by Jayne Castle
In spite of its low reputation, the museum had acquired, under her direction, some rather nice relics including several wonderful carved urns and a matching pair of green quartz columns.
Her greatest acquisition, however, one that had forced the more upscale antiquities community to sit up and take notice, was a little vessel of pure, worked dreamstone. It occupied a place of honor at the end of the main gallery and was protected by a state-of-the art security system that had been donated by Mercer and Tamara Wyatt. The placard next to the beautiful little object read, Unguent Jar. Dreamstone. A gift of Mr. Chester Brady.
Unfortunately, the gift had been posthumous because Chester, a shady ruin rat who had made a career working the illegal side of the antiquities trade, had run afoul of an illicit excavation operation. He had been murdered, his body dumped into a sarcophagus here at Shrimpton’s.
Lydia had been escorting Emmett on a tour of the Tomb Wing when they had discovered the body. She knew that she would never again be able to walk past the display of not-quite-human shaped coffins without thinking of Chester.
She opened a door and walked into the small suite of museum offices. There was no light showing through the opaque glass panel of Shrimpton’s door. Bob had been right, the boss had not yet arrived. Shrimpton had probably stopped for a box of doughnuts.
The door to the office of Shrimpton’s secretary and all-around general assistant, Melanie Toft, stood wide. Lydia put her head around the corner.
“Morning, Mel.”
Melanie looked up from the tabloid she was perusing. She was an attractive, dark-haired woman with lively eyes and what could only be called a very fashion-forward sense of style. Lydia sometimes wondered if she shopped for all her clothes in the lingerie departments of the stores. Melanie had an extensive collection of sheer blouses, very short skirts, and daring little dresses that resembled nightgowns and slips.
“About time you got here,” Melanie said. “How was the meeting with Hepscott?”
“Fine. He gave me a budget that is several times what I get to spend here in a year. I can’t wait to start buying.”
She went into her office and set her portfolio case against the shelves holding her extensive collection of the Journal of Para-archaeology.
She was stuffing her purse into the bottom drawer of her desk when Melanie appeared in the doorway, rattling the copy of the tabloid.
“Have you seen the papers?”
“Hard to miss the headlines. The news that someone tried to murder Mercer Wyatt is above the fold of every newspaper in town. I also caught the report about it on Good Morning, Cadence on the rez-screen before I left my apartment.”
“How can you sound so calm and casual?” Melanie sashayed into the office and propped one well-rounded hip on the corner of the desk. “For goodness sake, woman, you’re dating the new boss of the Cadence Guild.”
“Acting boss.”
Melanie winked. “The job could become permanent if Wyatt doesn’t make it.”
“Got a hunch Wyatt will survive. He’s a tough old specter-cat.”
Melanie held up the tabloid. “You never told me all the juicy details about Emmett London’s connections to the Wyatts. How could you keep that kind of gossip from your very best friend? I’m crushed, crushed I tell you.”
Lydia glanced at the cover of the Cadence Tattler and froze. A large, grainy photo of Tamara Wyatt and Emmett going into the main entrance of Cadence Memorial Hospital together filled most of the available space.
The headlines screamed New Guild Boss Involved in Lovers’ Triangle? The type had to be at least an inch high.
“Let me see that.” Lydia snatched the tabloid out of Melanie’s hand.
“Be my guest,” Melanie replied.
Lydia raced through the article, her stomach growing colder by the second.
Emmett London, newly appointed chief of the Cadence Guild, was formerly engaged to wed Tamara Mcintyre (now Mrs. Mercer Wyatt) in a Covenant Marriage in Resonance City. According to sources who spoke on condition of anonymity, the wedding was called off abruptly after the bride-to-be was introduced to the boss of the Cadence Guild, Mercer Wyatt, at the engagement ball.
In a magazine interview last month, Mrs. Wyatt maintained that she had been “swept off her feet” by the dynamic Wyatt and that the two intended to convert their current Marriage of Convenience into a full Covenant Marriage in the near future.
