Key of Knowledge
Page 32
“You don’t have to tell me.” The memory of her brush with Kane still made Dana shudder. “It’s not just finding the last two keys, it’s protecting ourselves.”
“And the people around us,” Zoe reminded her. “He went after Flynn, too. If he tries anything with Simon—anything—I’ll spend the rest of my life hunting him down.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.” Dana reached over to squeeze Zoe’s shoulder. “When your turn comes, we’ll all look after Simon. We can always send Moe to protect him,” she added to lighten the mood. She sent a steely look at Malory. “A true friend would’ve called and warned me I was about to get a dog.”
“A true friend knew you’d sleep better at night with a dog snoring beside the bed.”
“Beside, my ass. He snuck onto the bed when I was sleeping. Which means I’d have slept through an earthquake last night, as he’s not what we can call stealthy. And Moe-proofing the apartment is no snap, just let me add. Not to mention I’m not allowed to have dogs in my building in the first place.”
“It’s just for a few weeks and mostly at night,” Malory reminded her. “You did sleep better, too. I can tell by your mood.”
“Maybe I did. Anyway, I should fill you in on what I’m doing about the key.”
WITH the first room primed, they moved to the next and the more tedious chore of cutting in around the trim.
“Jealousy, sorcery, getting inside Kane’s skin.” Standing on the new stepladder, Malory took on the task of painting the ceiling. “That’s very smart.”
“I think so. The answer’s in a book. It’s got to be. Yours dealt with painting, and one of the daughters, the one who looks like you, is an artist. Well, a musician, but that’s an art.”
Zoe glanced over. “I sure as hell hope that means I don’t have to take up fencing because my goddess carries a sword.”
“She also has that cute little puppy,” Malory put in.
“I can’t get a dog right now. I know Simon would love one, but—oh, you were taking my mind off the sword.”
“There you go.”
Dana sat back on her heels, stretched her back. “Puppy, sword—metaphors for something. We’ll figure it out when the time comes. But if we follow this theme, Malory’s key dealt with painting. Malory’s dream was being an artist, but she didn’t have the chops for it . . .”
She stopped, considered biting her tongue in half. “Sorry. That sounded harsh.”
“No, it didn’t. It sounded true.” Malory stared up at the ceiling. She seemed to have the knack for this kind of painting. “I didn’t have the talent to paint, so I directed my energies into a career where I could be part of the art world in other ways. It doesn’t hurt my feelings, Dana.”
“Okay, but you get a free kick later if you want it. Kane used Malory’s desire to paint to pull her in, to distract her from the search. But our heroine proved much too clever for him and turned the tables.”
Malory inclined her head regally. “I like that part.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” Zoe agreed. “Do you want to write, Dana?”
“No.” She pursed her lips for a moment, thought about it. “No, I don’t. But I have to be around books, have them around me. I’m fascinated with the people who can and do write them.”
“Including Jordan?”
“Let’s not go there, at least not yet. What I’m saying is books are personal to me, the way art is to Mal. So that’s why I think my key is connected to books. I’ve got this gut instinct that it has to do with a book I’ve read. Something personal again.”
“I’m going to do another title search, one using ‘key,’ and see what books I come up with.” Her brows drew together as she tried to puzzle it out. “The whole key-in-the-title angle may be too simple, too obvious, but it gives me another place to look.”
“We could split it up,” Malory suggested. “If you make a list of the books you think might be the one, we could divide it into three and each take a chunk.”
“That would help. We don’t know what we’re looking for,” Dana continued. “But we’ve got to believe we’ll know it when we see it.”
“Maybe you should put together a list with ‘goddess’ in the title, too,” Malory told her. “My key had to do with the singing goddess, from Rowena’s clue. Yours might link to the goddess who walks, or waits, in your clue.”
“Good thinking.” With her section of wall finished, Dana got to her feet. “God, our eyes are going to bleed. There’s this other thing.” Wanting to keep busy, she went back to her brush roller. “Your key had to do with this place, Mal, with the way he—or your head—transformed it into your fantasy of happy home, family, painting in your studio. So far, mine’s been a deserted tropical island. I don’t think I’m going to find its root here in the Valley.”
“You don’t know where you’ll go next time.”
Dana set down the brush and stared. “Well, gee. That’s a happy thought.”
Chapter Eight
SHE may have been unemployed, but Dana doubted that she’d ever worked harder or put in longer days.
There was Moe to deal with, which she equated with having an eighty-pound toddler on her hands. He needed to be fed, walked, scolded, entertained, and watched like a hawk.
There was the sheer physical demand of painting for several hours a day, which had considerably upped her respect for anyone who did it for a living. But as Moe came with comfort and amusement, so did the work on the building bring satisfaction and pride.
Maybe it didn’t look like much yet—they’d decided to prime all the walls before starting on color—but when you had three determined, dedicated women working as a unit, you saw considerable progress.
There was the design and strategy of the business she would debut in a matter of months. She had long, long lists of books, intriguing sidelines, possible styles for shelves and tables, for glasses and cups.
It had been one thing to fantasize about owning a bookstore, but it was another matter entirely to deal with the thousands of details involved in creating one.
