House of Bathory(68)

“Disappearance,” she read aloud.

Also, “Dean in Chicago,” with another phone number.

She ripped the page from the pad and stuffed it in her pocket.

It was something, but not what she was looking for. And with a sinking feeling, she looked at her watch. Jaz wasn’t going to stick around very long, twenty minutes more, maybe.

Daisy took one more look at the darkened study where Betsy worked with her patients. She sighed, remembering the day she first really talked with her therapist. Her light fell on the two leather chairs, facing each other. A sadness emanated from them, empty and silent.

Ringo jangled his tags. He pressed his wet nose into the palm of her hand. She smiled down at him.

He was part of that first day, too. The first breakthrough she had with Betsy.

When she found her voice.

Her gaze fell on the shelf of books, most of them rare first editions in German. Her headlamp lit on the cloth cover of the book she had touched and almost pulled out that day.

She walked over and touched her fingertips to its spine. It, unlike the others, was not leather bound.

We used to have a first edition, Betsy had said.

It translates to Synchronicity…

Daisy’s fingers gripped the spine of the book, pulling it out from among the others.

As she removed the book, the beam of her headlamp fell on a dark shape behind the row of books.

She set down Jung’s book and pulled out several of the rare editions, uncovering what lay behind.

It was an oblong shape, wrapped in black velvet that absorbed the light. Inside the wrapping was a slim book. She unwrapped it carefully. It was old. The title was almost worn away, but she recognized the first words. “Synchronizität, Akausalität…” And behind it, she realized, was another book, even older.

She opened the second book. It smelled musty. Stiff creamy pages with a list of incomprehensible words in a language she did not understand. “Margareten, Barbora, Adela, Malenka,” followed by words that all ended in “ova.”

They were names, she realized.

Ringo whined, startling her. She whirled around.

An envelope fell out of the book, landing on the oak floor. She bent to pick it up. It was sealed and addressed to Dr. Elizabeth Path.

Daisy rewrapped both books and the envelope in the velvet and slipped the package carefully into her backpack. Glancing at her watch, she muttered an obscenity.

“Good dog, Ringo,” she said. “Stay here. Luis will be back soon to let you out.”

Daisy hurried back to the cellar and out of the house. She crossed the street, seeing a black car’s headlights flick on.

She could not make out the faces in the car. But she knew she was being watched.





Chapter 53

BRATISLAVA, SLOVAKIA

DECEMBER 24, 2010





Betsy wiped her eyes with her knuckle.

“You are tired,” said John. “And jet-lagged. It’s after midnight, Betsy. Try to sleep.”

“It’s staring at this computer screen. It dries out my eyes,” she said. John looked over her shoulder, seeing a Visa card display with Dr. Grace Path’s e-mail.

Betsy typed in “Rudolf II.”

“Crap,” she muttered.

She tried “Matthias.” Then “Matthias 1608.” “1608 Matthias.”

“Shit,” she said a little louder, twirling her hair around and around her finger.

“Just give up,” said John. “There are thousands of combinations for a password. The statistical significance of finding—”

“Just don’t, John. Don’t!” she warned.

Betsy stared at the computer screen

“Does Esztergom have a z in it?”

John checked the guidebook. “After the s—why?”

The fall of Esztergom in 1543 was a significant battle that her mother always taught in her Eastern European classes. Betsy typed “Esztergom1543,” hit Return and shouted, “Bingo!” as the computer screen changed from the log-in screen to a list of credit card expenditures in the days before her mother’s disappearance.

The last charge had been for a meal in Piestany, Slovakia.

“She was in Piestany. That was the last time she used the card.”

“That’s the spa town. Pretty pricey for your mom—”

“Maybe she was staying somewhere near there and went out for a meal. Or maybe there’s a B & B.”

John was already on his computer.

Trip Advisor suggested just two bed-and-breakfasts in the area. He dialed his cell phone.

“Dobre Den, Penzione Trematin.”

“Hello, do you speak English?”

“A little. How may I help you?”

“We are trying to find an American woman. She may have been staying in your hotel. Her name is Dr. Grace Path.”