A spokesperson for the Resonance Guild assured this reporter that the engagement between London and Tamara Wyatt had ended amicably. But other sources, speaking off the record, hinted that London was furious about the breakup and vowed revenge.
“Revenge?” Lydia reread the last line of the story, appalled. “This idiot reporter is implying that Emmett wanted revenge because Mercer Wyatt stole his fiancée.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Oh, jeez.” Lydia sat down hard on her desk chair. “This is terrible.”
“You’ll notice that the article stops short of actually suggesting that London may have been the one who shot Wyatt,” Melanie said dryly. “But the implication is a little hard to miss.”
“It’s impossible to miss.” The chill in Lydia’s stomach turned into an even more unpleasant sensation of hollowness. “This could turn into a disaster.”
“Forget that. Let’s get to the interesting stuff. Any of it true? Was the lovely Mrs. Tamara Wyatt London’s fiancée at one time?”
Lydia cleared her throat. “Well, yes.”
Melanie’s eyes rounded. “Oh, my.”
“But the engagement didn’t end because Tamara got swept off her feet by Mercer Wyatt.” Lydia thumped the cover of the tabloid in disgust. “Good grief, he’s forty years older than she is.”
“Still in great shape though, I hear,” Melanie said cheerfully. “At least he was until yesterday. Why did the engagement end?”
“Emmett informed her just before the engagement party that he had accomplished his objectives for the reorganization of the Resonance Guild and planned to step down. He wanted to go into private consulting. That did not suit Tamara. She had other goals.”
“Wanted to be Mrs. Guild Boss, huh?”
“She sure did. As it happened good old Mercer Wyatt had recently been widowed and was apparently in the market for a new bride.” Lydia turned one hand, palm up. “Tamara ended the engagement.”
Melanie drew up one bare knee and clasped her hands around it. The motion hiked her lacy skirt dangerously high on her thighs. “How did Emmett feel about being dumped?”
“He had a very narrow escape and he knows it.”
“It says in the paper that they were planning a Covenant Marriage. It would have been a legal and financial nightmare to get out of it once the vows had been spoken.” Melanie shook her head. “Wonder why they didn’t go for a standard Marriage of Convenience, first?”
Lydia cranked back in the squeaky desk chair and swiveled slightly from side to side. “Emmett is a long-term planner, one of those types who sets goals and then does whatever it takes to accomplish them. He probably applied that management approach when he set out to marry Tamara.”
“Well, you’ve got to admit, she does seem to be the perfect Guild boss wife. She’s not only beautiful, she’s stylish and smart. Heck, she’s an executive in her own right. Look how active she’s been on the boards of all those charities and social clubs this past year. She’s done more to promote a more modern, mainstream image for the Cadence Guild in the past year than anyone else has done since Jerrett Knox defeated Vincent Lee Vance.”
“I know.” Lydia drummed her fingers on the top of her desk. She did not need to be reminded of the long list of Tamara Wyatt’s personal assets and accomplishments. “I’ve met her. She’s impressive but she would have been the wrong woman for Emmett. I’m pretty sure he knows that now.”
“Of course he does,” Melanie said loyally. “It’s obvious that you are the right woman for him.”
They both thought about that
for a while.
Melanie cleared her throat. “So, where was Emmett London in the early morning hours when Mercer Wyatt was getting shot in the back?”
“The leader of Zane Hoyt’s Hunter-Scout troop asked him to help supervise the boys on a camping trip. They got back around two in the morning. By the time Emmett dropped the kids off at their various homes and got to his place it was three. Wyatt had just arrived in the emergency room.”
“The paper says that Wyatt was shot sometime between two and three,” Melanie pointed out.
“Uh-huh.”
“Sounds like Emmett might have a little trouble accounting for the time between dropping off the last Hunter-Scout and answering the phone call from the hospital.”
Lydia leveled a finger at her. “Don’t even think of going there, Mel. At the most, we’re talking twenty minutes.”
Melanie pursed her lips but refrained from pointing out that twenty minutes was long enough to murder someone.
