* * *
Crystal picked up her gold locket and smiled. Forgiveness felt pretty good. If her grandfather were alive, she knew he’d be proud of her. She looked out her window and thought about Marc. In some ways, she couldn’t wait until she saw him again. In other ways, she wasn’t sure how she’d handle being in the same room with him. When she was around him, it was like she couldn’t remember how to breathe.
Looking over at her calendar, she mentally crossed off the days until fall semester started. She gave a groaning chuckle. She had at least two months to figure out how to survive without oxygen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Inside the lab, Zeke stared at a pile of printouts and shook his head wearily. Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his mind. There had to be a way to figure out who had kidnapped Phoebe. Violence never occurred in a vacuum—something was triggering it.
Turning to his computer, Zeke began entering new search parameters. Suddenly, like storm clouds gathering over the mountains, he felt the first faint hint of a migraine. Removing his thick glasses, he rubbed his eyes. The pain intensified. Massaging his temples, he tried to breathe through the pain. Spinning black pinwheels were blocking his vision, and nausea was rising up in a wave. In a rush of frustrated impatience, he grabbed his medicine from his pocket. Shoving his chair back from the desk, he pressed preloaded migraine medication to his thigh and gave himself a shot.
“Is this TEMCO headquarters?” a voice behind him asked.
Zeke jumped. Quickly returning the safety syringe to his pocket, he turned around. He blinked when he saw that an extremely pretty woman had entered the lab. She was in her mid-twenties and was wearing a blue dress trimmed with silver embroidery. Her wavy dark hair was caught up on one side in an expensive silver clip. As he watched, she smiled and walked toward him. Her high heels tapped across the floor. She carried herself with confidence and poise.
Zeke stepped forward. “This is the TEMCO lab, and I’m Zeke Masters. May I help you?”
“I’m Nicole Cunning,” the woman said in a musical voice that held just a hint of laughter. “I’m here to see Nicki, my younger-self. I believe you know where she is?”
* * *
“This just doesn’t make sense!” Laura groaned, wadding up another piece of paper and adding it to the growing mound on Nicki’s kitchen table. “It doesn’t matter what I try, I can’t discover the key to this blasted cryptogram.”
Peter roughly rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we’re looking at two separate puzzles. After all, they were two separate lines on the page. For a while, let’s just concentrate on the first line of numbers, 21-26-1-1 / 24-22-25 / 21-19-1-6 / 26-14-23-22 / 3-24 / 5-19-8-1-22-8.”
Laura nodded. Bending her head, she began scribbling on a new piece of paper. After a while, she gave a cry of glee. “I’ve got it!” Pushing her paper over to Peter, she read, “Will you walk into my parlor.”
“That has to be it,” he agreed, “but what does it mean?”
“I think I know, but if I’m right, I don’t like where this is heading. I’m pretty sure those are the first words of the poem, The Spider and the Fly.”
“Do you remember who wrote it?”
She shook her head. “I’ll look it up online.” Laura powered up Nicki’s laptop. Within minutes, she had a printout of the poem and a copy of the autobiography of its author, Mary Howitt.
“I don’t like the tone of this poem,” Peter muttered, scanning the lines.
“It’ll probably get worse. We still have the second half of the cryptogram to decipher.”
“Well,” Peter said grimly, grabbing his pencil, “we might as well get busy.”
Silence reigned as pencils scratched back and forth. After a few minutes, Peter exclaimed, “Hey! I don’t think the second set of numbers is a cryptogram at all. I’d bet my life that 33-34-35-38-39-40 / 1-3-21-22-10-12-6 / 25-26-27-28 refers to individual lines in the poem. If you read the lines in the order of the cipher’s numbers, you get a message that says,
Alas! Alas! How very soon this silly little Fly, (33)
Hearing (Spider’s) flattering words, came slowly flitting by; (34)
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, (35)
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. (38)
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den (39)
Within his little parlor—but she ne’er came out again! (40)
“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider (1)
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, (3)
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf; (21)
If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself. (22)
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in! (10)
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed! (12)
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again. (6)
The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, (25)
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again; (26)
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly, (27)
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly. (28)”
“You’re right,” Laura replied. “When you organize the lines that way, the first grouping of numbers clearly refers to Phoebe’s kidnapping. The next grouping is an invitation for us to come into Spider’s parlor. And the last…” As her voice trailed away, she gave a violent shudder.
Peter grimly finished her words, “The last grouping indicates that Spider is waiting for us. We’re walking into a trap.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Laura said firmly. “We have to find the location of Spider’s parlor before he kills Phoebe!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Thomas sat with steepled fingers and peered across his desk at the grown-up Nicki Cunning. He had to admit to feeling shell-shocked. He’d been talking with the dean when Zeke called to request his presence at the lab. When he’d arrived at Hawking Hall, it’d taken him a few moments to grasp the identity of the beautiful woman waiting in his office.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked politely.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Nicole replied.
“I’m glad to see that you’re well and that you’ve made something of your life.”
