Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(121)

Some crucial bit of info had to be missing. It made her crazy.

She got to her feet with an angry sigh, pacing the rug til she found herself in front of the picture window, looking down at the waves as they washed creamy foam over the sand. The clouds were high, the sky a brilliant white. She put the paper flat against the glass, smoothing the torn edge she’d ripped so long ago, so as to shove only half a sheet of thick folded paper into her bra.

The window illuminated a paler border where a strip of the fibrous paper had been torn away. The border of thinner paper extended higher than she’d thought, all the way up to the line of code. She took it off the window, examined it from above. It looked like normal paper again.

She spread it on the glass. Her stomach tightened as she stared at that paler stripe. She rummaged for the folder, and pulled out the waterstained cover of Kev’s sketchbook. Inside those two pieces of battered cardboard was the other half of the sheet of paper Kev had written his fateful note upon. The one she’d ripped in two.

She pried it out, smoothing out the fibers at the extreme edge, longing for a magnifiying glass. But there was no need, she realized, when she put the pieces together. She could see with the naked eye that some loose, fluttery fibers were stained with ink. Her heart thudded.

She’d done paper restoration work in libraries in eastern Europe on her studies abroad. She had a good eye, and a delicate touch.

She placed the two pieces together, smoothing down the feathery curling layer over the bottom sheet, into what she hoped was their original conformation. The smudges of ink corresponded to the last character in the last word. QPRI, which, decoded, had become EFPV.

There was a faint, broken line on the bottom of that I. It was, in fact, not an I at all. It was an L. She had ripped off the bottom of Kev’s L, fifteen years ago. She almost wanted to scream as she groped for Sean’s key. The code L, coincidentally, corresponded to the L in the alphabet. So it was not EFPV. It was EFPL.

That was an acronym she knew. It tickled her brain, maddening her. It was stamped on the insides of her eyelids. She could see it, floating there. She could smell ink, paper. Hear the ka-chunk sound of a date stamp, coming down on a card with a lot of other dates on it.

The kind of card that got stuck in a library book. Kev had flagged her down outside the library. The Endicott Falls Public Library. The EFPL. Oh, God.

She put her hands over her mouth and burst into tears.

Count the birds. She had, with endless speculation as to what that seven digit number could refer to: an address, a telephone number, a safe deposit box? But if EFPL was the library, Kev must be talking about a call number. 920.0797. HC had to be Historic Collection. Which meant it was an old book, from Augustus Endicott’s original library, which had been donated to the town upon his death. Which made perfect sense, since B63 was the book’s old Cutter number. Of course.

Oh, God, how simple, how banal. How wonderful and awful. All these years, all this pain, for a few lost paper fibers. How could she not have recognized the configuration? How could it have escaped her?

She was as embarrassed as she was elated.

She clapped her hands over her mouth, muffling shrieks of triumph into crazy keening squeaks. She grabbed the phone Sean had left her, and dialed Sean’s number. Out of area. She could have howled.

All jacked up, full to bursting, and no one to share this exalted, euphoric moment with. She paced the room, still squeaking, jumping up and down. Clutching the phone, trying to breathe. She wished she had the kind of family she could share a giddy triumph like this with.

Which reminded her. Three days had gone by without any report to her parents. That was a bit harsh. And she felt much more kindly disposed to the world on the wake of her triumphant breakthrough.

She braced herself for a screaming lecture as she dialed.

“Endicott House,” her mother’s voice responded.

“Hello, Mother? It’s me,” she said. “I wanted to let you know—”

“Oh, Livvy. I thought you’d never call.” Her mother’s voice disintegrated into hitching sobs.

“Mother, I’m fine,” Liv assured her. “I told you, the last time, that I’m just lying low while we—”

“It’s your father, Livvy,” her mother said brokenly.

An icy cold slice of fear cut her in half. She sank down onto the couch, her knees rubbery. “What about Daddy?”

“He had a massive heart attack, the day after you disappeared.” Her mother stopped, to drag in a long, jerky sobbing breath. “The shock…it was just too much for him. You know all those episodes he’s been having. That was the straw, Livvy. The last straw.”

“How is Daddy now?” she demanded. “Is he conscious?”

“I’ve been with him, night and day,” her mother said faintly. “I haven’t eaten, haven’t slept. I came home to see if you’d called.”

“Mom?” she said more sharply. “Daddy. Tell me. How is he now?”

“Blair’s with him now,” she said, her voice taking on more strength. “Blair’s been a rock for me. An absolute rock.”

“What’s Daddy’s condition now?” she repeated desperately.

“Come home. Please, Livvy.” Her mother’s voice choked. “I’m begging you. He drifts in and out, but he keeps asking for you.”