann. “Of course not.” She smiled.
Ann reached for the paper. Louise let it go before Ann grasped it. It drifted to the floor. Ann bent to pick it up, and Louise sucked in a breath.
“The Sa,” she whispered.
Ann tugged her shirt and stood up. Their eyes met.
“How did you come to have the mark on your chest?” Louise asked.
“It’s just a tattoo,” Ann said, buttoning her shirt up to her neck despite the heat in the house. “I should be going—unless there’s anything else you forgot to mention?”
“Yes, sit. Please.” She returned to her seat, and Ann followed suit. “You must keep that mark hidden.”
“Why, exactly?” Ann asked.
“Say what you will, but that mark was not created with needle and ink.” Louise nodded toward Ann’s chest. “If the wrong people find out you have it, you could be killed.”
“Explain, please,” Ann said.
This’ll be rich. End of the world again? Or some other bullshit?
“There are two secret organizations at war,” Louise began in her mystical voice.
Ann interrupted her. “The Messengers of the Light and the Protectorate.” Ann waved a dismissive hand, then leaned forward. “Did you know the Protectorate is actually an adoption agency?”
Are you fucking with the Loon, or what?
“Believe what you must, dear,” Louise said. “But don’t be deceived by outward appearances. There are many secrets hidden within.”
“I really should get going.” Ann got up. “If you remember anything else about my dad. Please give me a call.”
Something clanged in the wall behind Ann. She jumped and peered at the door where the music came from. Did the clang come from there?
“Damn rats,” Louise said with a flip of her hand. “They get inside the walls and make such a racket.”
Ann stayed still and silent, holding Louise’s gaze. The radio on Ann’s belt crackled and squelched. Both she and Louise startled.
“Sheriff Riley to Deputy Logan. Do you read me?”
“Deputy Logan?” Louise raised her eyebrow.
Ann ignored her and depressed the talk button. “I read. This better be important. Over.”
“It is. The results on the crispy stuff came back from the lab. You’re not gonna believe what...”
That was quick.
“Hold on.” Ann went outside onto the front porch. She looked over her shoulder. Louise was there. Ann turned the volume down. “And?”
“They said the results are inconclusive. The report has all these calculations and percentages and stuff, but the lab tech wrote some notes. She said it closely resembles—” Silence. “Do you copy?”
“No, say it again. Keep the button pressed down.”
“Sorry. My hands are big and this button is tiny. The lab tech said it closely resembles human umbilical cord.”