Roger's eyes widened as the light finally dawned. "Of course," he said, fumbling out his phone and his wallet. "How do I do this?"

"Call the company—number's on the back of your card," Fierenzo instructed, glancing in the mirrors and pulling out onto the highway again. "Tell them your wife may have lost her card and ask where the last place was she used it."

They had made it back to Shandaken and the intersection with Route 28 when Roger finally turned off his phone. "Got it," he announced. "The Minute Cafe in Bushnellsville."

"A restaurant?" Jonah asked incredulously. "She bought lunch?"

"As I said, clever," Fierenzo said, taking a left into a grocery store parking lot and turning around back toward 42. "Let's go see how clever she actually was."

"Afternoon, gentlemen," the waitress said cheerfully as she came up to Roger and Fierenzo. "Two for lunch?"

"No, thank you," Roger said, pulling Caroline's photo out of his shirt pocket and holding it up for her inspection. "We're looking for this woman."

The waitress's eyes went suddenly wary. "Oh, yes?" she asked, her voice neutral. "Who wants to know?"

"Her husband," Fierenzo said, nodding toward Roger. "And the NYPD," he added, holding his badge wallet up beside Caroline's photo. "Was she in here today?"

The woman's eyes flicked to the badge and then back to the photo. "Yes," she said, a little reluctantly. "She and her mother."

Roger frowned. Her mother?

"Where were they sitting?" Fierenzo asked.

"Back there," the waitress said, pointing at the rearmost booth. "They left in an awful hurry, too.

Hardly touched their food."

"Find me her charge slip, please," Fierenzo said, starting toward the booth. "Her name's Caroline Whittier. Come on, Roger, let's take a look."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Roger asked as they sat down on opposite sides of the booth.

"Something Caroline might have left behind," Fierenzo said, picking up the napkin dispenser and rifling through the napkins. "A note slipped into a menu, say, or dropped on the floor during lunch."

"But she couldn't have known we'd even be up here," Roger objected, leaning over and studying the floor under the booth.

"No, but she could address it to you and assume someone would find it," Fierenzo pointed out, pulling out the stack of menus and fanning through them.

"I don't see anything," Roger said, poking his fingers carefully along the gap between the cushion and the padded seat back. "Maybe Sylvia caught her trying to do it."

Fierenzo grunted. "Let's hope not."

The waitress appeared beside them. "Here's her bill," she said handing it to Fierenzo.

"Thank you." He glanced it over; and to Roger's surprise, a corner of his lip twitched in a lopsided smile. "Well, well," he said, handing it across the table. "You definitely underestimate your wife's brains."

Roger frowned at the slip of paper. Date, time, amount, Caroline's signature... and the tiny word table scrawled just beneath her name." 'Table'?" he asked. "What does that mean?"

"I believe it's what's known as a clue," Fierenzo said, bending over and peering beneath the table.

"Ma'am, did she pause by any of the other tables on her way out?"

"I don't know," the waitress said. "I was filing away the bill and wasn't really watching."

"But you did say she was in a hurry," Fierenzo said, sliding out of the booth and heading toward the door.

"Yes," the woman said, clearly puzzled.

"You think she put something on one of the tables on her way out?" Roger asked, hurrying to catch up.

"I've already cleaned all those," the waitress called after him.

"That's okay," Fierenzo called back as he stopped by the last table by the door and dropped down into a crouch. "Not on the table," he added to Roger as he peered at the underside." Under it."

Reaching up, he pulled out a folded silver gum wrapper with a wad of chewed gum attached to it.

"Hey, she was pulling out some gum while I was running her card," the waitress said, jabbing a finger at the gum.

"Thank you." Fierenzo dropped into one of the chairs and motioned Roger to join him. For a moment he just examined the gum and wrapper as they were. Then, carefully, he pried the gum off and unwrapped the paper.

And as Roger watched, the detective's mouth tightened. "What's the matter?" Roger asked anxiously.

"Is she all right?"

Wordlessly, Fierenzo handed it over. Turning it around to face him, Roger read the tiny note.

"Roger: Damian Groundshaker, ready move on NYC—time unknown. Melantha not here. Sylvia Group Com in charge. Don't bring Grays. I love you, C."

He looked up at Fierenzo, a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. "So they were wrong," he said.

"Damian is indeed alive and well."

"So it would seem," Fierenzo said heavily. He looked up pointedly at the waitress, who took the hint and drifted away. "That would explain what happened back at the estate, too," he went on. "Group Commander Sylvia was afraid Damian might have identified himself, or that someone might have mentioned him by name. As soon as she realized that hadn't happened, there was no reason to keep us there."

Roger reread the note. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Somehow, I'm not convinced." He looked over at the waitress, busying herself at the counter. "Ma'am, you said Caroline was in with her mother. Can you describe this other woman?"

"She was old," the other offered. "White hair, really dark eyes. Darkish skin, too—looked kind of Greek or Italian. They didn't look much alike, actually—I figured she was a stepmother or mother-inlaw."

"Did you notice any jewelry?"

"She had this really nice pin on her jacket," the waitress said, gesturing to her own upper-left shoulder. "Silver filigree, big green stone in the middle. That's all I noticed."

"Thank you." Roger turned back to Fierenzo. "That sounds like my Sylvia, all right. And my Sylvia was absolutely insistent on getting Melantha back."

"Maybe she was lying," Fierenzo suggested. "If they're trying to keep Damian a secret, they have to pretend they still need Melantha."

"Or else she's been lying to Caroline," Roger countered. "I mean, face it—how many kidnappers have you run across who take their victims out to a public restaurant?"

"And then let them put lunch on a traceable credit card?" Fierenzo shrugged. "You have a point. But we can't afford to take the chance."

"I wasn't suggesting we should," Roger said. "I'm just trying to figure out how we find out for sure without the Grays maybe charging into a trap."

"Well, we're not going to figure it out here," Fierenzo said. "Let's get back to the city."

36

The Warrior leaned past her and pushed open the library door, and Caroline walked inside. "You wanted to see me?" she asked.

"Yes," Sylvia said, looking up from a small stack of papers and gesturing Caroline to one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior at lunch this morning, and to offer you some explanation.

"Thank you," Caroline said evenly. It was a polite enough gesture, she supposed. It would have been even more polite if Sylvia hadn't sent her straight to her room after their return and left her there for two hours to stew in fear and uncertainty over what might have happened to her husband. "I appreciate your concern," she added as she settled into the chair.

"You're angry with me," Sylvia said, studying her. "I can't say I blame you." She leaned back in her chair. "Here's what happened. Your husband and Detective Fierenzo arrived here unannounced shortly after you and I reached the restaurant."

"Unannounced but not unexpected?" Caroline suggested.

Sylvia shrugged microscopically. "We keep track of what's happening nearby," she said. "Naturally, I couldn't afford to let them find you here."