“What the fuck did we expect?” said Betsy, pulling her scarf tight around her neck. “This is only a ruined castle.”
She shivered, staring at the tumbled walls. “It gives me the creeps.”
Betsy’s phone rang. She scanned the screen for the name.
“Great,” she said, pushing her hair away from her ear. “That’s all I need.… It’s Daisy.” She moved next to the one stone tower that remained of the old castle so she could hear.
Flipping the phone open, she asked, “Daisy! Where are you?”
“I’m in Bratislava. I came to warn you—”
“Warn me? Daisy! You are in Bratislava? What?”
Betsy rolled her eyes, looking at John for strength.
“You can handle it, Doc,” he whispered.
Betsy nodded.
“Look, Daisy, we’re traveling right now. But we’ll be back in Bratislava in a few days. Just—just stay right there. Unless you want to fly back to Aspen and—”
“I didn’t come all this way to just turn around again. Tell me where you are.”
“No. No! This is my own affair. I appreciate your thinking I need protection. You know that’s called transference, that you have transferred your feeling to me, and while it is normally a natural, good sign of thera—”
“Damn it! Don’t talk to me like I’m on a couch. Someone is trying to hurt you. Someone dug up your dad’s grave. They did! And they were searching your house.”
“That is my business.”
“I’ve got something that belongs to you, Betsy. I took it from your house. It’s old and freaky, but maybe—”
“What? What were you doing in my house, Daisy Hart?”
John shot Betsy a look. Betsy shook her head, her jaw clenched.
“It was behind your books, on the bookshelf. Hidden way back—”
“My bookshelf? What were you doing rooting around in my—”
“It’s complicated. Look, I just found it. OK? It’s…I don’t know, a notebook with a rotting red leather cover. It’s got…maybe a list of names? Girls’ names. I think it might be in Slovak. I Googled some of them. Some are Hungarian, most are Slovak.”
“Daisy!”
John glanced over again. He knew that tone of voice. But Daisy kept going.
“I took the list. I mean…you can have it back and all. It just seemed like I should take it. I don’t know, I—”
“Damn it! Daisy…”
“There are six hundred twelve names. I counted them. And it’s freaking old. It’s all yellow, like a bundle of dry leaves.”
“Oh, God. Try not to damage it. Put it in a safe place—is there a safe in your room?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Put it in there and lock it up. Promise me you will do that.”
Why was this notebook hidden on the shelf? It must have valuable information—but a list of girls’ names? Six hundred and twelve girls.
“Now listen to me, Daisy. John is with me, and watching out for me. OK? So I am protected. Now I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’ll go lock up the names. Call me later, OK? I can’t get my cell phone to work here.”
Betsy drew an audible breath.
“Are you calling from a land line, Daisy?”
“Yeah. I tried to dial 01 and 011 but neither one works—”
“You need to hang up. Now! Do not call me except on your cell phone—”
“Like, is this phone tapped or something?”
“Just hang up. Stay there in the hotel until we get back. A few days. And Daisy—watch out. Be really cautious. Super alert. Promise?”
“You, too, Betsy. Hey, and Merry Christmas! Look, I didn’t mean to cause trouble—”
Silence—a dropped call.
Betsy stared straight ahead, her eyes blurring with tears.
“Don’t think about her right now, Bets. You need to focus on what we can do to find your mother.”
“John—did you realize it’s Christmas?”
He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “Merry Christmas,” he said, reaching out to rub her neck. “We’ll get through this, Bets. We’ll find her.”
Chapter 63
BRATISLAVA, SLOVAKIA
DECEMBER 25, 2010
Daisy woke late in the afternoon. She looked around the simple room, eyes sticky with fatigue. Sleet streaked the windowpanes, blurring the view across the tiny street.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” she whispered. “Some Christmas!”
She struggled to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. Her naked face looked back at her, vulnerable and childlike. It had been a couple of years since she had gone without her daily white makeup.