“Was there a Foundation investigation?”
“The Foundation was under different … management at the time.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Catalina made a face. “Rancourt was still in charge in those days. Your uncle didn’t take over until, what? Five years ago?”
“Victor was appointed director of the Foundation five years ago. He is well aware that his predecessor left a legacy of distrust.”
“No shit.”
“Out of curiosity, is ‘no shit’ your default mode?”
“It seems to be today,” Catalina said. “Believe it or not, until this morning my language was a little more refined.”
“I’ll take your word for it. As I was saying, at the time of the Fogg Lake murder, Stenson Rancourt was in charge of the Foundation. He more or less inherited the job from his father.”
“Everyone in Fogg Lake knows that the Rancourts were no better than a mob family. They used the Foundation to make millions. Billions, probably.”
“Things are different now,” Slater said.
“Sure.”
“Moving right along, due to Stenson Rancourt’s lack of interest in Morrissey’s disappearance, the investigation was minimal. It went nowhere.”
“And yet,” Catalina said, “Olivia and I still wound up in a Foundation file.”
“I’m afraid so.” Slater hesitated, telling himself that he should probably shut up now. But Catalina deserved some answers. “That did not happen under Rancourt’s regime. You and Olivia landed in the files because Victor has begun an effort to identify everyone who might have some connection to the old Bluestone Project. The people of Fogg Lake and their descendants are of particular interest to him.”
“I’ve got news for your uncle—we don’t want his attention.”
“Try to put your animosity aside for thirty seconds and consider the facts on the ground. Your friend has been kidnapped and there is every reason to believe her disappearance is connected to something that happened in Fogg Lake fifteen years ago. Do you really think regular law enforcement has a chance in hell of finding her before it’s too late?”
Catalina clutched the strap of her handbag with the determination of a patient about to undergo a tooth extraction without the benefit of an anesthetic.
“No,” she said.
They had reached the entrance of the office building that housed Lark & LeClair. He opened the door for Catalina and followed her into the small lobby and then into the elevator.
“Enough with the history lesson,” she said. “Where do we start looking for Olivia?”
“We’re going to pay a visit to the owner of a local gallery who specializes in antiques with a paranormal provenance. No one knows more about the rumors circulating in the underground market of paranormal artifacts than Gwendolyn Swan. She’s got a shop here in town.”
The elevator doors opened. Catalina moved briskly out into the hall. He fell into step beside her.
“I’ve never heard of an antiques shop that specializes in those kind of artifacts.”
“Gwendolyn Swan tries to keep a very low profile, for obvious reasons. Any hint of the paranormal attracts some extremely odd people.”
“Trust me, I know exactly how she feels,” Catalina said. “I became the human equivalent of a tacky tourist attraction myself six months ago, thanks to your uncle.”
Slater followed her out of the elevator and kept his mouth shut. He did not have the time or the energy to continue defending Victor and the new management of the Foundation.
They reached the door of the Lark & LeClair office. Slater opened it and stood aside to let Catalina stride past him into the room.
She came to an abrupt halt and stared at the man standing by the window.
“Oh, shit,” she said. “This really is not my day.”
CHAPTER 10
Daniel leaped to his feet behind the reception desk. He was at once anxious and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lark. Dr. Gossard said it was really important that he talk to you.”
Slater got a silent ping as the name popped up in his memory. Dr. Roger Gossard was the head of the security consulting firm Victor had mentioned … What happened between Lark and Gossard after I left town was not my fault, either. Relationships fall apart all the time.
Roger Gossard looked like he had been sent from central casting to play the part of a lean and hungry CEO who was going places and taking his cutting-edge forensics investigation business with him.
Catalina regarded him with a mix of antipathy and impatience.
“What are you doing here, Roger?” she asked.
Gossard smiled, showing a lot of very white, very straight teeth, but tension and wariness shivered in the atmosphere around him. He flicked an uneasy glance at Slater and then smiled at Catalina.
“Good morning, Cat,” he said.
Catalina started to take off her trench coat. “I’ve told you before, do not call me Cat.”
Daniel was still on his feet behind his desk. He looked as if he was afraid he might have to throw himself between Catalina and Gossard in order to prevent bloodshed.
“A police detective called while you were out,” Daniel said. “He indicated that you were involved in an attempted murder sometime last night. He said to tell you that they picked up Angus Hopper an hour ago. What happened? Are you all right?”
Catalina switched her attention to Daniel. “To be clear, I was not involved in an attempted murder. I was almost murdered. There’s a distinct difference.”
Daniel grimaced. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”
“You said they picked up Hopper?” Catalina hung her coat on a coatrack. “That’s the first good news I’ve had this morning.”
Daniel glanced at his notes. “Evidently Hopper showed up in an emergency room with what appeared to be puncture wounds from a, um, fork.”
Roger chuckled. “Figures.”
Daniel kept going. “It’s been a tough morning, Boss. First Olivia goes missing. Then Arganbright shows up claiming he has to see you immediately, a matter of life and death. The police call to tell me that you were attacked at Matson’s house. Then, just to put the cherry on top of my latte, Dr. Gossard walks in demanding to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Catalina said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you about Hopper because Olivia’s disappearance is a lot more important. Priorities, Daniel.”
“Right.” Daniel collapsed into his chair, dazed. “Priorities.”
Roger’s brows kicked up. “What’s this about Olivia?”
“Never mind,” Catalina snapped. “It’s none of your business.”
Slater cleared his throat. “I’m feeling a little out of the loop here, too. What’s this about an attempted murder and a fork injury?”
Daniel looked at Catalina. She waved one hand.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Tell him.”
Daniel straightened in his chair. “Last night one of our clients came close to getting her throat slit by an ex-boyfriend. According to the police, Catalina arrived on the scene just in time to interrupt the proceedings. Evidently there was a struggle. Catalina somehow managed to do some damage to the perp with a fork. Fortunately both women escaped.”