Eye of the Beholder

just the kind of thing that she would have put into a personal journal. Do you think it was one of the Institute's meditation-guides who chased me with that knife?"
    "No way to know. But if all he took was Liz Guthrie's journal, there must be something in it he wanted."
    "Do you realize what this means?" Alexa spun around to face him. "If we can find out who her personal meditation guide is, we'll have a handle on this thing."
    "Maybe. But in the meantime, some interesting new questions have been raised."
    "What do you mean?"
    Trask held up a buff-colored folder. "According to the contents of this file and some of the others in her office, Liz and Dean Guthrie not only continued to sleep together after the divorce, they invested together."
    "What?"
    Trask smiled with the grim satisfaction of the hunter who has sighted prey. "It looks like they were partners in several ventures. Apparently they decided not to let a little thing like a divorce spoil a good financial relationship."
    Alexa felt her mouth go dry. "Were they both involved in the new Dimensions Santa Fe project? The one you said Guthrie wanted to pull the plug on?"
    "Probably." Trask tucked the folder under his arm and led the way down the hall. "There are no records on that particular venture. The guy who took the journal probably took that file, too. Hell, he could have taken several files. There's no way to know."
    "You're overlooking the possibility that Liz herself took some of her files with her when she left yesterday."
    "True." The gem-hard gleam in Trask's eyes did not waver. "There's one more thing I haven't mentioned. If she and Guthrie were partners in the Dimensions project in Santa Fe and if that partnership was structured the same way their other ventures were, then a very interesting fact emerges."
    "Which is?"
    "Liz Guthrie now controls everything Dean Guthrie left behind, including his investment portfolio."
    Alexa absorbed that. "Maybe someone got rid of Dean because he knew that Liz would inherit and he figured he could control Liz."
    "You're getting very good at this conspiracy theory stuff. I may have to promote you."
    "To what? Head Conspiracy Buff? No thanks."
    "Suit yourself." Trask tightened his grip on the folder and started toward the door. "But as far as I'm concerned, everything in this file just adds weight to the evidence against Webster Bell. He's got motive and he's got opportunity. He's also got plenty of minions out there at the Institute."
    "I know this doesn't look good for Bell ." Alexa hurried after him. "But I have a hard time picturing him as a murderer."
    "Maybe that's why he gets away with murder. But if I'm right, I can tell you one more thing."
    "What?"
    Trask glanced back over his shoulder. "Liz Guthrie may have bigger problems than having her personal finances controlled by Webster Bell."
    "What's worse than having your money controlled by a weird metaphysical guru who wants you to pour all of your cash into his Institute?"
    "Getting murdered by a weird metaphysical guru who decides he doesn't need you around any-more," Trask said.
    Alexa chilled. She paused to close the door. "There would be no point in killing Liz. If you're right, she's the goose that lays the golden eggs. If something happens to her, there won't be any more eggs."
    "There would be lots of golden eggs for Dimensions if Webster Bell has managed to persuade Liz to leave everything to the Institute in her will."
    A sense of dread settled on Alexa as she went down the steps. "People do stuff like that, don't they? Put foundations and universities and trusts and things into their wills?"
    "All the time."
    "Maybe that's why she took off for parts unknown."
    "Maybe," Trask agreed. "Disappearing would certainly be the logical thing to do under the circumstances. At least until she gets her will changed ."

26

    Trask walked into the hotel lobby shortly after ten and found it thronged. The milling guests were preparing to board a gleaming bus parked in the circular drive. A placard in the front window of the vehicle announced that it was bound for a tour of local "Hot Spots."
    Only in Avalon would the words hot spots refer to points of metaphysical interest, Trask thought in any other resort town the phrase would imply a scenic tour of trendy bars and nightclubs.
    "Morning, Trask." Pete Santana greeted him with the jaunty smile of an innkeeper with a full house. "I've been looking for you. Thought you'd like to see this." He raised his hand to