“That’s impossible. But you know me well enough to realize that’s exactly what I’d do. More analysis. Now what is this intimate little charade Kevin and his mother were practicing? And what did it have to do with Harriet’s obsession with English Literature?”

“Everything.” Kendra’s voice was tense. “I think I’ve found what we’re looking for. Look, the journal was written to be read by Harriet, not Doane. We saw Doane’s house, and the man isn’t a reader. But Harriet could pick up on some fairly obscure literary references.”

“So we’re back to those literary references again. Give me an example.”

Margaret heard a rustling of papers on Kendra’s end of the phone. “Late in the journal, he gets on a rant about wanting the world to pay for its hatred against him. At one point, he says he’ll ‘see the brave day sunk in hideous night.’”

“I don’t recognize that. But, then, I’m more into Dr. Seuss than obscure English quotations.”

“I didn’t recognize it either, but I knew it didn’t seem like his own words based on everything else he’d written. It’s from a Shakespeare sonnet. Then, a bit later in the journal, Kevin writes that ‘quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace—’”

“‘… like a clock during a thunderstorm,’” Margaret finished.

Silence. “You know that line?”

“Maybe I know a few things other than Dr. Seuss. I’ve read The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“And you remember that quote? You never cease to amaze me, Margaret.”

“What about the letters? Did they help?”

“The content didn’t give me much yet. Maybe later. But the envelopes do.”

“How is that?”

“The postmarks. The dates line up with his journal entries. The postmark on one envelope tells us that he mailed a letter from Seattle on June 4, and it was stamped at a postal facility just a few blocks from the King Street Station. It’s the biggest clock tower in Seattle. And, the day that he referred to that Shakespeare sonnet rant in his journal, he mailed another letter from downtown Chicago. It was in the vicinity of two fairly notable clocks. It’s interesting what he left out in both quotes. The full Shakespeare line is ‘When I do count the clock that tells the time, and set the brave day sunk in hideous night.’ And the Stevenson line is ‘Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm.’”

Margaret inhaled sharply as the concept hit home. “Clocks…”

“Yes, the first quote was in a Kevin journal entry from Seattle. And there’s another reference here, from Osbert Sitwell. That one is from another of the letters from Kevin to Harriet, and the envelope is also stamped Chicago and dated a little before Kevin’s death.” Kendra flipped more pages. “It says, ‘Killing time is only the name for another of the multifarious ways by which Time kills us.’”

“Time kills us?”

“I think Kevin is telling us something here. No, I’m almost sure of it. You need to check the clocks in those cities.”

“Easy to say. There must be hundreds of clocks and clock towers in Chicago and Seattle.”

“But both Kevin and his mother have gigantic egos. They wouldn’t play around with small stuff. It would amuse them to go after a place that would garner headlines.”

“I assume you have a few ideas?”

“I’m e-mailing you a list of possibles. I just sent you pictures and map data for several of the most-high-profile clocks in Chicago and Seattle.” She paused. “I don’t want to influence you, but I’d zero in on the Wrigley Building downtown, next to the Chicago River. There’s a huge clock tower atop the building, but there’s also a clock at the nearby baseball field. They might have chosen either one. Or neither one.”

“And Seattle?”

“I’d go first to the King Street Station. Besides the postmark on the letter, that clock tower is one of the most recognizable structures in the entire city.” She was silent again. “All of this is just my opinion, Margaret. No proof. I’m still working on alternate—”

“Stop trying to punch holes in it,” Margaret said. “You did great work, and you know it. Try to get some sleep. We’ll take it from here.”

“Not entirely,” Kendra said dryly. “Every time I turn around, someone is throwing something else at me. I’ve got to double-check my findings on the journal, then dive into Pacific Coast driftwood.”

“I’m not going to try to talk you out of it,” Margaret said quietly. “It’s too important. All of this talk about clock towers and terrorist plots. It’s all world-shaking and horrible, but the nightmare for Jane may be what’s behind that driftwood you have to locate.”

“Or her salvation,” Kendra said. “I’ll keep on it, Margaret.” She hung up.

“She’s astonishing,” Caleb said slowly as he watched Margaret thrust her phone back into her pocket. “Jane told me about her, but I guess she’s something you have to experience.”

“You could say that,” Margaret said. “And thank God when she’s for you instead of against you. Kendra doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

“I got that impression.”

“You were going to order me breakfast.” She checked her watch. “But that’s okay. I’ll wait until after I call Jane, and we’ll all have it together.”

“Of course, there’s the issue of disturbing Jane,” he murmured. “You’ve changed your mind about that?”

“It’s not important right now.” She looked at him impatiently. “I told you all that sex stuff doesn’t mean diddly-squat to me when you put it in the balance. Kendra worked her butt off to give us a chance to put a roadblock in the way of Harriet Weber’s plans. I’ve got to tell Jane.” She frowned. “And you said Harriet was going to pick up the detonator this morning. Maybe that will give us a clue about where they planted the device.”

“Perhaps. ‘Diddly-squat’ … what an unusual term … But, then, there’s nothing usual about you.” Caleb got to his feet. “I’ll call Jane for you and invite her to breakfast.”

She shook her head. “I’ll give her another fifteen minutes, then do it myself.” She went headed for the bathroom. “You’d enjoy it entirely too much.”

*   *   *

THE SUN WAS ALMOST OVER THE HORIZON, the amber gold streaks soft against the dark clouds. Beautiful, Jane thought drowsily, as she turned away from the window and cuddled closer to Trevor.

And he was beautiful. Strong and full of light and warmth like that sunlight.

“Awake?” he whispered in her ear. “I thought you were dozing.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I tried not to sleep. I didn’t want to let go.” Her lips moved across his cheek. “I didn’t want to let you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “I’ve got you, and I’m going to keep you.” His hand gently stroked her hair back from her face. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since I came back. You haven’t been listening, you stubborn woman.”

“I’m listening now.” She nestled closer. “I am stubborn … and scared. I think I must have loved you since the moment I saw you all those years ago. You took my breath away. All that charm and charisma and you were so damn Greek-god beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” He made a face. “Your artistic tendencies must have blinded you. I’m no Greek god.”

“No, maybe not. According to the myths, Greek gods weren’t always very kind or sane or unselfish. Not like you.”

“I’m not unselfish. Not where you’re concerned. I want to reach out and grab and hold. I hope I’m sane, but it’s easy to be kind to you, Jane.”

“Is it? You’re wrong, you know. I’m hard to love. No one ever loved me before Eve came into my life. A few of my foster parents pretended for a while, but something always happened, and they sent me away.”

“Stupid bastards.” He cleared his throat. “You were better off without them.”

“I think so, too. Because then Eve came.” She raised herself on one arm and looked down at him. “Look, I don’t feel sorry for myself. I didn’t mean that, Trevor. I’m a very good artist, and a good person, and I’ll make damn sure that we have a great life together. I just wanted you to know that I don’t have any illusions about being the easiest person in the world to live with.”