It took almost an hour of meticulously searching through every drawer and cupboard and shelf, but I finally found the two journals that covered the work Abraham had done on the Winslow books. Why he’d kept them in plain sight on his desk, I’d never know. It was the last place I thought to look. There was no time to read them right now, so I shoved them into my bag.
I hadn’t found anything that might be the missing item from the Faust. “GW1941.” I’d done a quick check, but there was nothing tucked inside the journals, no slip of paper or directions or anything. I held out hope that Abraham had written down the details of what he’d found and where he’d put it. I’d know more tonight after I read the journals. Right now I had to get out of here and back to the ranch before someone came snooping around.
“Who the hell are you?”
I bolted, knocking my elbow against the solid brass book press. I whipped around, furious and in pain. “If one more person sneaks up on me, I swear I’ll-”
“I saw you steal something.”
I pulled the journals out. “They’re mine. I work with Abraham. Now, who the hell are you?”
But I knew who she was. I recognized her by that headful of curly dark hair. It was Anandalla, the woman who’d left the cocktail napkin note. The woman who’d rushed out of the Buena Vista last night, causing me to run uphill in uncomfortable shoes. I’m not sure I could forgive her for that. She was even more petite than I’d thought. Also unforgivable.
Was she also a cold-blooded killer?
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“None of your business.” She sounded like a snotty kid. But then she scooped up an X-Acto knife and waved it at me. “Answer my question first.”
Snotty and dangerous.
I straightened up, happy to use the height card to intimidate and taunt, not that it seemed to be doing much good. “I’m Brooklyn Wainwright, Abraham Karastovsky’s very good friend and colleague. I work here with him. I belong here. What’s your story?”
She surveyed the room for a full minute, decidedly uncomfortable. Her gaze finally met mine and she said defiantly, “I’m Abraham’s daughter.”
Chapter 11
My mouth dropped open. “You are not.”
She threw down the knife and planted her hands on her hips. “Am, too.”
Okay, this was unexpected. I studied her for a minute, then wondered how I hadn’t seen it before. The hair was a dead giveaway, the same curly dark mop as Abraham’s. She looked about twenty-five years old, probably five feet two, short for someone who claimed Abraham for a father. Her mother had to be really short.
“I’m sorry,” I said helplessly. “I didn’t know Abraham had a daughter.”
She blurted out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well, neither did he till a week ago.”
“You’re kidding me. Where did you come from? When did he… hmm.”
She shrugged. “I live in Seattle with my mom. She only told me a month ago who my father is.” She grabbed a spool of sewing thread and rolled it between her hands. “She’s, um… My mom’s dying. Of cancer. Guess she figured it was time to come clean.” She put the thread down and rubbed her eyes. “I’m so tired. I’ve been staying with a girlfriend near Ghirardelli Square. She’s kind of a night owl.”
“Did you…” How did I ask this question? “Did you get a chance to meet Abraham?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. It transformed her face and I realized she was even younger than I’d first thought. Late teens or early twenties, maybe.
“He’s a big bear, isn’t he?” she continued, chuckling. “We had a great dinner in the City; then I came out here the other night to meet him, see his place, but he wasn’t here. I left him a note but he didn’t call.”
She looked perturbed. “He told me all about you, even showed me your picture.”
“My picture?”
“Yeah, the one he carries in his wallet.” She said it like an accusation. Hey, it wasn’t my fault if she was miffed. But why was she talking about him in the present tense? I was getting a bad feeling.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I told him I’d meet him at the Buena Vista last night but he didn’t show up. Then all of a sudden you were there. I recognized you and I-I didn’t know what to do, so I took off.” She waved her hands helplessly. “Probably a chickenshit reaction, but it was weird to see you there. I felt a little threatened, I guess. Fight or flight, you know? So I ran.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So I thought I’d try to snag him here today, but no such luck. And here you are. Must be my lucky day.”
I would’ve risen to the sarcastic bait but I couldn’t. She didn’t know. Now what? I really wished my mom were here. She would handle this so much better than I could.
“I’m sorry, Anandalla,” I said, clasping my hands tightly. “Abraham died a few days ago.”
“What?” She shook her head. “No, I just saw him. What’s today?”
“It’s true,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes were wide, filled with shock. “No, no, I’m supposed to… um, no.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not possible,” she whispered. “You’re lying. You’re just…”