Added to that were the hours of midnight oil she burned searching for the key. Reading had always been a passion, but now it was a mission. Somewhere in a book was the answer. Or at least the next question.
“And the people around us,” Zoe reminded her. “He went after Flynn, too. If he tries anything with Simon—anything—I’ll spend the rest of my life hunting him down.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.” Dana reached over to squeeze Zoe’s shoulder. “When your turn comes, we’ll all look after Simon. We can always send Moe to protect him,” she added to lighten the mood. She sent a steely look at Malory. “A true friend would’ve called and warned me I was about to get a dog.”
“A true friend knew you’d sleep better at night with a dog snoring beside the bed.”
“Beside, my ass. He snuck onto the bed when I was sleeping. Which means I’d have slept through an earthquake last night, as he’s not what we can call stealthy. And Moe-proofing the apartment is no snap, just let me add. Not to mention I’m not allowed to have dogs in my building in the first place.”
“It’s just for a few weeks and mostly at night,” Malory reminded her. “You did sleep better, too. I can tell by your mood.”
“Maybe I did. Anyway, I should fill you in on what I’m doing about the key.”
WITH the first room primed, they moved to the next and the more tedious chore of cutting in around the trim.
“Jealousy, sorcery, getting inside Kane’s skin.” Standing on the new stepladder, Malory took on the task of painting the ceiling. “That’s very smart.”
“I think so. The answer’s in a book. It’s got to be. Yours dealt with painting, and one of the daughters, the one who looks like you, is an artist. Well, a musician, but that’s an art.”
Zoe glanced over. “I sure as hell hope that means I don’t have to take up fencing because my goddess carries a sword.”
“She also has that cute little puppy,” Malory put in.
“I can’t get a dog right now. I know Simon would love one, but—oh, you were taking my mind off the sword.”
“There you go.”
Dana sat back on her heels, stretched her back. “Puppy, sword—metaphors for something. We’ll figure it out when the time comes. But if we follow this theme, Malory’s key dealt with painting. Malory’s dream was being an artist, but she didn’t have the chops for it . . .”
She stopped, considered biting her tongue in half. “Sorry. That sounded harsh.”
“No, it didn’t. It sounded true.” Malory stared up at the ceiling. She seemed to have the knack for this kind of painting. “I didn’t have the talent to paint, so I directed my energies into a career where I could be part of the art world in other ways. It doesn’t hurt my feelings, Dana.”
“Okay, but you get a free kick later if you want it. Kane used Malory’s desire to paint to pull her in, to distract her from the search. But our heroine proved much too clever for him and turned the tables.”
Malory inclined her head regally. “I like that part.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” Zoe agreed. “Do you want to write, Dana?”
“No.” She pursed her lips for a moment, thought about it. “No, I don’t. But I have to be around books, have them around me. I’m fascinated with the people who can and do write them.”
“Including Jordan?”
“Let’s not go there, at least not yet. What I’m saying is books are personal to me, the way art is to Mal. So that’s why I think my key is connected to books. I’ve got this gut instinct that it has to do with a book I’ve read. Something personal again.”
“I’m going to do another title search, one using ‘key,’ and see what books I come up with.” Her brows drew together as she tried to puzzle it out. “The whole key-in-the-title angle may be too simple, too obvious, but it gives me another place to look.”
“We could split it up,” Malory suggested. “If you make a list of the books you think might be the one, we could divide it into three and each take a chunk.”
“That would help. We don’t know what we’re looking for,” Dana continued. “But we’ve got to believe we’ll know it when we see it.”
“Maybe you should put together a list with ‘goddess’ in the title, too,” Malory told her. “My key had to do with the singing goddess, from Rowena’s clue. Yours might link to the goddess who walks, or waits, in your clue.”
“Good thinking.” With her section of wall finished, Dana got to her feet. “God, our eyes are going to bleed. There’s this other thing.” Wanting to keep busy, she went back to her brush roller. “Your key had to do with this place, Mal, with the way he—or your head—transformed it into your fantasy of happy home, family, painting in your studio. So far, mine’s been a deserted tropical island. I don’t think I’m going to find its root here in the Valley.”
“You don’t know where you’ll go next time.”
Dana set down the brush and stared. “Well, gee. That’s a happy thought.”
Chapter Eight
SHE may have been unemployed, but Dana doubted that she’d ever worked harder or put in longer days.
There was Moe to deal with, which she equated with having an eighty-pound toddler on her hands. He needed to be fed, walked, scolded, entertained, and watched like a hawk.
There was the sheer physical demand of painting for several hours a day, which had considerably upped her respect for anyone who did it for a living. But as Moe came with comfort and amusement, so did the work on the building bring satisfaction and pride.
Maybe it didn’t look like much yet—they’d decided to prime all the walls before starting on color—but when you had three determined, dedicated women working as a unit, you saw considerable progress.
There was the design and strategy of the business she would debut in a matter of months. She had long, long lists of books, intriguing sidelines, possible styles for shelves and tables, for glasses and cups.
It had been one thing to fantasize about owning a bookstore, but it was another matter entirely to deal with the thousands of details involved in creating one.
Added to that were the hours of midnight oil she burned searching for the key. Reading had always been a passion, but now it was a mission. Somewhere in a book was the answer. Or at least the next question.
