I shot Abby a dirty look over my shoulder. "You told her about that?"

She waved the spatula in my direction. "She already knew you'd been dreaming...I simply gave her my theory."

Snagging a piece of bacon, I munched on it thoughtfully. "Seems to me there's too many theories. And right now they don't mean squat."

Abby flipped an egg in the skillet. "Would you make the toast, dear?" She opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the orange juice. "I heard you roaming around last night-did you read Stephen's notes?"

"No." I shoved down hard on the lever of the toaster. "They've got a pa.s.sword."

Leaning against the counter, St. Louis, Karen Burns, and the man chasing me seemed far away from my bright kitchen. Darci sipping coffee at my table...Abby cooking...the animals curled up in a spot of sunlight, waiting for a handout. It all seemed so normal.

Darci broke the spell. "Forget about the pa.s.sword for now, tell me about being reincarnated." Turning in her chair, she watched me with antic.i.p.ation. "Was I right? Stephen's your long-lost love, isn't he? You had a tragic affair, didn't you?" she asked, peppering me with questions.

A grin flicked across my face. So much for normal So much for normal. The bread popping out of the toaster saved me from answering right away. b.u.t.tering it and placing it on a plate, I tried to frame my answer. At this point, I wasn't sure if Stephen was Vogel or Henrick. As Ophelia, I didn't care for either one of them.

Crossing to the table, I placed the plate in the center. "I don't know," I replied truthfully. "And before you get too wrapped up in the reincarnation idea, I have another thought. What if I'm just picking up energy from events that took place long ago?"

Darci tossed her head. "Why would you do that?"

"Who knows?" I glanced at Abby. "Any thoughts?"

"Not really." She set the eggs and bacon on the table, and pulling at a chair, sat. "You need more information. Is there any way you can learn if Madeleine really did exist?"

"Oooh." Darci squirmed in her chair like a little kid. "Me, me, let me..."

I half expected her hand to shoot up in the air.

"...I can do an Internet search."

Abby's eyes sparked with amus.e.m.e.nt. "I think that's an excellent idea, don't you, Ophelia?"

"Yeah, I do," I replied, dipping my toast in the center of my egg. "Madeleine was a Parisian model and-"

Darci's eyebrows shot up and she giggled. "You? A model? In a past life?"

"Hey, what's so funny about that?" I chomped down on my slice of toast.

She c.o.c.ked her head and gave me a long stare. "Shall we go through your closet again?"

"Okay, okay. I've already caught the irony of living a life as a model," I groused. "You don't need to hit me over the head with it."

"Well, I think-" she began.

"Girls," Abby said, cutting Darci off. "It's my understanding that if something brought us unhappiness in a past life, we avoid it in this lifetime."

"I get it-she loved fashion, but it didn't make her happy, so now she hates it..." Darci picked at her egg.

"Exactly," Abby answered.

They were talking as if I were invisible. "Hey," I said, waving a hand. "I'm sitting right here."

They ignored me.

"Humph, that would certainly explain all the polyester," Darci said in a voice tinged with sarcasm.

"I don't have that that much polyester," I interjected indignantly. much polyester," I interjected indignantly.

"Thanks to me," Darci shot back.

I covered my face with my hands and shook my head in frustration. "Don't you think we have more important things to discuss other than my wardrobe?" I asked, lowering my hands and glaring at them.

Abby reached out and gave me a sympathetic pat on the arm. "You're right, dear." Focusing on Darci, she said, "You're going to try and find references to Madeleine on the Internet." She turned to me, her green eyes bright. "What can I do?"

"Well," I said, giving her a knowing look, "since you seem to be so good at cracking pa.s.swords, how about giving Stephen's a try?"

A cagey smile lit my grandmother's face.

Twenty-Four.

After we finished breakfast, Abby and Darci joined me in my office. Abby took a seat in the office chair next to my desk. I handed her the disk, and after she took it, her eyelids drifted shut. She took several deep breaths as she rubbed her open palm over the case.

Darci and I waited.

"This is so cool," Darci said, her voice vibrating with excitement. "I don't get to see you guys do your mojo very often."

"Shh," I hissed, laying a finger on my lips.

Her voice dropped. "Does she go into some kind of a trance, or what? Does she know we're here?"

"Yes, she knows we're here, and no, she doesn't go into a trance," I replied with a sneer and a roll of my eyes. "Her head doesn't spin around either. But she does need to concentrate."

Darci shifted from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'll be quiet...not another word...promise." She made an X over her heart.

Standing at the corner of the desk, I watched Abby. Her breathing was slow and even, and her body relaxed. She turned the case over and over in her hand while a slight frown darted across her face. Slowly, she opened her eyes and handed me the case.

"Well?" I said anxiously.

"Flames and ashes." She leaned back in the chair and folded her hands.

"That's all?" I groused, looking down at the case in my hand. "What kind of pa.s.sword is that?"

"I don't know-I saw flames erupt, leaving a pile of ash."

I gave her a scowl. "I hate to tell you, Abby, but that doesn't help me a whole lot."