Nicole gave a ripple of musical laughter. “Me too.”
“Now, what exactly can I do for you?” he asked.
She smiled. “As I explained to…Zeke, was it?...I wish to talk with Nicki. I believe you can arrange a meeting?”
Thomas looked at her gravely. “Why exactly do you want to meet your teenage-self?”
“Morbid curiosity,” she replied flippantly.
Thomas’s brows lowered. “I am not in the habit of satisfying curiosity.”
As he stood to his feet, Nicole grabbed his arm. “Wait! The real reason I want to talk with Nicki is to encourage her. She’s going to have some difficult days ahead. In about six months, her parents will divorce.”
“Ah,” Thomas said, sitting down. “That’s different. Go on.”
Nicole bit her lip. “It’ll make things easier for Nicki if she knows that a truly good future awaits. The knowledge that she becomes a successful artist will mean the world to her. I should know—it meant the world to me when I was her age.”
Thomas blinked rapidly. “You mean…?”
Nicole nodded. “When I was fourteen years old, I traveled forward in time, and while I was there, I met my future-self.” She smiled and two dimples peeped out. “In reality, no matter what you decide, my visit with my younger-self has already occurred.”
* * *
“There aren’t any streets or public parks connected with the name Mary Howitt,” Peter said grimly as he and Laura sat in front of Nicki’s laptop.
“Try the date the poem was written,” Laura suggested. “Try 1829.”
Peter typed in the date and frowned. “The only 1829 is
a vacant lot.”
“What about spider or fly? Maybe there’s a Spider Avenue.”
Peter typed quickly and shook his head.
“Try Coleford—that’s where Mary Howitt was born. Maybe there’s a Coleford Building.”
The keys clicked. Peter shook his head.
“How about Botham? That was her maiden name.”
Once again, Peter shook his head.
Rubbing her temples, Laura exclaimed, “This isn’t working!”
Peter reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll find her,” he said softly.
“I know,” Laura replied with a catch in her voice. “B-but I keep thinking of Phoebe chained to that floor. She must be t-terrified.”
Peter brushed a tear gently from her cheek. “We need to concentrate, Laura. We can cry for Phoebe later. I can’t figure this out alone. I need that exceptionally intelligent brain of yours.”
“Exceptionally intelligent?” she muttered. “You think so?”
“I know so. Your IQ is two points higher than mine, and I need those two points working full steam ahead.”
“I never knew your IQ score,” she mumbled, grabbing a tissue and wiping her nose.
“I made sure you didn’t find it out. Dan’s IQ makes us both look like dribbling idiots—it was a blow to my pride when I discovered you were smarter too. Do you blame me for keeping my score under wraps?”
“Not at all. Now I have something to tease you about.”
“I don’t mind. At the moment, I’m very glad you have those two extra points.”
Laura gave him a shaky smile. “My exceptionally intelligent brain is at your disposal, sir.”
“Good! Now, let’s get back to work.”
With a swift brush of his hand, Peter swept wads of paper to the floor and unfolded the city map. Together they peered at it, scanning it street by street.
“Let’s think logically,” Peter said briskly. “The first photo showed a gag in Phoebe’s mouth, but the second did not. If you were Phoebe, and your mouth wasn’t gagged, you wouldn’t be keeping quiet, would you?”
Laura shook her head. “I’d be screaming my head off.”
“The police database reports that other than a missing businessman, a carjacking, and a few break-ins, the town’s been quiet. That means Phoebe’s being held where her screams can’t be heard.” Peter studied the close-up of Phoebe in chains. She was lying on a dusty floor made of unfinished planks. “Are there any factories outside city limits?” he asked.
Laura peered at the map. “There’s a sugar refinery, a mirror factory, and a rubber plant.”
“Are any of them abandoned?”
“The Melbourne Mirror Factory and the HP and L Sugar Refinery.” She nibbled her fingertip. “Pass me the autobiography, will you?”
Peter handed it to her. She read in silence and then said in a voice taut with excitement, “Listen to this! We’re missing two cadets, and Mary Howitt’s son found the remains of two explorers and took them to Melbourne for burial. Could it be a coincidence that there’s a Melbourne Mirror Factory outside of town?”
Peter’s mind spun. Taking the poem, he pointed to the lines, I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf; if you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself. His hazel eyes held Laura’s. “Melbourne is mentioned in the autobiography, and mirrors are mentioned in the poem. One coincidence is possible, but not two. The abandoned mirror factory is far enough outside of town that Phoebe’s screams wouldn’t be heard. If there’s a winding staircase, we’ll know we’ve found the right place.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Thomas picked up the phone. “Zeke, please come to my office.”
A few minutes later, the tall computer tech arrived. Inclining his head in acknowledgement of Nicole’s presence, he walked over to Thomas. “You wanted me?”
“Sit down, please. I need to run something by you.”
Nodding, Zeke sat down next to the beautiful artist.
“I need a second opinion,” Thomas said. “How would you rate the risk of allowing this woman to talk to her teenage-self?”
