hits are all connected. Only the Destructor is capable of organizing a citywide spree.”
“He’s under suicide watch at the Elroy Asylum,” Suzanne said. “He can’t organize a crime spree under those conditions.”
“He’d find a way.”
Celia toyed with a leftover crust of pizza. Something didn’t ring true about that. The targets of the robberies were too odd. The kidnapping attempts were too haphazard. Like it was all some kind of distraction, a means rather than an end.
“I don’t think it’s the Destructor,” she said.
“Why?” Warren demanded.
“It’s not his MO. The Destructor would have pinned the flayed koi to the mayor’s desk. He’d have sent the Stradivariuses back to the symphony in splinters.”
He said, “Is that a fact?”
“It’s a hypothesis.”
A few moments of silence passed before Suzanne said, “She’s right, Warren. This isn’t how Sito operated.”
“Then there’s someone else,” he said. “A new mastermind.”
Suzanne considered, her brow furrowed. Celia used the pause in conversation to start clearing the table. She wasn’t thinking about the Destructor or masterminds—the less she thought about such topics the happier she was. Instead, she’d spent most of the evening trying to figure out how to ask her father for a favor.
The pause lengthened, and she decided to take the chance.
“Dad, do you know anything about a building West Corp owned about fifty years ago? It’s in the northeast industrial district. It used to be called the Leyden Industrial Park.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. That long ago, it would have been one of my father’s projects.”
“Do you think West Corp still has the records on it?”
“Probably. We never throw anything away.”
“He got that from his father,” Suzanne said.
“Do you think I could have a look?” She held her breath.
“What’s your interest?”
It wasn’t an accusation. Just a natural question. She had to remember that. “I stumbled across it at work. The building came up with West Corp’s name attached to it. I got curious, but I’m having trouble finding records from that far back. I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask you.”
Suzanne watched Warren with as much focus as Celia did; her mother might have been holding her breath as well.
Warren took a drink of water. “Just curious?”
“Yeah.”
“No conflict of interest—you wanting to dig up something that’ll come back to bite the company later.”
Of all the … “It’s fifty-year-old data. It should be completely irrelevant.”
“Then why is it important to you?”
Whatever she said, she refused to bring up Sito and feed her father’s paranoid fantasies. Even if those fantasies might be correct.… Softly, she said, “I didn’t think it would be that big a deal.”
“Come on, now I’m curious. What’s so interesting about this building?”
“I won’t know that until I find those records, will I?”
Warren glared. He broke walls with that glare. “It’s not like you’ve ever taken an interest in the company before.”
“You don’t trust me, do you? I can see the wheels in your brain inventing some plot that I must be hatching —”
“Oh, give me a break!”
“Warren—” Suzanne said, her voice a warning.
“If it’s so harmless, then tell me how you found out about this building.”
“It came up at work—”
“So now you’re using personal connections for professional gain.”
“You’d do the same thing!”
“I wouldn’t have to!”
“Warren! Celia! Both of you, sit down!”
Celia and her father were glowering at each other across the table. The temperature in the room was rising.
Warren didn’t sit down. Instead, he clenched his fists, and smashed one of them into the table. The wood laminate split, all the way through, across the entire length. The surface held together by mere splinters. The soda cans they’d been drinking from tipped over and spilled. Celia jumped back, her heart racing, and didn’t have the wits to even grab a towel. Suzanne just crossed her arms and frowned.
Warren marched out of the apartment. It was a small blessing that he didn’t slam the front door behind him.
Slowly, Celia returned to her seat. She sat on her hands, but they wouldn’t stop shaking. Her face was shaking. Every nerve in her body was shaking.
Suzanne ran her hands through her hair. “And here I was thinking this was going well.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” She sounded small, like a little girl. But her voice was shaking, too, and she had to either talk small or scream.
“Celia, why can’t you just—” Suzanne sighed, once again leaving Celia unclear as to what she hadn’t done, or ought to do, or couldn’t do. She went over to Celia, put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. I ought to go after him. Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”
He wasn’t getting into trouble. They’d have heard it, if he was.
“I’ll get you a new table,” her mother said. “We could go shopping for one together.”
“I was going to replace it soon anyway. I think.” Celia shook her head. Feeling exhausted and perfunctory, she said, “Thanks for coming over.”
“He’ll calm down eventually. Then we just have to wait for the next time it happens.” She shrugged, smiling wryly. “You’re still coming over next week, yes?”
“Sure.”
Suzanne left, and Celia threw away the rest of the pizza.
Just when she’d had enough of parents, Mayor Paulson invited her and Mark to dinner. She almost broke it off with Mark right there.
Was there such a thing as too normal?
Mark drove. “I think Dad feels like he needs to make up for the symphony disaster.”
“That wasn’t his fault.”
“No, but in some ways he thinks he’s responsible for everything that happens in the city. Like he ought to be able to fix every little problem.”
That sounded hearteningly familiar. She wondered, Had the mayor ever met her father in person? They might actually get along.
She started blathering. “I have to warn you, I’m really not ready for you to meet my parents. Not like this, the nice-dinner-at-home thing. I mean, yeah, you already met my mom, but that wasn’t really my mom, you know? That was Spark, and—” She realized how bad this must sound. “It’s not you, it’s just they can be difficult, and I still don’t get along with them too well.” She could see it now: Dad loses his temper and smashes the table to pieces, Mark’s police instincts take over and he draws the gun he keeps in a shoulder holster, Dad sees the gun and throws Mark out the window.…
“It’s okay. I’ll meet them when the time’s right. Hopefully someday when they’re not, you know … being the Olympiad.”
They were always the Olympiad. Sometimes Celia was sure the mundane sides of them were the disguise. That
They pulled up in front of the mayor’s mansion, which stood at the west end of a fifty-acre city park. A valet