She met my expression with a smile. "What did you expect? That I'd envision Stephen's pa.s.sword in big red letters?"

"It would be nice," I declared, tapping the case on the desk.

Hopping up, I moved around to the computer. Abby stood, and I took her place at the desk. She watched over my shoulder as I inserted the disk. Darci moved to my other side.

"Okay, let's try 'flames.'" I typed in the word.

Nothing. I entered fire. fire.

Invalid pa.s.sword.

Placing her hand on the desk, Darci leaned in. "Try 'flames and ashes.'"

"Okay," I said, swiftly typing the words.

No go.

Darci nudged me with her hip. "Let me try."

"Whatever," I said, switching places with her.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed every synonym for "flames and ashes" she could think of. She tried uppercase, lowercase, and still couldn't break the code.

With a sigh of exasperation, she sat back in the chair and chewed on her lip. "I need to think about this." She tore her gaze away from the computer and glanced up at me. "Karen Burns didn't mention a pa.s.sword?"

"Jeez, Darci." I leaned against the desk and glared at her. "Don't you think if she did, I would've tried it?"

Her eyes focused back on the computer screen as if staring at it long enough would make the pa.s.sword magically appear. "All right, so that was a dumb question."

"It might be she didn't know Stephen used a pa.s.sword," Abby commented in a reasonable voice. "She said she didn't look at the disks until he'd finished the ma.n.u.script."

"Well," I said, pushing away from the desk, "I'm going to call her and find out. Oh, while you're at it, Darci...would you go online and type 'Hospital Saint Louis, Paris, France' in the search bar. My pa.s.sword is"-I shot a look at Abby-' "magick.'"

Placing my hand on Darci's shoulder, I leaned down to watch the screen as she logged in then typed the words in the search bar. She hit Enter.

My fingers squeezed into her shoulder.

"Ouch," she said with a squirm.

"Oh," I mumbled, my eyes never leaving the screen, "sorry."

There it was-Hospital Saint Louis. It was a real place. Did it mean Madeleine was real, too?

After Abby left, I tried to reach Karen Burns, but failed. At a loss what to do then, I wandered back to the office where Darci had commandeered my computer and refused to budge. She was determined to discover Stephen's pa.s.sword. Slouching in one of the armchairs, I watched as her fingers continually tapped the keyboard. The clacking sound of her long nails. .h.i.tting the keys made me jumpy.

"Have you tried 'conflagration'?" I asked.

"Uh-huh." She typed faster.

"How about 'flare'?" I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair, keeping time with Darci's typing.

"Yeah."

' "Inferno'?"

Her fingers paused. "Yes."

' "Pyre'?"

"Will you stop?" she asked, leaning back in the chair and glaring at me. "You're making me nervous."

I popped to my feet. "What about you?" I wiggled my fingers at her. "All that clacking and clicking's bugging me."

"Then go find something to do." She turned her attention to the screen and resumed typing. "Go do some psychic stuff," she said, dismissing me.

Frustrated, I paced out of the office. "Do some psychic stuff," I grumbled to myself. Right, like it was that easy. Right, like it was that easy. It wasn't a switch I could flip on and off. I wished it were; then maybe I'd have my answers. It wasn't a switch I could flip on and off. I wished it were; then maybe I'd have my answers.

I wandered into the kitchen, and grabbing my cell phone off the kitchen counter, tried Karen Burns again. Nothing. I was beginning to think the woman didn't want to talk to me. I hoped that was the case, and not that she couldn't couldn't talk to me. I was at an impa.s.se without the pa.s.sword, without any more information about Madeleine. talk to me. I was at an impa.s.se without the pa.s.sword, without any more information about Madeleine.

I picked up the paper and glanced at the front page. The main story was about Chuck Krause and his aide's murder.

The young man, Benjamin Jessup, had been leaving Krause's campaign headquarters with Krause when a man on a motorcycle speeding by opened fire. The DCI were investigating and had "no comment." The article went on to quote Krause. He was shocked, appalled, at Jessup's death, and saw the situation as one more reason to push harsher penalties for lawbreakers.

Disgusted, I threw the newspaper down. A young man was dead and Krause was using it to promote his own political agenda.

Shoving my hands in my back pockets, I stared off into s.p.a.ce. What next? I snapped my fingers-Stephen's date book. Maybe I'd missed something.

I ran upstairs to my bedroom and pulled the copy out of my nightstand drawer. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I thumbed through it. Nothing new hit me until I noticed the phone number entered next to The Bookworm The Bookworm. A 515 area code. I'd been so focused on finding Karen Burns that I hadn't tried calling that number. I picked up the phone and dialed.

It rang twice. A young woman's voice came on the line.

"Krause for representative."

I swiftly covered the receiver to hide my gasp.

"h.e.l.lo? Anyone there?" she asked.

"Ah, hi..." I stuttered, stumbling to my feet.

"May I help you?" Her voice sounded strained.

"Umm, this may sound odd, but I found this number listed in a friend's date book...and, well..."