“I can help, though,” Adele added. “Pansy, you remember the code for my house?”
“I do.”
“The room in the basement, the one with the keypad? Here’s the code for that.”
Pansy dug around in his messenger bag, pulled out a pen, and scrawled the number on the back of her hand.
“There’s a notepad in there,” Henry muttered under his breath. While Pansy didn’t glance up, he was nearly certain she rolled her eyes.
“Inside, you’ll find all your mother’s files, notes from when she was in the field, notes about King’s End, drafts of all her white papers?—”
“Including the desert?” he asked, unable to help himself.
“Yes, all of it. Rose kept everything. And I kept it legible, organized, and safe. Also, Agent Darnelle?”
“Call me Henry, please.”
“Henry.” There was a tenderness in her voice that soothed the ragged edges of his soul. “I am sorry for your loss and for the deception the other day.”
“I’m starting to understand why it was necessary.”
“But I meant what I said about your father. He was truly one of the best men I have ever known. When we first met, I was so unsophisticated.” Adele’s laugh was warm with nostalgia. “But he was always so kind, never looked down on me. He encouraged me to apply to nursing school and then helped me find a way to pay for it. He taught me about wine, and I showed him how to crochet.”
Henry shut his eyes. Never mind the photos. That, right there? That was his father. “He tried to teach me, but I never made it past the chain stitch.”
“Also?” Adele’s tone was light now, almost happy. “You’ll find many of your father’s field notes in the basement as well.”
His eyes flew open. “My father left field notes?”
“There’s a whole file cabinet drawer full of them. I know he’d want you to have them.”
His father’s field notes. Henry had seen precious few. Normally, the Enclave required agents to turn in all notes and drafts along with the final report or white paper. From a security standpoint, this made sense. But Henry often wondered how much was sanitized in those final drafts.
“And?” Adele pulled in another breath. “I’m afraid I need to get ready for work.”
“Of course. We don’t want to keep you.” Henry considered the phone in his palm, the menacing view of the housing development, and the revelation about that third agent. “If you need to contact us, use this number.”
Even after the goodbyes, he remained rooted in place. He needed to think, needed to figure out what this all meant. That third agent was the same man who had been at Ophelia’s side when she slipped into the coma. He was the same man who had sent Henry here to conduct Pansy’s field agent examination. He was no stranger to King’s End. Somehow, Botten sat in the middle of this web, weaving a pattern only he could see. One misstep might irrevocably entangle both him and Pansy in the strands.
Pansy’s fingers lighted on his sleeve, the touch a mere whisper. “We should leave.”
Yes, she was right. “We should.” He wanted to wink, show her he was on an even keel, but couldn’t muster one. Then again? He didn’t need to, not with this woman, this wonderful and capable agent at his side.
So, when she offered her hand, he took it. Together, they walked back to the equipment and loaded it into the SUV.
And then they went home.
Chapter 33
Ophelia
King’s End, Minnesota/Seattle, Washington
Wednesday, July 12
Henry shouldn’t be this happy, not under these circumstances. While it’s true Ophelia can see him gnaw at the puzzle of King’s End, a dog with one of those indestructible bones, her brother is content. Never mind the furrowed brow, the impatient hand through his hair. Henry loves to problem-solve. He truly believes there isn’t a puzzle that can’t be cracked with a little research.
The basement room is finished and cozy, lined with cabinets and bookshelves. On a low table, a makeshift tea service throws aromatic steam into the air. Add in the two overstuffed chairs and a desk, and it’s the perfect place to excavate the past. Add in the woman at his side? Let’s just say Henry’s romantic daydreams run toward the academic.
