Rumpled and baggy, he shuffled through the doorway of the Wiz's cramped office and gave a brief wave of his hand. 'Got any coffee, Simon?'
Simon Lawrence was immersed in paperwork, but he gestated wordlessly toward a chair stacked with books, then picked up the phone to call out to the front desk to fill Wren's order and one of his own.
Wren cleared the chair he had been offered and sat dawn heavily. `I watched you perform for the assembled last night with something approaching awe. Meeting all those people, shaking hands, answering questions, offering prognostications, being pleasant. To tell you the truth, I don't know how you do it. I couldn't possibly keep up the kind of pace you do and stay sane'
`Well, I don't do it every night, Andrew.' Simon stretched and leaned back in his chair. He gave Wren a suspicious look. `fm almost afraid to ask, but what brings you by this time?'
Wren managed to look put upon. `I wanted to see how you were, for one thing. No more episodes, I hope?'
The other man spread his hands. `I still don't know what happened. One moment I was standing there on the stairs, talking with Carole and those workers from Union Gospel, and the next I was down on the floor. I just seemed to lose all my strength. I'm scheduled to see a doctor about it this afternoon, but I don't think it's anything more than stress and a lack of sleep:
Wren nodded. `I wouldn't be surprised. Anyway, I also wanted to congratulate you on last night. It was a huge success, as you know. The gift of the land from the city, the. offer of additional funding, the pledges of support from virtually every quarter. You should be very pleased about that:
Simon Lawrence sighed, arching one eyebrow. About that, yes, I'm very pleased. It helps take the edge off a few of the less pleasant aspects of the day's events'
`Hmmm,' Wren murmured solemnly. `Speaking of which, have you seen her today?'
Simon didn't have to ask who he was referring to. `No, and I don't think I'm going to. Not today or any other. I went by her apartment early this morning, thinking I might surprise her with the news, but she was gone. Her clothes, luggage, personal effects, everything. The door to the apartment was wide open, so I had no trouble getting in. At first I thought something might have happened to her. A chair had been thrown through the living room window. It was lying down in the park with pieces of glass all over the place. But nothing else in the apartment seemed disturbed. There was no sign of any kind of violence having occurred. I called the police anyway'
Wren studied him thoughtfully. 'Do you think she suspected we were onto her?'
Simon shook his head. 'I don't see how. You and I were the only ones who knew the lab results–and I didn't know until after the dedication, when you told me. 'He paused, reflecting. `I tell you, Andrew, Id never have guessed it was her. Not in a million years. Stefanie Winslow. I still can't believe it'
'Well, the handwriting analysis of the signatures on the deposit slips were pretty conclusive: Wren paused. `Why do you think she did it, Simon?'
Simon Lawrence shrugged. `I cant begin to answer that question. You'll have to ask her, if she ever resurfaces from wherever she's gone to ground:
`Maybe John Ross can tell us something'
Simon pursed his lips sourly. `He's gone, too. He left this. It was on my desk when I came into work this morning, tucked into an envelope'
He reached into his desk and produced a single sheet of white paper with a handwritten note. He handed it to Wren, who pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose and began to read.
Dear Simon.
I regret that I am unable to deliver this in
person, but by the time you read it I will already be far away. Please do not think badly of me for not staying. I am not responsible for the thefts that occurred at Fresh Start Stefanie Winslow is. I wish I could tell you why. As it is. I feel that even though all the money will be returned, my continued involvement with your programs will simply complicate matters. I will not forget the cause you have championed so successfully and will endeavour in some small way to carry on your work wherever I go.
I am enclosing a letter authorising transfer back to Fresh Start of all funds
improperly deposited to my accounts.
John
Wren looked up speculatively. `Well, well'
The coffee arrived, delivered by a young volunteer, and the two men accepted the cups and sat sipping at the hot brew in the silence that followed the intern's departure.
`I think he was as fooled as the rest of us,' the Wiz said finally.
Wren nodded. `Could be. Anyway, there's no one left who can tell us now, is there?'
Simon put down his coffee cup and sighed. `If you want to have dinner tonight, I can try to fill you in on the details of this mess so you can keep your article for the Times as accurate as possible'
Wren smiled, relinquished his own cup, and rose to his feet. `I can't do that, Simon. I'm flying out this afternoon, back to the Big Apple. Besides, the article's already written. I finished it at two this morning or something like that'
The Wiz looked confused. `But what about. .
Wren held up one chubby hand, assuming his most professional look. 'Did you get all the money transferred back to Fresh Start out of (boss's accounts?'
Simon nodded.
And your own'?'
Simon nodded again. `First thing this morning'
`Then it's a story with a happy ending, and I think we ought to leave it at that. No one wants to read about a theft of charitable funds where the money is recovered and the thief is a nobody. It doesn't sell papers. The real story here is about a man whose vision and hand work have produced a small miracle–the opening of a city's stone heart and padlocked purse in support of a cause that might not gain a single politician a single vote in the next election. Besides, what point is there in writing about something that would serve no other purpose than to muddy up such beautiful, pristine waters?'
Andrew Wren picked up his briefcase and donned his cloth cap. `Someday,. I'll be back for the story of your life. The real story, the one you won't talk about just yet. Meantime, go back to work on what matters. Just remember, for the record, you owe me one, Simon!
Then he walked out the door, leaving the Wizard of Oz staring after him in bemused wonder.
Nest Freemark spent the first day of November travelling. After spending another night at the Alexis, she caught a mid morning flight to Chicago, which arrived shortly before four in the afternoon. She had debated returning to Northwestern for the one remaining day of the school week and quickly abandoned the idea. She was tired, jittery, and haunted by the events of the past few
days, and not fit company for herself, let alone anyone else. Her studies and her training would have to wait.
Instead, she chartered a car to pick her up at the airport and drive her to Hopewell. What she needed most, she decided, was to just go home.
She slept most of the way there, on the airplane and in the car, curled up in the warmth of her parka, drifting in and out of a light, uneasy sleep that mixed dreams with memories, so that by the time her journey was over, with daylight gone and darkness returned, with Seattle behind her and Hopewell at hand, they seemed very much the same.
Nest, as a part of Wraith, as a part of a magic different from anything she knew, returned slowly to herself on the empty walkway in Waterfall Park. She felt the magic withdraw and her vision change. She felt Wraith slip silently away on the night breeze. She stood swaying in the wake of his departure, feeling as if she had returned from along journey. She drew in deepgulps f air, the cold burning down into her lungs, sending a rush of adrenaline through her body and sharp–edged clarity to her dizzied head.