Still, they knew more now, more about what they were up against, more about what was at stake. That had to be an advantage for this round.
Unless you considered that knowing where the keys came from, what they did, and who didnt want them found had absolutely nothing to do with finding one.
She sat back, closed her eyes, and pondered the clue Rowena had given her. It had to do with the past, the present, and the future.
Big help.
Knowledge, naturally. Lies and truths. Heart and mind.
Where one goddess walks.
Thered been a goddess, a singing goddess, in Malorys clue. And Malory—the art lover whod dreamed of being an artist—had found her key in a painting.
If the other two followed the same theme, logic dictated that she, the book lover, might find hers in or around books.
“Catching up on your sleep, Dana?”
Danas eyes snapped open, stared directly into Joans disapproving ones. “No. Concentrating.”
“If youve nothing better to do, you can help Marilyn in the stacks.”
Dana pasted a sunny smile on her face. “Id be happy to. Should I ask Sandi to take over the resource desk?”
“You dont seem overrun with questions and requests.” And you dont seem overrun with paperwork and administrative duties, Dana thought, since youve got so much time to crawl up my butt. “Ive just completed one involving private enterprise and capitalism. But if youd rather I—”
“Excuse me.” A woman stopped at the desk, with her hand on the arm of a boy of about twelve. The grip made Dana think of the way Flynn held Moes leash. With the hope that she could keep him under control and the certain knowledge that he would bolt at the first opportunity.
“I wonder if you could help us. My son has a paper due… tomorrow ”, she added with heated emphasis that had the boy hunching his shoulders. “On the Continental Congress. Can you tell us which books might be the most helpful at this stage of the game?”
“Of course.” Like a chameleon, Joans cold fish of a face warmed into smiles. “Id be happy to show you several sources in ourU.S. history section.”
“Excuse me.” Unable to help herself, Dana tapped the sulky boy on the shoulder. “Seventh grade? Mrs.Janesburg ,U.S. history?”
His alreadypouty bottom lip drooped even further.
“Yeah.”
“I know just what she looks for. You put in a couple of solid hours on this, you can ace it.”
“Really?” The mother laid a hand on Danas, gripped it like a lifeline. “That would be a miracle.”
“I had Mrs.Janesburg forU.S. and world history.” Dana winked at the boy. “Ive got her number.”
“Ill leave you in Ms. Steeles capable hands.” Though her smile remained in place, Joan spoke through gritted teeth.
Dana leaned forward, spoke to the boy in a conspiratorial whisper. “She still get teary-eyed when she teaches Patrick Henrys „Give me liberty spiel?”
He brightened up considerably. “Yeah. She had to stop and blow her nose.”
“Some things never change. Okay, heres what you need.”
Fifteen minutes later, while her son checked out his books with his brand-new library card, the mother stopped back by Danas desk. “I just wanted to thank you again. Im Joanne Reardon, and youve just saved my firstborns life.”
“Oh, Mrs.Janesburgs tough, but she wouldnt have killed him.”
“No. I would have. You got Matt excited about doing this paper, if for no other reason than making him think hed be pulling one over on his teacher.”
“Whatever works.”
“My sentiments exactly. Anyway, I appreciate it. Youre wonderful at your job.”
“Thanks. Good luck.”
She was wonderful at her job, Dana concurred. Goddamn it, she was. The evil Joan and her toothy niece were going to be sorry when they didnt have Dana Steele to kick around anymore. * * *
AT the end of her shift she tidied her area, gathered up a few books shed checked out, then hefted her briefcase. Another thing she would miss, Dana thought, was this end-of-the-day routine, The putting everything in order, taking a last look around the stacks, the tables, the sweet little cathedral to books before the walk home.
She would also miss being just a short, pleasant walk from work to her apartment. It was only one of the reasons she had refused to move in with Flynn when hed bought his house.
She could still walk to Indulgence, she reminded herself . If she felt like a two-mile hike. Since that was unlikely to happen, she decided she should appreciate what she had now, while she still had it.
She liked the predictability of her habitual route home, the things she saw season by season, year by year. Now, with fall in full swing, the streets were full of golden lights that streamed through the blaze of trees. And the surrounding mountains rose up like some fabulous tapestry woven by the gods.
She could hear kids, freed from school and not yet locked into the homework hour, shouting as they raced around the little park between the library and her apartment building. The air was just brisk enough to carry along that spicy scent from the bed of mums planted outside the town hall.
The big round clock on the square announced it was 4:05.
She struggled against a wave of resentment when she remembered that, pre-Joan, it would have read 6:35 on her way home.
Screw it. Just appreciate the extra time, the lovely walk on a sunny afternoon.
Pumpkins on the porches, goblins hanging from branches though it was weeks before Halloween. Small towns, she mused, prized their holidays. The days were getting shorter, cooler, but were still warm enough, still long enough to bask in.
The Valley was at its best in autumn, she decided. As close to picture-perfect as Anywhere,America , could get.
“Hey, Stretch. Carry those for you?”
Her pretty bubble of contentment burst. Before she could snarl,Jordan snatched the load of books away, tucked them under his own arm.
“Give me those.”
“Ive got them. Terrific afternoon, huh? Nothing like the Valley in October.” She hated that his words mirrored the ones that had played through her mind. “I thought the name of the tune was „Autumn inNew York .”
“And its a good one.” He tipped up the books to read the spines. She had one on Celtic lore, one on yoga, and the latest Stephen King novel.
“Yoga?”
It was like him, just exactly like him, to home in on the one thing that she found moderately embarrassing. “So?”
“Nothing. Just cant see you assuming the dragonfly position or whatever.” He narrowed his eyes, and something appealingly wicked moved into the blue. “On second thought…”
“Havent you got anything better to do than skulking around the library waiting to accost and annoy me?”
“I wasnt skulking, and hauling your books isnt accosting.” He matched his stride to hers with the ease of long familiarity. “Its not the first time Ive walked you home.”
“Somehow Ive managed to find my way without you the last several years.”
“Youve managed a lot of things. Hows your dad doing?” She bit back a vicious remark because she knew, for all his many flaws, thatJordan asked the question out of a sincere concern. Joe Steele and Jordan Hawke had gotten on like white on rice.
“Hes good. Hes doing good. The move toArizona was what he needed. He and Liz have a nice place, a nice life. Hes taken up baking.”
“Baking? Like cakes? Joe bakes cakes?”
“And scones and fancy bread.” She couldnt stop the smile. The thought of her father, big, macho Joe, in an apron whipping up cake batter got her every time. “I get a care package every couple of months. First few contributions made excellent doorstops, but in the last year or so hes found his rhythm. He makes good stuff.”
“Give him my best next time you talk to him.” She shrugged. She didnt intend to mention Jordan Hawkes name, unless it was in a curse. “End of the road,” she said when they reached the door of her apartment building.