78 Keys (11 page)

I looked at the scrapbook still open in front of her. The scrapbook was exactly what the killer was looking for. And it was sitting right in front of us. There were still several pages to discuss, and Laura’s energy was slipping away from her. Her injuries, compounded by the emotions the scrapbook unearthed, were taking their toll.

“Let’s continue through the rest of the book. What does it contain?” I reached to turn the page. Laura rested her hand on my forearm. I loved the feel of it there. She seemed to note the effect of our touching and moved her hand onto the scrapbook.

“There’s nothing more of importance in there. Just clippings recording Elizabeth’s rise from attorney, to senator, her marriage, and her plans to run for president. Nothing more to look at.” She closed the scrapbook and left her hand on the cover, as if protecting it from my prying. She didn’t leave me any time to wonder about that. “We have to get me out of here. They won’t stop at killing innocent security guards. I have to go somewhere they won’t suspect, with someone they’ve never associated me with.” She looked into my eyes. “I’m hoping that someone will be you, Dev.”

She had me, and somehow, she knew it. I was helpless to turn her down. Something between us was shifting. We both felt it, but in her injured state, I’m sure our nascent attraction was more confusing for her than it was for me. “Helping you is why I’m here.”

There were other things that were troubling me. Confessing my recent meeting with Elizabeth Stratton was only one of my conundrums. I was also worried about how I’d handle the two of them simultaneously. Was that possible to do safely? I shook off my confusion and concentrated on our immediate situation. “What do you have in mind?”

“I have to get past that guard out there. Then we need to hide the scrapbook somewhere while we figure out what to do.” She was fidgeting with her IV tube, then she held up her hand and looked at me expectantly.

I backed away and shook my head. “What…what do you want me to do?”

She was grinning a little, an adorable little grin. “C’mon, you can do it, Dev. Millions of people pull out IVs every day. It can’t be too hard, can it?’

“But I’m not a medical professional. I’m a third grade school teacher turned tarot reader. Blood upsets me.” I had backed myself into the wall and was considering hiding myself in the closet until she got the needle out herself.

“Well, you can’t expect me to do it. It’s too personal. The sight of my own blood makes me faint, and I’m already in a weakened state.” Her face took on a pleading look that I knew had the capacity to rule my life. “Please, Dev? You’re the only one who can do this for me.” She lifted her hand a little higher.

“Gevalt,”
I said and stepped to the bed. “I hope you’re ready to help me off the floor when I keel over.”

“You won’t keel. Just study which direction it enters my hand and pull it out in the opposite direction. How hard can it be?”

“Yeah, but I can’t forget that it’s in your vein. And your vein contains blood. Lots of blood.” Nevertheless, I cupped her right hand in my left and studied the needle. Despite the stress of the moment, I was thrilled to have her hand in mine. Carefully, I peeled off the tape that held the needle in place. I looked into her face, and despite the bandages, she appeared open and receptive to me. Trusting even. I couldn’t let her down.

I calmed my panicked breathing, took a firm hold of the needle with my thumb and forefinger, and said, “Are you ready for this?”

“Yes,” she said and looked at the wall.

I started silently counting my breaths. One. Two. Three, and I jerked the needle away from her hand.

“Ow!” she squeaked. “That hurt. That hurt way more than it should have.” We looked at the back of her hand. Blood oozed over it, but it wasn’t spurting. For that, I was thankful. “Get that towel over there, and wrap my hand in it. Ow. Shit.”

I wrapped the towel around her hand. “Be sure to press on the puncture. That will stop the bleeding.” That was as much as I knew about first aid.

“Damn, that hurt. Not your fault, though.” She was rocking over her cradled hand.

I glanced at the door, worried a nurse would enter to investigate our noise, but we must have been quiet enough. “Look, we have to get you dressed. Did your partner bring you any clean clothes?”

“My partner? I don’t have— Wait, you must be talking about Margaret. She brought my clothes.”

“Earlier today the nurse told me your partner had been here. Said she had red hair.”

“Margaret is my best friend. We have an agreement. If either one of us lands in the hospital, we claim the other one is her partner. We trust each other to make decisions, plus, neither one of us wants our parents to come swooping in. That would be an even worse fate.”

“So you have no partner?” I was embarrassed by the hope in my voice.

