Again Eureka lowered herself to the floor. Her fingers found their way across her chest intuitively, making the sign of the cross. She pressed her hands together and bowed her head in a silent prayer to Saint Francis, asking for serenity on the old woman’s behalf. She kept her head bowed and her eyes closed until she sensed that her prayer had left the room and was on its way into the atmosphere. She hoped it made it to its destination.
What would become of Madame Blavatsky? Eureka had no way of knowing who would find the woman next, whether she had friends or family nearby. As her mind reeled around the simplest possibilities of getting Madame Blavatsky help, she imagined terrifying conversations with the sheriff. Her chest tightened. It wouldn’t bring the old woman back to life if Eureka embroiled herself in a criminal investigation. Still, she had to find some way to let the police know.
She gazed around the room, despondent—and then she had an idea.
Back on the landing she had passed a commercial fire alarm, probably installed before the building became a residence. Eureka stood and stepped around the pool of blood, sliding a little bit as she crossed the door. She regained her balance and tugged the sleeve of her tracksuit over her hand to avoid leaving fingerprints. She reached for the red hatch and pulled the metal handle down.
The alarm was instantaneous, earsplitting, almost comically loud. Eureka buried her head between her shoulders and started toward the exit. Before she left, she gazed into the room once more at Madame Blavatsky. She wanted to say she was sorry.
Polaris was perched on the woman’s shredded chest, pecking lightly where her heart had once beat. He seemed phosphorescent in the candlelight. When he noticed Eureka watching, he raised his head. His black eyes gleamed demonically. He hissed at her, then squawked once, so shrilly it pierced the sound of the fire alarm.
Eureka jumped, then spun around. She ran the rest of the way down the stairs. She didn’t stop until she’d passed through Madame Blavatsky’s atelier, through the red-lit foyer, until she stood gasping in the parking lot, where a golden sun was just beginning to burn into the sky.
25
LOST AT SEA
Early Saturday morning, the twins bounded into Eureka’s room.
“Wake up!” Claire bounced onto the bed. “We’re spending the day with you!”
“That’s great.” Eureka rubbed her eyes and checked her phone for the time. Her browser was still open to the Google search “Yuki Blavatsky,” which she’d been refreshing continually, hoping for a story on the murder.
Nothing had come up. All Eureka got was an old yellow pages listing for Blavatsky’s business, which she alone seemed to know was out of business. She had driven by the strip mall on Tuesday after an unbearably long day at school, but at the turn into the empty parking lot, she’d lost her nerve and sped up, until the unlit neon palm sign was no long visible in her rearview mirror.
Haunted by the lack of obvious police presence, by thoughts of Madame Blavatsky decaying alone in the studio, Eureka had driven to the university. Setting off the fire alarm clearly had not been enough, so she sat down at one of the free student union computers and filled out an anonymous crime report form online. It was safer to do it there, in the middle of the bustling student union, than to have the police Web page on her laptop’s browser history at home.
She kept her report simple, providing the name and address of the deceased woman. She left blank the fields asking for information on suspects, though Eureka was inexplicably certain she could pick Madame Blavatsky’s murderer out of a lineup.
When she’d driven by Blavatsky’s storefront again on Wednesday, yellow crime-scene tape barred the front door and cop cars crammed the lot. The shock and grief she’d refused to feel in the presence of Madame Blavatsky’s body had washed over Eureka, a rogue wave of crippling guilt. It had been three days since then, and she’d heard nothing on the radio or TV news, online, or in the paper. The silence was driving her crazy.
She’d suppressed the urge to confide in Ander, because she couldn’t share what had happened with anyone, and even if she could, she wouldn’t know how to find him. Eureka was on her own.