The Cartographers(38)

“So? Interested in joining the hunt?” Pete was asking Nell now. His tone was playful, but there was a hint of suspicion threaded through it.

“She’s Dr. Young’s daughter. She would never stoop to play such a stupendously classless game, just as he wouldn’t either,” Claire said, with an air of finality. “Now, someone tell us a charming, respectable story about him.”

Nell tried to listen as Nozomi launched into a humorous anecdote, but all she could think about was her father’s leather portfolio, hidden among the wreckage of his silent office. The map inside that he had placed there in secret before he died. The map that so many people, and more importantly, the dangerous Cartographers, desperately wanted.

She raised her glass, before the rest of the guests noticed her discomfort.

“To Dr. Young,” Wolff said when he saw her gesture, and the rest of the circle copied.

Nell finally took the smallest of sips—delicate, musky heat tingled on her lips. Probably a month’s pay right there.

“Please excuse me,” she said, and turned to make her way through the crowd, eager to escape. A stream of condolences and raised glasses greeted her, and she returned each with a smile, but kept moving. She was looking for one person in particular.

“Francis,” she said.

Dr. Francis Bowden was standing in the corner near a bookcase, apart from the rest of the party—and seemed to have been talking to Humphrey, of all people, who had just disappeared across the room to refresh his drink. Francis looked up when she called to him, startled.

“Nell,” he finally replied. “How are you? These things can be a little overwhelming.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, joining him in the corner. “You knew my father well?”

“We spoke at many of the same conferences these last few years,” he answered.

“I meant before. Long before. And me, too—isn’t that right?”

The shadows across Francis’s face deepened.

“I’m sorry, but it’s getting late, and—”

“Yesterday I went to Ramona Wu’s shop, and she gave me a package that was meant for my father,” Nell interrupted. “Your name was on it.” She pressed on as he withdrew even further. “Why would my father want an old insurance map of the library?”

Francis didn’t say anything for a long moment. He glanced around the room, with the same cautious look that Ramona had worn.

“You should stop looking into it,” he murmured.

“Ramona said that, too. Practically kicked me out of her shop,” she said. “Why? I don’t understand.”

“You should keep it that way. You’re already in over your head—and you’ve been careless.”

“Excuse me?”

“Two visits to the NYPL in two days. Research into General Drafting Corporation. The false interinstitution catalog entry you made. And that trip to Ramona’s.”

Nell stared at him, stunned. The bright, busy room suddenly felt cold, sinister. “Have you been . . . following me?”

“Only to warn you,” Francis said.

Nell fumbled for a response. She tried not to think of the black car that haunted the streets outside, always lurking. The hunger she’d seen in the board members’ eyes moments ago. The fear in Ramona’s, and now Francis’s.

“How was the Sanborn map supposed to help him?” she asked again, but Francis withdrew from her rapidly—he was looking not at her anymore, but just behind.

“Nell, there you are,” Irene said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to give another interview about the burglary over at the library. I was hoping to speak to you before I go.”

“Of course,” Nell replied. She looked pointedly at Francis. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and followed Irene away to a spot beside Swann’s big bay window.

“How are you doing?” Irene asked.

“I’m all right,” Nell replied. She paused. “How . . . is the library?”

Irene sighed. Even beneath her expertly applied makeup, Nell could see her exhaustion. “The media won’t let up. And now that this might not have just been a burglary and the tragic death of one of our guards, but also a premeditated crime against one of our most cherished scholars—” She took a breath. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Something he said to me a long time ago.”

“My father?” Nell asked.

Irene nodded. “The day he was hired, we had the most unsettling conversation. At the end of our meeting, just before he walked out, he told me that if something strange ever happened to him, I should suspect foul play. He refused to explain himself further, and after that, everything was fine. He worked here for decades without incident, and never brought it up again. I had forgotten about it, until the break-in.” She leaned closer. “Lieutenant Cabe told me that his investigators finished going over your father’s phone log for the last few months, to see if there might be anything there. Did you know he tried to call you that night, just before he died?”

Nell’s eyes widened in surprise. “No,” she said. She could hardly believe it. She was certain the last time they’d spoken was the day she was fired. “Are you sure? I would definitely have noticed a missed call from his number.”