Chapter Forty

Joe slumped against the elevator wall. "That was a waste of time."

"Not really," Brent said. "At least we know where Ursula Docet isn't."

"That doesn't tell us where she is, though."

"Maybe I can find her on the internet."

"She's retired. Why do you think she'd be easy to find on the web? Sylvia Lobo is young and actively engaged in...business, and she wasn't online."

"Well, if we can't find her on an internet search, we can still find out if Elise is leaving the country. I still have a lead with Selene, you know."

"How long do you think it will take her to find something?"

"Who knows?" The elevator had reached their floor and they stepped off. "She has connections, but they're pretty high up. It'll take her at least the better part of today to work her way down to the flunkies who actually access the data, and that's if she puts her mind to this and doesn't waffle or get bored and go out drinking."

Joe glanced at his watch. "Well, it's late afternoon now."

"As soon as we get out of this garage and have a good signal, I'll give her a call."

They climbed into the truck and Joe started backing out of the parking space. "Where to, now?"

"A library, I guess, or any place with public computers or a good wi-fi signal so I can do a search on Ursula."

* * *

Joe drove to the nearest library he knew, which also happened to be in his old neighborhood in the shadow of the cathedral. The library was a Greek Revival affair of gray stone and imposing columns. It had once served a middle-class community but over the years had become a haven for immigrants eager to improve their uncertain English. "Why are we coming to this dismal place?" Brent said. "A library in a poor neighborhood won't do us any good."

"Hey, the neighborhood may be poor, but that doesn't mean the libraries are," Joe said. "I keep up with what's going on in the old 'hood. They got one of those government grants."

Brent followed Joe inside skeptically and was reassured when he spotted several computers for public use. "Not bad," he admitted, opening a browser. "A shame they had to put security bars on the window to keep people from stealing them, though."

"You always have to diss something, don't you?"

"You diss the rich, I diss the poor. What's the problem?"

"Nothing, except the rich guys get that way by taking advantage of us poor people, not the other way around." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "How long will this take?"

"Hard telling. Luckily we're not looking for a real common name."

"I'm going to look around a bit, then."

"Suit yourself." Brent leaned over the screen, scanning the results of his first search. Impatiently, he went from site to site, finding a name on a class reunion roster, a couple mentions on a message board, and a review of a show featuring one of Ursula's protégés. Everything seemed to point toward a dead end. Finally, though, he clicked on a link that took him to a website that made him smile. He found a stack of note paper and some yellow pencil stubs and scribbled an address. Then he opened a second browser window and did a map search.

Satisfied, he went in search of Joe, who he found in the art section, poring over a book of glossy photos. Joe looked up at his approach. "Anything?"

Brent showed him the map printout. "Unless she's moved in the last couple of years, this should be it."

"No way." Joe took the map and examined it. "Man, that's clear outside of town, almost to the county line."

"It shouldn't be too hard to find, though, should it?"

"Well, those farm roads can be tricky with lots of little dirt roads connecting into them that don't show up on maps. Signage is usually bad. And then there's driveways that look like roads until you've actually gone about a quarter of a mile, and then you realize you're pulling up in front of someone's house… but that doesn't really matter. As long as we have a general idea where to look, we'll find her."

"Good."

"How'd you find this, by the way?"

Brent grinned. "A roster, of all things. Ursula Docet is still on a few consulting committees for the ballet and some of its associated charities. She's secretary of one of them, and her address showed up on the roster's mailing list. A really stupid thing for them to post online, but lucky for us."

"I'll say."

The book Joe had left open on the table caught Brent's eye. "Hey, I didn't know you were featured in a book."

"'Modern American Woodcarving.' Kind of cool, isn't it?"

"I'll say." He examined the picture Joe had been looking at. "She's been your muse, hasn't she?"

Joe gazed at the wooden angel with Elise's luscious, doe-like eyes and pouting lips. "I guess you could say that."

"You think she ever minded?"

"Why would she?"

Brent shrugged. "I would think it would get old, always being a goddess and never being a real person."

Joe closed the book and put it back on the shelf. "Don't be stupid. What woman doesn't want to be a goddess?"

"Maybe someone like Elise?"

Joe glared at him silently, then reached in his pocket for his keys. "We've got a long drive, and I don't want to be trying to find this place in the dark. Plus, I need to make a quick stop along the way."

* * *

The quick stop turned out to be at the cathedral. "What are we doing here?" Brent said. "There's no one here who can help us."

"Maybe, maybe not." Joe killed the engine and put a hand on the door handle. "You coming?"

"No, I'll wait out here and try to call Selene."

"Good idea. I won't be long."

The church was empty and nearly dark except for a few dim lights and votives. Joe dipped his fingers in the holy water, crossed himself and stepped into the Virgin's chapel. He fumbled for an unused votive, lit it and placed it with the others. Then he knelt in silence for several minutes. Finally, after a quick look around to make sure he was unwatched, he slipped off his gold wedding band and pinned it to a fold of the Virgin's skirt. When he stood to leave he noticed Brent framed in chapel doorway.

"Couldn't wait outside, could you?" he muttered, brushing past him into the vestibule.

"I just wondered what was taking so long."

"You should learn to mind your own business once in awhile."

Brent followed him to the heavy double doors in silence. Once they were in the truck, though, he said, "I really didn't mean to pry."

Joe shrugged and started the engine.

"We've been to a lot dumber places for help," Brent went on. "Anything's worth a try at this point."

"That's what I figured."

"If it works, maybe I'll convert."

"She doesn't need you to be a Catholic," Joe said. "She just needs you to believe."

Brent considered. "I guess you could say a lot of women are like that."

"Maybe so."