Rachel Alexander 04 - Lady Vanishes

clasping his hands in front of his chest, “I can’t wait to see it.”
    And liar that I sometimes am—in undercover work, if you don’t believe the end justifies the means, you won’t get anywhere—this time I’d been telling the truth. I did have an idea for the movement class. I walked Dashiell into the dining room and began to walk around the perimeter of the room. Then when he got used to my pattern, I sent him on ahead.
    Forward, good boy, I told him. Now I was following him. Then, Stop. And again, Forward. As we went, I pictured the kids, adding things to the routine I thought some of them might be able to do, even those in wheelchairs, Dashiell loving every change, turning his head and watching me intently to glean clues not only from the words I said but from my body language, trying to predict my direction—succeeding, too. After forty-five minutes, the building quiet and lonely now, having saved the best for last, I gave a command he wouldn’t have needed, one for creatures less observant than my dog.
    All fall down.
    I hit the ground laughing, Dashiell at my side. He rolled over twice, first away from me, then back, a big grin on his face, his tail banging out a tune on the bare floor.
    That done, we got up and quickly crossed the lobby, trying the keys Venus had given me on the door to the left, the one farthest from hers. None of them worked. It had been a bit on the optimistic side to figure I’d be handed the keys to the place that held the secrets I was after. When had life ever been that easy ?
    But that was okay. Because as soon as I had tried all the keys on all three doors and discovered that I was locked out of not one but all three of the private offices, I thought of another way I might be able to get what I was after, a better way. Just the thought of it gave me an adrenaline rush, Dash feeling it and beginning to bounce around me, letting me know, whatever it was I was planning, he wanted in.

CHAPTER 13
    He Didn't Answer Me

    I could hear Cora and Dora arguing as I passed the stairs. They must have left their door open. I wanted to talk to Cora about what she might have seen the evening Harry was killed, but I knew the morning would be a better time. The later it was in the day, the less lucid she was likely to be.
    I headed for the garden door, shutting off the outdoor lights before unlocking it, letting Dashiell out, then closing it without making a sound.
    Once outside in the dark yard, I turned right, walking along the wall of the building until I came to the window of the office farthest from Venus’s, planning to try the window in the hope it wouldn’t be locked. With the high wall around the garden, the alley gate locked, and staff here around the clock, I was hoping that whoever used that office wasn’t paranoid about people sneaking in through the window after hours.
    The air conditioner, set into the brick wall beneath the window, was off. And sensibly, someone had opened the window so that the room wouldn’t get too stuffy overnight.
    I slid up the screen and opened the window the rest of the way, climbing into the dark room first, bumping my shin against what my hands told me too late was a chair, then feeling along the wall for the light. Once I had the light on, I told Dashiell, “Over,” and he sailed into the room, landing clear of the chair. He immediately began to check out the thick oriental rug for scents of the people who had been here recently, and perhaps even more interesting, of the dog who worked at Harbor View before he did.
    I pulled the shade down and closed the curtain, hoping it would block out most of the light, not knowing if the night man, or anyone else, would be stepping out into the garden for a smoke or a breath of tepid air.
    Turning around, I looked at the office—Harry’s, I was sure, not only because the middle door had been plastered with drawings that gave a user-friendly impression but because this place was clearly an executive’s office, a place where someone could shut the door and deal with the business of running an institution, not a place where the kids might come to talk, those who could or would.
    I took two cushions off the butter-colored leather couch and laid them against the doorsill. The fact that I didn’t have the key to this office didn’t mean that no one else did, and I had no desire to attract company with light shining from under the door.
    Working quickly and quietly, I pulled out the leather desk chair