sister. She reread the second paragraph:
I got your kind e-mail today. I'm glad the flowers arrived. Do you by any chance know the name of the florist who delivered them? I'm sorry to bother you with this during such a difficult time, but...
If no one from the network or her crew sent the flowers in her name, who had? Who would have had access to the addresses of Leah and Jared's parents as well as Angela's sister?
Sydney gazed at the address book sticking out of the top of her purse. She remembered the newspaper article about Angela's death. They'd found her purse by that open window on the fourteenth floor of that office building in Chicago. Was Angela's address book or Blackberry in her purse?
Jared and Leah had been murdered in their home. It couldn't have been too difficult to find Leah's parents' address--in a notebook or computer somewhere in their apartment.
Until then, Sydney had clung to the notion that someone she knew had meant well by sending those flowers in her name. But the person sending those flowers must have been with the victims at the time of their violent deaths, and he hadn't meant well at all.
Eli knew his mother was probably worried about him.
The next Number 11 bus left at 3:26 from a bus stop not far from where he was right now: the Seattle Public Library on Fourth Avenue.
He'd always thought the ultramodern glass and steel building was cool looking from the outside when he went on trips downtown with his mom or Uncle Kyle. But he'd never stepped inside its doors until an hour ago. The bus from North Seattle had dropped him off downtown, and he'd decided to try the library to look up Loretta and Earl Sayers on the Internet. He didn't want to use his mom's computer for this kind of research.
Eli was temporarily distracted--and fascinated--by the angles and grids of the library's interior, the high ceilings, and the way the sun reflected off the glass walls. He took a tall escalator up to the computer room, where a librarian helped him get online. She was a pretty young Asian in her late teens with short black hair that had a pink streak in it. 'This place is awesome,' he murmured to the librarian.
Eli tried the keywords
He felt so frustrated. The talk with Vera had only made him hungrier for more details about what had happened in that haunted apartment. He desperately wanted to see a photo of Earl, the fifteen-year-old boy whose spirit still occupied that bedroom--thirty-some-odd years after he'd had his throat slit in there. Did he really look like him?
Eli glanced at his wristwatch: almost 3:20. He had only six minutes to catch that bus.
'Shit,' he said under his breath. Clearing the computer screen, he grabbed his backpack and got to his feet. As he passed by the librarian's desk, he nodded and worked up a smile for the pretty girl with the pink streak in her hair.
'Find what you were looking for?' she asked in a quiet voice.
'Not really,' Eli admitted, shrugging.
'Well, maybe I can help you. What are you trying to look up?'
Eli approached the desk. 'I wanted some information about a murder-suicide here in Seattle, back in 1974. This woman Loretta Sayers killed her kid and then herself.'
She said, 'Hmmm, you're probably better off going into the microfilm files for old
'November,' Eli said.
She nodded. 'Well, it might take a little digging, but you ought to find something on microfilm.'
'Gosh, thanks,' Eli said. 'Are you guys open tomorrow?'
'Until nine. And
Eli knew he had sort of a dumb, grateful-smitten grin on his face. He gave her a salute, and said, 'Okay, see you!'
Seconds later, hurrying toward the escalator he wondered why the hell he'd
However embarrassed he was about the way he'd acted with that cute girl, Eli still felt elated about returning tomorrow. He'd been incredibly bored and lonely all summer. This murder-suicide was the first thing in weeks that he cared about here.
On the bus, Eli realized he had to make another stop before going home. It meant five more minutes. His mother would probably have a major cow when he got home anyway. Five more minutes wouldn't make a difference now.
When the bus let him off at his stop, Eli hurried to the beach. It wasn't very crowded anymore. He ducked into the beach house men's room. Off to one side was a single shower, along with a small changing room with a bench; on the other side were the urinals, a toilet, and a sink. In the changing room, Eli started peeling off his shirt and shoes. He unzipped his backpack and pulled out his towel and trunks. He hoped no one came in while he was naked because he felt very self-conscious about his body lately. He was too skinny and just starting to get pubic hair, so he felt like a freak. Plus he had a farmer tan.
He figured it would be faster and easier to wet his swim trunks, then put them on. He ran them under the shower. Then just as Eli pulled off his shorts and underpants, a little black kid with a buzz cut in red trunks appeared in the changing room doorway. With a finger in his mouth, the wide-eyed boy gaped at Eli as if he were an alien.
'C'mon, we're going home!' boomed his father's voice.
Naked and trying to step into the wet trunks, Eli looked up in time to see the kid's father take him by the arm and lead him out of the restroom. Eli finally got his legs through the trunks and then realized he had them on backward. He had to step out of them and start over again.
A shadow swept past the changing room, and Eli figured it was the kid coming back for another look at the skinny naked guy with the farmer tan. Still struggling to step into the wet trunks, he glanced up and froze. He locked eyes with the man in the green polo shirt--the one from the bus. The man paused in the doorway and glared at him. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses.
Eli felt his stomach tighten. His mom was right. The white part of the man's left eye was bloodshot.
The man turned away and moved toward the toilet stall.
Rattled, Eli almost tripped pulling up his swim trunks. He couldn't breathe right. His hands were shaking as he gathered up his clothes and shoes. He shoved them in his backpack, threw his towel over his shoulder, and hurried out of the beach house men's room. Barefoot, he raced across the sand, threading around blankets and sunbathers. He stepped on a few rocks or pebbles but didn't stop--not until he got to the wrought-iron front gate of the Tudor Court complex. Then he had to dig into his backpack for the keys--inside his pants pockets. He glanced over his shoulder but didn't see the man with the green shirt. Eli fumbled for a few moments as he tried to get the key in the lock. Finally, he heard it click, then he pushed open the gate, ducked inside, and shut it behind him. Hearing that lock click again, he felt better. He pulled out his CHICAGO POLICE T-shirt and his shoes, put them on, then hurried toward the apartment.
'Eli?' his mother tentatively called when he stepped inside. It sounded like she was in her office. 'Is that you?'
'Yeah, Mom,' he called back. 'Sorry I'm late--'
'Oh, thank God!'
Just as he'd figured, she'd been worried. Now he knew why. That creepy man with the weird eye was very, very real. Part of Eli wanted to tell her right away about his two brushes with the guy. But he didn't say anything. He didn't want her to know he'd lied about going to the beach.
He was starving. In the kitchen, he dumped his backpack on the tall cafe table, then helped himself to two fruit rollups and a Rice Krispie Treat. His mom poured him a glass of milk.
He felt bad when his mother told him that she'd gone down to the beach, looking for him. 'I even had the
