“He’s protective of you.”
“I suppose he is, the poor thing. He’s been such a help to me. Ever since The Wentletrap.”
But that wasn’t the first book they worked on together, according to him. Or was it? “You found him working at a library?”
Enolia smiled, more relaxed now. “Oh, yes. He couldn’t wait to leave that job, but he has the kind of meticulous mind that’s perfect for research. He just hadn’t found the right thing since he left the FBI’s Hazardous Devices School. Not everyone is meant for law enforcement, but he has a delicious mind for mysterious plots. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“Hazardous Devices School?” Roz asked.
“Oh, yes. Haven’t you heard of it? That’s where people go to learn to be bomb techs.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alden felt a little awkward about intruding on Craig’s private abode. The poor guy camped above the garage outside a lavish beach house. How did that feel? But he was living rent-free and doing a job he loved. That had to be worth something.
Alden found a side door to the building, on the south wall, and he tried the knob. Open. It led him to the bottom of a staircase. In front of him was another door, probably into the three-car garage—he’d love to check out Enolia’s wheels. But that wasn’t why he was here.
“Enolia?” came Craig’s voice from above.
“It’s Alden Knox. Enolia sent me over from the house.”
There was a long pause. Then Craig called, “Come on up.”
The stairs, boxed in by walls, climbed into a nice-size living space. The corner in front of Alden held a kitchenette, with a bistro table and one chair.
He pivoted left at the top where the railing ended and stepped into the room. Farther in was a bigger table topped with a sprawling computer system, books and electronics. A desk chair faced three monitors. From there, the user would have a view out the east-facing windows to Alden’s right. They gave the place redeeming light—now tinged with the oranges of sunset—and the tiniest glimpse of the ocean where the view wasn’t blocked by Enolia’s house.
Cardboard boxes were piled under the table and all over the floor nearby. Every wall sported stuffed bookcases, though the one in the back of the room held a TV as well. So many books. Lots of thrillers, it looked like, mixed with nonfiction.
A simple soft chair sat in front of the TV-bookcase wall. There was an alcove on the left with more doors. It looked like a bathroom, maybe the bedroom and a closed door—possibly the storage room Enolia mentioned. There were earth-tone rugs everywhere hiding most of the wood floor, making it a quiet, snug room.
Craig was still in his button-up shirt, open at the collar, nice trousers and shoes. Maybe he wanted to look good in case Enolia summoned him, as she was doing now.
“What can I do for you?” Craig asked, adjusting his wire-framed glasses, as Alden walked forward.
“Enolia asked if you could come to the house and bring her business records relating to her agreements with Wayne Vandershell, plus anything you have on her screen projects.”
Craig thought about it for a second. “All right. Wayne didn’t give us much of the latter, but I have folders I can dig up.” He stepped into the alcove and opened the closed door, revealing a small room packed with filing cabinets.
“Is she not big on computers?” Alden asked, wandering to the bookshelves.
Craig had a beautiful collection of Enolia Honeywood first editions next to the TV. Alden idly pulled out The Wentletrap hardcover and ran his fingers over the raised design on the slick dust jacket.
Craig’s voice was muffled from inside the file room. “It’s all on her computer, but she prefers paper copies, and she likes me to take care of the files.”
“Because you’re indispensable,” Alden said, echoing what Craig had told them before. He turned to the title page, where Enolia had signed it.
Craig chuckled. “That’s exactly right. Nobody is as good to her as I am.”
You’re so good to me, Enolia’s inscription said. I hope this is the first of many collaborations. You’re the researcher I never knew I needed. A big, flamboyant signature followed the message.
The Wentletrap. But Craig had told them he didn’t work with her until The Calico Killer, which Alden was sure came later.
“Here’s one.” Craig dropped a folder on the cluttered table behind Alden. “I’ve got one more in another drawer. Hang on.” He went back into the storage room.
A bell rang in Alden’s memory. He flipped through Enolia Honeywood’s book list in his mind.
Wait. He didn’t have to flip through the list. He extracted Conched Out from the shelf, one of her later books, and opened it to the back until he found her list of titles. It was a long list. He scanned until he saw what he was looking for.