Zeke peered through his thick glasses at Nicole. His gaze was appraising and thorough. After a few moments, he said succinctly, “Minimal.”
“Why?” Thomas asked, steepling his fingers.
“Both Dan and Gil have met their future-selves without incident.”
“And you believe that justifies an unauthorized meeting of this magnitude?”
“Not necessarily, but I believe that Miss Cunning’s character does. While she waited for you to finish your meeting with the dean, I used GAP to research her extensively. She appears to be an intelligent woman of impeccable character and good moral nature. I do not believe she poses a threat to TEMCO, nor do I believe that she would try to harm her former-self.”
“Who are you?” Nicole muttered, giving the computer tech a puzzled look.
Zeke smiled. “I’m just a cog in the wheel who knows a good girl when I see one.”
Nicole blinked and blushed.
“Thank you, Zeke,” Thomas said. “On your recommendation, I’ll make arrangements for Sam to take Nicki to DC Gallery 180.” He looked over at the pretty artist. “You’re having an exhibition of your paintings tomorrow night, correct?”
Nicole nodded. “That would be perfect. My exhibition will really show Nicki what we’ve achieved.” She handed Thomas her card. “If alternate arrangements need to be made, please contact me.”
Zeke spoke up. “Tom, tell Sam that I’ll drive him and Nicki to the gallery. Downtown traffic can be daunting on a Saturday night, and I wouldn’t want him under any additional strain during this difficult time.”
“Thank you, my boy, that’s thoughtful. I’ll pass your message along.”
Zeke rose from his chair, nodded at Nicole, and went out the door.
* * *
“So, how do we handle this?” Laura asked as she folded the map. “It’s going to be dark soon. Do we go to the mirror factory now or do we wait until morning?”
“Do you feel like waiting?” Peter said, rising to his feet.
“No, I don’t,” she replied.
“Me neither.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Thomas was walking Nicole to her convertible when Zeke leaned out a window and shouted, “Tom, we have an unscheduled transmission!”
Quickly shutting Nicole’s car door for her, Thomas sprinted back to the lab. When he arrived, the Staging Platform was glowing blue. Wiping sweat from his brow, he tried to calm his puffy breathing. The wave shimmered and cleared. Peter and Laura came into view.
“We have a lead,” Peter said in a rush. “We think Phoebe is being held at an abandoned mirror factory.”
Thomas dropped into a chair. “That’s splendid news!”
“Don’t get your hopes up—we aren’t certain yet. The mirror factory is just our best guess given the clues we’ve discovered. We have a problem though. The factory is over seventeen miles away. It’ll take us hours to walk there. If we were able to be seen, we could drive. I hesitate to ask, but…”
“You want to take the prototype of the Scan Emitter.”
Peter roughly rubbed the back of his neck. “Phoebe’s plight is serious, and time is of the essence. We can drive to the factory before nightfall if we use the prototype to become visible to the locals, but I have no right to take it—it’s Dan’s invention. I should have his permission, but how can I ask for it? I need your advice.”
Thomas stood to his feet. “If you asked Dan for his prototype, what do you think he’d say?”
“I know what he’d say. He’d tell me to take the blasted thing and get Phoebe home as quickly as possible.”
“I agree.”
“But we don’t know what we’re headed into. The Scan Emitter may be destroyed. Dan’s prototype is valuable and one of a kind.”
“And what exactly is Phoebe?” Thomas asked quietly.
Peter nodded. “Please get the
prototype.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
With the prototype of Dan’s Scan Emitter securely clipped to his belt, Peter carefully backed the Cunning’s car out of their garage. Before pulling onto the street, he glanced at Laura. “I’ve been thinking, and it may be advisable for you to stay here and act as a go-between with the lab.”
Laura turned to him with a puzzled frown. “Splitting up a team isn’t standard protocol.”
“True,” he replied, tightening his hands on the steering wheel. “But in this case, I think it’s the wisest course of action.”
She shifted in her seat. “Peter, what’s this really about? Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m trying to protect you. I don’t want you hurt, and this could be—”
“I’m not letting you go alone,” she said shortly. “Let me do my job.”
“Laura, I think—”
“The subject’s closed.”
Peter stared at her for a moment and then nodded slowly. Pulling onto the street, he asked, “Do you think there’s a connection between Phoebe’s disappearance and the attack on Wade? I didn’t think so before, but now I’m wondering. Tom said it wasn’t a random mugging.”
“There has to be a link,” she replied, “but I can’t understand the logistics. Until Dan figures out the flaw in the Wave Trapper’s design, the only working Trapper in our time is the one Poppa lent us so we could contact him—and that Trapper is locked in Dan’s safe.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t make sense,” Peter mumbled, stopping at a red light. “I have the key to the locked box hanging around my neck. If someone wanted to attack Wade and then travel through time to kidnap Phoebe, they’d have to use the equipment in the TEMCO lab, and we’d know if the Staging Platform had been tampered with.”
As the light turned green, Laura asked, “Could a criminal have traveled back from Poppa’s day and age where Wave Trappers are commonly used?”
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