"Who else knows about this?"
"No one," the professor said. "Carlisle left no heirs. The man who administers the trust has remarkably little curiosity about his dead client. He's a blank-faced, bureaucratic type. The sort that does nothing but think about retirement when he's in his fifties. Does his work by rote. No expression in his eyes. Reminds me of my dean at Buffalo. I hid the diary at the bottom of Carlisle's papers. He'll never notice. But if a university buys those documents, eventually many people will learn what I just told you. Of course, it won't make a difference. The hotel will be a vacant lot by then. That's why this is the most important building we've ever infiltrated. The chance to verify and document the Paragon's history has all kinds of cultural implications begging to be included in a book."
"One that you'll write, I hope," Vinnie said.
"My final project." The professor looked pleased.
Cora glanced at her watch. "Then we'd better get going. The night's flying by."
Balenger tilted his headlamp toward his watch, surprised to see that almost an hour had passed from when they'd left the motel. Like the air in the tunnels, time felt compressed.
Cora glanced at the message slots and reached into one of the few that contained something. The paper was brittle. "Mmm, Mr. Ali Karim's credit card doesn't seem valid. The manager wishes to speak with him. Well, don't be embarrassed, Mr. Karim. I've had that happen a few times myself." Putting on her hard hat, she joined them in front of the counter.
"Too bad the elevators don't work," Vinnie said. "We've got a lot of stairs to climb. Can you do it, Professor?"
"Try to keep up with me."
Balenger warily studied dark corners as he and the others crossed the lobby.
"There's the ballroom." Conklin's headlamp indicated open doors to their right, an empty oak-floored space beyond.
"Can I have this dance, Cora?" Rick asked.
"Gosh, my dance card's all filled. But the only thing that matters is who I go home with."
Rick glanced into the ballroom, smiled, and disappeared. A moment later, an out-of-tune piano began playing "Moon River."
"My favorite song," Cora said to the group.
"A little old-fashioned for someone your age, isn't it?" the professor teased.
"Rick and I love watching those old movies Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer wrote songs for. The romantic ones. Dear Heart. Charade. 'Moon River' in Breakfast at Tiffany's."
Balenger imagined how Vinnie felt about that.
Blank spaces interrupted the notes, some of the keys not working. The tinny music reverberated in the huge space. It put Balenger on edge. Not that Rick was pounding away. The off-key melody wasn't much louder than their voices. Someone outside wouldn't be able to hear it. All the same, it felt like a violation.
The piano stopped. Rick showed his sheepish face around the corner. "Couldn't resist. Sorry."
"I'm sure if there were any more rats around here, you got rid of them," Vinnie said.
Rick laughed and rejoined the group.
They reached the grand staircase. Between magnificent banisters the marble steps rose, then divided, curving higher toward shadows on the right and left. But that wasn't where the group focused its lights. Instead, they stared at swaths of discoloration on the stairs.
"Dried water. Probably from holes in the roof." Vinnie's shoes crunched on shattered glass so covered with grime that the shards didn't glint from the reflection of his headlamp. "The water flowed all the way down to here. Look at all the dirt it brought along."
"As we go higher, watch your footing," the professor warned Balenger. "There'll be rotted wood."
11 p.m.
14
They reached the division in the staircase. Other swaths of discoloration filled the right and left continuations of the steps.
"A lot of water," Rick said. "Years of it. When there's a strong storm, it must really pour down."
"Be careful," the professor said. "It could still be slippery."
They ascended the left curve of the stairs, probing shadows. At the top, they found a row of elegant doors with tarnished brass numbers on them. Murky wood-paneled walls were covered with dust. At intervals, corridors disappeared into darkness. The smell of mold and age was powerful. Balenger peered down at rotted Persian carpeting, its intricate pattern faded and flecked with mildew.
They turned left and followed a balcony. Every dozen paces, a narrow table was positioned against the wall. Some had vases with desiccated flowers, their petals looking as if the slightest touch would make them crumble. Then the group angled left again and came to more stairs. These were made of finely crafted wood, but Balenger couldn't be sure what kind because of the water damage they'd sustained. He peered up.
Vinnie did the same. "My God. The stairs keep following a central open column all the way to the top of the building. Hard to know for sure, but I think I see a glass roof. Moonlight. Clouds moving."
"A huge skylight occupies the top of the roof's pyramid," Conklin said. "The column rises through the middle of what used to be Carlisle's living quarters. He could walk from room to room and look down at the guests on the stairs and those in the part of the lobby that was visible to him."
"Wouldn't the guests have thought his behavior a little weird?" Cora asked.
"The walls of his rooms blocked him. People couldn't see him looking down. He used peepholes."
"The skylight must be broken. That's where the water's coming from. That's how the birds got in," Balenger said.
Abruptly, wood creaked under him. His heart lurched. He grabbed the banister.
Everyone paused.
"I don't feel the stairs moving," Rick tried to assure him. "It's just normal settling."
"Sure." Balenger wasn't convinced. He tested the next step.
"I need more light." Cora pulled her flashlight from her belt.
The others drew theirs, also. The shifting rays gave the shadows vitality, making it seem as if guests had just entered their rooms and were closing the doors.
The water stains became more pronounced as Balenger eased higher.
"What's that line William Shatner says at the beginning of every Star Trek episode? 'Space-the final frontier'?" Vinnie asked. "Good old Captain Kirk. But as far as I'm concerned, this is the final frontier. Sometimes, when I explore like this, I feel like I'm on Mars or someplace, discovering things I never thought I'd see."
"Like this?" Cora aimed her flashlight toward the steps above. "What is it? More mold?"
Green tendrils projected from debris on the stairs.
"No way. It's some kind of weed," Rick said. "Can you imagine? During the day, there must be just enough sun coming through the skylight to allow it to grow. The damned things take root anywhere." He looked at Balenger. "We once found dandelions growing from an old carpet near a broken window in a hospital scheduled to be torn down."
The wood creaked again.
Balenger kept his grip on the banister.
"I still don't feel anything shifting," Rick said. "We're fine."
"Sure. Right."
The group reached the fourth level and kept going.
But the professor hesitated. A dark corridor stretched ahead of him. He pressed his hand against a wall, then leaned against it, catching his breath.
"Always test a wall before putting weight against it," Cora warned Balenger. "On one of our expeditions in Buffalo, Rick leaned against one. He went right through. Then part of the ceiling collapsed. If he hadn't been wearing a hard hat-"
15
"Professor?" Vinnie frowned. "Are you okay?"
The overweight man breathed hard. Through glasses fogged with exertion, he waved away their concerns. "All these flights of stairs. I can tell some of you feel it, too."