She eyed me for a moment then smiled, “Uh, no S.O. at the present.” Her smile disappeared, and she was back to the seriousness of our situation. “Margaret left a bag of clothes in the closet. Get it out for me, would you?”

A gym bag rested on the floor of the closet. I retrieved it and placed it on her bed.

She stared at the bag’s zipper because her cast on one hand and the towel wrapped around the other made it impossible for her to manage.

“Oh, let me do that.” I worked the reluctant zipper open and fished around in the bag. I pulled out a pair of sweats, a warm hoodie, T-shirt, socks, sneakers, and then I coughed.

She looked at what I was holding. “Do you collect anything, Dev?”

“Uh, sure, I collect mystical books and artifacts. Why?” I was still looking at the items in my hands: an ensemble of silk underpants and bra that must have set Laura back at least five hundred dollars.

“Well, besides scrapbooks, I collect lingerie. Put the bra back, please. I can’t manage it tonight, and I’m not about to ask for help with that.”

That was disappointing and a relief at the same time. “Right, nobody should put on a bra at two a.m.,” I said and regretted saying it. “Can you manage the rest? I’ll turn around and give you space.”

“Fine. Be patient. This will take a while. I’m still a little woozy. A lot woozy, actually.” Her bedclothes rustled. She groaned a few times, but I kept my back turned. Laura Bishop seemed to be the kind of woman who only asked for help when things were dire. “It’s my shoes,” she said with an impatient huff. “I just can’t manage them.”

I whisked around the bed, squatted down, wedged her socked feet into the sneakers, and tied the laces. When I stood, our faces were too close. Without thinking, I touched the bandage on her cheek. It had a small fleck of blood seeping through. I inspected it and decided it was not fresh, so the I carved into her cheek wasn’t still bleeding. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Laura. So sorry.”

For a moment, her face crumpled, revealing both grief and fear. The moment passed almost as soon as it started. She drew herself up and looked into my eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you for, well, everything.” Her eyes were tearing. She didn’t put her hands on me, but she leaned her head into my shoulder as if to gain strength and comfort. Then she straightened. “How do we get past that guard? Any ideas?”

“Yeah, actually, I have an idea. Get back into bed and cover up to your neck. Look tired, asleep even.”

“That won’t be hard,” she said and crawled under the covers.

I waited by the room door until she was in position and nodded at me. I made a silent wave and opened the door so the guard could see Laura. “Okay, Ms. Bishop,” I said, trying to keep my voice relaxed. “I’ll inform everyone at the office that we’ll start back to work on Thursday. Good thing too. This late working session has taken a toll on both of us.”

“Good night, then,” Laura said in an exhausted voice.

I shut the door and looked at the police officer guarding her room. He was well equipped with a gun and club hitched to his belt.

“She’s the manic boss from hell,” I said. “She makes me work here till all hours of the morning just to close the office for a few days.” I noticed the shadows under the officer’s eyes. “I bet you feel the same way about your higher-ups, huh?”

“Got that right, lady. But it’s my job to protect and serve, so here I sit.” The coffee in his Styrofoam cup had long ago stopped steaming and was even leaving a ring on the inside. A testament to its vile taste and age.

“Well, thanks for the work, Officer. Hopefully, we won’t see each other again.”

He chuckled, lifted his bent cup to me, and said, “I’ll drink to that.” He took a sip and winced.

I laughed. “Please don’t. That’s above and beyond the call.” I walked to the elevator, pressed the down button, and waited. When the elevator door opened, I stepped inside, watched the door close, and took a peek at the police officer who had already forgotten about me. I rode the elevator to the lobby level, stepped out, allowed the door to close behind me, and waited again. Then I pressed the up button, got back on the next elevator, and rode back to Laura’s floor.

When the door opened, I rushed to the officer, who had his eyes closed and head leaning against the wall. “Officer, pardon me for bothering you again.” I infused my voice with more than a hint of breathy panic.

“What is it, lady? You worked so late you can’t remember where you put your car?” He grinned at me.

“Oh gosh, no. I wish that were the case. There were two guys. Downstairs. In the lobby. They got on the elevator.”

“Uh-huh. And you need to tell me this, why?” Perfect, he was getting annoyed.

