Page 7 of The Bride Wore White

She was halfway across the main room, heading for the door, when it occurred to her that she had no idea where she was. She might be miles from her little apartment in Adelina Beach.

There was no sign of her handbag. That was not a surprise. She had not had it with her when the kidnapper grabbed her and put a chloroformed cloth over her face. She might need cab fare. Reluctantly she made herself turn around and take one more look at the gory scene on the bed. Dover probably had some cash in the pocket of his trousers, but she could not bring herself to search the dead man. She would hitchhike if necessary.

Her gaze snagged on the bloodstained knife.Fingerprints.Hers were all over the murder weapon. Gritting her teeth, she made herself go back to the bed. She used the end of a sheet to wipe the handle.

It occurred to her that her prints were elsewhere in the suite. She went back into the bathroom, kicked the bloody wedding gown out of the way, and grabbed a towel. She made a quick tour through the room, wiping down any surface she could remember having touched.

When she was done, she used the towel to open the door.Bracing herself for disaster, she peeked into the hall. Relief swept through her when she saw that the corridor was empty.

She could not risk the elevator or the main stairwell. The chance of being seen was too great. She hurried to the far end of the corridor and opened the door of the fire escape. Four flights of metal steps descended into the shadows of an empty alley.

She went out onto the landing and started down. The structure rattled, squeaked, and clattered with every step. To her ears the noise was as loud as a police siren. She held her breath, certain that someone would open a window and look out to see if there was a cat burglar trying to escape with a hotel guest’s jewelry.

She made it to the ground without anyone shouting at her, took a deep breath, and ran for the far end of the alley. When she turned the corner, she glanced toward the entrance of the hotel and saw the stately gold lettering emblazoned on the sign:Pentland Plaza.

It was not until she was safe in the front seat of a truck driven by a farmer on his way to an early-morning market that she allowed herself to examine the full extent of the disaster that had befallen her.

She had thought she had left the past behind when she fled San Francisco and moved to Southern California. It was obvious now that she could no longer live in that comforting fantasy.

One way or another she had to deal with the nightmare in which she found herself.

The nightmare had a name—Clara Dover.

Chapter 5

You’ve given me no option, Miss Ryland. I am forced to terminate your employment.” Burgess Attwater folded his hands on top of the big desk. “You will collect your personal effects and depart the library within fifteen minutes. Is that clear?”

“Quite clear,” Prudence said. “And you needn’t look as if you are merely carrying out your responsibility as the director of the library. We both know you have been looking for an excuse to fire me from the moment I arrived.”

Attwater watched her with a steely glare. “If that is true, you certainly gave me an excellent reason to let you go, didn’t you? Your sudden disappearance yesterday was a clear dereliction of duty, exactly the sort of flighty, unpredictable, irresponsible behavior I was afraid of when I was pressured to hire you as a research librarian. If Professor Tinsley had not insisted on giving you a chance, I would not be in this unpleasant position.”

“Oh, shut up,” Prudence said. “You’re thrilled that you have areason to get rid of me. You don’t think women have any place in academic libraries.”

“And you have just proven me correct,” Attwater said. “You must admit your behavior yesterday afternoon was intolerable. You vanished into the stacks with a man at a quarter to five in the afternoon and you didn’t reappear until this morning. You can’t possibly expect me to keep you on in a professional capacity after such disgraceful behavior. You will pack up your desk immediately.”

“I assumed you would fire me this morning, so I’m already packed, but I would like to know the name of the man you say accompanied me into the stacks.”

“You don’t even know his name? Really, Miss Ryland, that is beyond disgraceful. You are a prime example of what comes of allowing females to enter the upper echelons of academia.”

“And you are a fine example of a jackass.” Prudence took a step forward and flattened her palms on the desk. “I don’t intend to waste my time begging for another chance. I just want to know the name of the creep who followed me into the stacks yesterday afternoon.”

“I have no idea whom you seduced, Miss Ryland, and even if I did, I would not give you his name. Perhaps next time you will obtain an introduction before you fornicate with a gentleman in the stacks.”

“Whoever he was, he was no gentleman and there was no fornication, but I don’t expect you to believe me. All I want is a name.”

“Well, you’re not getting one. I’ve had enough of this nonsense. You will leave the library immediately or I shall have you escorted off the premises.”

It had been too much to expect Attwater to give her the name of the man who had followed her into the stacks. She suspected he was telling her the truth when he said he didn’t know. He had been in a meeting at the time.

“Never mind,” she said. “You are useless, Attwater. Don’t worry, I will see myself off the premises.” She strode to the door and opened it. Pausing on the threshold, she glanced back over her shoulder. “By the way, when Professor Tinsley asks about the research I was doing for him yesterday, you may tell him that I found that treatise he was looking for.”

Attwater scowled. “What treatise?”

“An Investigation of Dreams. Anonymous. Eighteenth century. It contains a reference to a seventeenth-century alchemist named Sylvester Jones.” Prudence summoned up a bright, shiny smile. “I’m sure the professor will be thrilled. Evidently he considers it critical to his work.”

For the first time, Attwater’s expression registered some unease. “Where is the treatise?”

“Somewhere in the stacks.” Prudence swept out a hand to indicate the extensive rows of shelving on the other side of the glass-paned office window. “Or maybe it was in the Rare Books and Manuscripts vault. I don’t recall precisely. I was very busy at the time. But don’t worry, I jotted down the Dewey number in my notebook. It won’t be difficult to find it again.”

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