Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

roof shingles, we came out okay. We did our best to accommodate as many people as possible, but there just wasn’t enough room. It was a nightmare. Much better now . ”
    Diana and Lucier exchanged shrugs. She didn’t expect this level of disclosure, and she could tell Lucier didn’t either.
    “Over here is what we call The Closet. All donated items. Clothes, shoes, and whatever else someone less fortunate requires to give them back a modicum of dignity. All we ask is that no one takes what he or she doesn’t need. Some clothes are new, most are used but in good condition. There’s a recreation room with a TV, a communal bathroom, kitchen, and nursery.”
    “And all this is donated?” Lucier asked.
    “Everything , and those working are either volunteers or people staying her e pitching in their share .”
    People scattered throughout the facility tended to different tasks, one worked in T he Closet—a room the size of an average bedroom—a couple of others prepared food in the kitchen, and still another did laundry at a large washer/dryer. All the workers were women. A few children in the television room played, watched TV, or read. Diana assumed the men were out either working or trying to find work.
    “Do you live here?” Diana asked.
    “No, I’m afraid the state would frown on that. There are shifts of employees who work on the premises and take care of the daily business. I eat my meals here, but I have a room in a nearby boarding house. Just a bed and dresser.” He turned to Diana with a crooked smile. “Oh, and a closet t o keep my flowing white robes.”
    After years of suffering the sarcasm of audience hecklers, Diana was seldom embarrassed. But Edward Slater had turned her own words back on her, and she felt small and petty. Her cheeks burned with discomfort. “Touché,” she said, forcing a smile. “I deserved that.”
    “Then we’re even.” He opened a door and ushered them inside. “This is my office. Please, have a seat.”
    Nothing in the office boasted of wasted money ― a simple wooden desk and four slat-back chairs, two four-drawer file cabinets, and a six-foot bookcase crammed with books of a spiritual nature, from Buddha to Confucius to the Bible to the Bhagavad Gita , tomes on mysticism, mythology, parapsychology, and the psychology of Jung and Freud, among others. A locked cabinet on one shelf roused Diana’s curiosity.
    Everyone took a seat, and Lucier slid Deems’ s photo across the desk. “Do you know who this man is?”
    Slater looked at the picture. “Yes, Dudley something or other. He sleeps here on occasion. In exchange for the bed, he offers his services as a janitor/handyman. He comes and goes, as do many of our residents. Why are you looking for him, and why here?”
    “His real name is Ridley Deems. He mentioned your mission to one of his co-workers. We’d like to talk to him.”
    “Has he committed a crime?”
    “ He’s a person of interest in a case we’re working on. When was the last time you saw him?”
    “I don’t recall ,” Slater said . “ What do you think he did? What case? ”
    “A baby was kidnapped from h er home last evening. ”
    “I read about that in this morning’s paper .” Slater slid back in his chair. “And you think Ridley ’s involved? He was always so helpful. Didn’t strike me as the type to do such a thing. ”
    “ P eople say that about a lot of criminals, after the fact. Anyone here who might know something about him?”
    “T he secretary might . I’ll go find her and bring her here .”
    Diana started to say something after he left, but Lucier motioned her to keep quiet. A slight shift of his eyes indicated a small light inside the vent high on the wall facing the visitors’ seats. Diana’s almost imperceptible glance confirmed Lucier’s discovery, and her instinct cautioned a camera probably meant a recording device. Maybe the surveillance had its purpose, but until they knew for sure, she wouldn’t say anything.
    Slater returned with a beautiful young woman who looked to be about twenty. Diana couldn’t help notice her voluptuous figure, small waist and hips, with breasts out of proportion to her small frame. Her dark auburn hair fell past her shoulders. She wore no makeup, but her Madonna-like face required none.
    “Ms. Racine, Lieutenant Lucier, this is Brigid. Maybe she can help you.”
    “Do you know this man?” Luc ier asked, showing her the picture.
    The girl stole a glance at Slater as if