J. Daniel Sawyer - Clarke Lantham 01 Read Online Free PDF

tracks between the frames, giving the whole thing the look of ornaments on a Mayan step pyramid. I counted twelve in the first ten seconds, all rotating on a different schedule to provide a continually-refreshing string of memories.
    The shelves were crowded within an inch of their lives—not with books, but with shrines. Souvenirs from different places around the world set up almost like pagan altars, populated by day-old flowers.
    Bits of dried petals on the shelf in front of one of them attested to Nya’s presence not too long ago—she’d removed a desiccated African Daisy and replaced it with the current, not-quite-dead-yet version.
    “Finding everything okay?” Dora’s voice, edgy, approaching from the master bedroom.
    “Yeah, fine.” I backed away from the shelf before she made it into the room. Old habits—crime scene protocol. I didn’t want her to have a reason to come into the room and disturb anything on her own.
    “Anything I can help with?” She was fiddling with her handbag in the doorway—all decked out now like she was going off to an opera.
    “Nah, I’m fine. I’ll be out of your hair in five minutes.”
    “Oh! I can tell you anything…”
    “It’s not a facts thing, it’s a feel thing.”
    “Oh.” She swayed back and forth a couple times, like she was trying to figure out what to do. Jittery. Off-balance. She obviously wasn’t someone used to looking needy—she also wasn’t someone used to giving up control.
    Then again, her daughter was missing. I’d be jittery too.
    “Mrs. Thales, really. I won’t take long. Go finish getting ready.”
    “If you’re sure…”
    “I’m sure. I’ll let you know if I have any other questions.”
    “Okay.” Her eyes were wet, which she tried to cover up by turning her attention back to her handbag. She took a breath and swayed out of view in her high heels. A moment later I heard her soft creaks on the carpeted stairs.
    Nya, I don’t blame you at all. I wouldn’t have lasted past fifteen pinned under that hysteric’s boot heel. Judging by Rawles’ pics, Nya liked her independence. Maybe enough to run away for it.
    It was a nice hypothesis. Worst case, she’d have slipped away somewhere and would show up on the grid when she started pulling a paycheck.
    Shame it didn’t stand up to the most cursory glance around the room.
    Her laptop was still on the desk, her iPod hooked up to it, having long since shut down due to being fully charged. Wherever she’d gone, whatever she’d done, she hadn’t been planning on leaving when she was last in this room.
    I poked my head into the hall to check Dora’s location—I heard her opening and closing cupboard doors as if she was looking for something.
    A few crumpled pieces of paper pulled from the wastebasket and strewn across the hall at the top of the stairs gave me a good three-second alarm. She’d probably also want to see what I found.
    A crazed mother going after an adult daughter can create all sorts of havoc, and I wasn’t going to let her in on the process while there was any doubt about the score.
    There were four drawers in the desk, all them filled to bursting with brick-a-brack from a high school career ill spent. A DSLR with dead batteries and no memory card. A few graded papers that showed her regularly pulling Ds and Cs in remedial lit classes—in a California public school, getting a grade that low took a special kind of effort. A half-dozen half-consumed packets of chewing gum. Pencils that had never been sharpened. Paperclips bent out of shape for no readily apparent reason.
    Nothing useful.
    The drawer below, though, after a gentle ransack, yielded up a couple memory cards and a thumb drive. I pocketed them for later.
    If I credited Rawles, I’d have believed this girl didn’t do anything but screw and toke. When I closed the drawer and stood up, I found myself facing an archery achievement plaque on the wall next to a compound bow. A shelf next to it held two track