“Well, they had shaved heads. They looked kinda like the guy that attacked my boss, Ms. Bishop.” He was watching me closely now.

“Explain, ma’am.”

“They were just…creepy. I can’t explain it, but I know bad news when I see it, Officer.” I was enjoying the bimbo tone of voice I was using. He appeared to respond to the helpless girly act. “They had scary tattoos too. And they got in the elevator next to mine. I don’t know what floor they went to, but they looked like trouble to me. Do you think you could check them out? I don’t want to leave until I know Ms. Bishop is completely safe. I’m a loyal employee, you know.”

“I’m sure you are, ma’am. But I shouldn’t leave this hallway.” He had already set his cup of caffeine swill on the floor and now stood.

“I’ll stay right here. And if a nurse comes by, I’ll get her to stick around too. Okay? Please? Just check for me, or I’ll never get any sleep tonight.” I was happy nobody saw me bat my eyes at him. It was a mortifying moment.

“Okay, I’ll check the next few floors down. That’s about how long I can stay away from my post. If anything happens, yell…loud. Got it?”

“Loud. Yeah, I got it.” I plopped myself into his chair and watched him race to the stairs. I didn’t expect that. I had assumed he’d use the elevator.

“Oh crap.” I stepped to Laura’s door, pushed it open to find her waiting right next to it, her shoulder propped against the wall. “Let’s move. Quick.” I kept my arm around her waist as we scurried to the elevator. The stairs were out as an escape route.

I pressed the down button then scanned Laura’s body. “Where’s the scrapbook and voice recorder?”

“I thought you had them,” she said.

“Shit. Wait here. Hold the door when it opens.”

“Oh, grab my bag too. The orange one in the closet. It has my wallet.”

I ran back to her room, grabbed the scrapbook and recorder off the bed table, and dumped them in the backpack I’d carried the scrapbook in initially. I found her orange cloth bag in the closet. I ran back to the elevator. Laura was waiting inside, so weakened she could barely hold the door open.

“Press P-Three, Laura. That’s where I’m parked.”

She pressed the proper button then leaned into the elevator wall. Her face was ashen. “I haven’t taken any oral painkillers, so when the stuff in my veins wears off, I’ll be in deep trouble.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a veritable cornucopia of goodies in my medicine cabinet. Nothing as good as the intravenous stuff, but it will take the edge off. We need you less drugged anyhow.” I moved next to her and again wrapped my arm around her waist. She leaned into me. It felt right. We rode the rest of the way down in silence.

When the elevator door slid open, I held my hand up to forestall Laura. Edging my head out the door, I scanned the parking garage for signs of movement. My dark blue Lexus was parked only a few spaces from the elevator, so it wouldn’t take but a moment to reach the car. The garage looked deserted except for a few lone vehicles. Most of the spaces were empty.

“Okay, it looks safe,” I said. “Let’s move to that blue Lexus over there.” We walked quickly to my car while casting looks around to check for anyone following us.

“That cop is going to go all batshit when he finds out I’ve left, Dev. That will be any minute now,” Laura said as we settled into the car.

“Worry not. We’ll be out of here in a few more minutes.” I started the car and eased out of the parking space. As we moved up through the next few floors, we didn’t see any movement. Given it was almost three a.m., that wasn’t surprising. The poor shmoe who worked the ticket booth when I paid to exit the garage only wanted to get back to his iPod and graphic novel. He barely looked at us.

The quiet Lexus took us down First Hill to downtown Seattle. The dripping streets were deserted with the exception of the building doorways being used as sleeping dorms for the city’s homeless population. I thought about the woman I’d encountered earlier outside Laura’s building and hoped the two dollars I’d given her to avoid seeing her underwear had bought her some solace that wet night. Probably not.

“Why a scrapbook, Laura?”

She jumped at the sound of my voice. She’d already been dozing off. “What? I don’t get your question.” Her voice had grown gruff with fatigue.

“Why did you put all those things chronicling your relationship with Stratton into a scrapbook? I saw dozens of other scrapbooks on your bookshelf when I went to get the Stratton one. I know you collect underwear, but that’s not the only thing you collect, is it?”

She laid her head back on the seat. “No, it’s not. My other hobby, besides reading about the law, is scrapbooking. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.” She was holding her splinted arm, and I knew she was in pain. I wanted to take her mind off it.