Lydia sighed. “Luckily, Detective Martinez seemed satisfied that Emmett was not a suspect. After all, it was Wyatt himself who appointed Emmett to take over on an interim basis. He wouldn’t have done that if he thought that Emmett had tried to murder him.”
Melanie rocked back and forth on the desk a couple of times. “But Wyatt was shot in the back, according to the papers, and never saw the person who tried to kill him. Plus, I’ll bet that Martinez didn’t know about this lovers’ triangle thing when she questioned you and Emmett. Her view of the situation may change when she finds out those three had a tangled past.”
Lydia slumped deeper into her chair.
“On the other hand,” Melanie continued on a brighter note, “this is a Guild matter and everyone knows that the Guild polices its own.” She hopped off the desk. “Well, gotta run. Things to do. By the way I meant to tell you that Shrimp is feeling very pleased with himself.”
“Why is that?”
“He got an offer from a private collector for the Mudd Sarcophagus. The guy apparently saw it in the Tomb Wing last week and wants it badly because it fills out his collection. He’s willing to pay a lot more than it’s worth. Shrimp is thrilled, as you can imagine. He says you can use the profits to get a more interesting coffin.” She rolled her eyes. “What a concept, huh? An interesting coffin.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“The client is making arrangements to pick it up Friday at five. Shrimp wants you to supervise the crating and packing and see that it gets safely out the door with all the paperwork in order.”
“I’ll make a note.” Lydia pulled her desk calendar toward her and flipped the pages to Friday’s date.
“Also, just so you’ll know, I’m going to slip out of here a little early today. Got a date with Jack tonight.”
Jack Brodie, Lydia knew, was another in a long line of ghost-hunter dates for Melanie.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Lydia said. “The two of you are going to spend the evening somewhere in the Old Quarter.”
Melanie wiggled her brows. “Jack promised me that he’ll summon a little ghost or two to burn before we go back to my place.”
“Have fun,” Lydia mumbled.
“Oh, I’m sure I will. You know what they say, there’s nothing like a hunter in bed after he’s burned a ghost. We’re talking hot, hot, hot.” Melanie grinned from the doorway. “But you already know that, don’t you? After all, you’re dating the top hunter, himself.”
“Emmett is stuck in an office for the foreseeable future.” Lydia knew she sounded unbearably prim. She couldn’t help it. Melanie’s easy way with sexual innuendos and her casual lust for hunters was always a bit disconcerting. She could feel herself turning a vivid shade of pink. “He hasn’t got time to zap ghosts for fun and games.”
“Too bad.” Melanie disappeared around the corner.
Lydia sat for a long time, staring morosely at the front page photo of the Tattler. The gossip about a scandalous lovers’ triangle at the top of the Cadence Guild was only going to get worse. The story was simply too juicy to fade away.
If anyone could take care of himself, it was Emmett, she thought. But he had his hands full at the moment.
Something told her that the next few days and weeks were going to be very difficult for all of them.
9
EMMETT OPENED THE file that Perkins, Wyatt’s administrative assistant, had just handed him. “This is the list of people who phoned Wyatt the day before he was shot?”
“This is the list I gave to Detective Martinez, when she interviewed me,” Perkins said with clipped precision. “It includes all of the business calls, both incoming and outgoing, that were made from this office on that date.”
Emmett looked up. Perkins probably had a first name but no one in Wyatt’s headquarters had used it in so long that it had been forgotten. Perkins evidently preferred it that way.
He was a small, dapper man who looked more like a butler than a professional secretary. A circle of close-cropped gray hair surrounded his gleaming bald pate. He peered at Emmett through gold-framed spectacles.
“Can I assume from the way you responded to my question that there were some calls of a personal nature that were not included on this list?” Emmett asked evenly.
Perkins cleared his throat. “There was one that I saw no reason to add.”
Emmett raised his brows. “You made that decision on your own?”
Perkins drew himself up to his full height. “I have worked for Mr. Wyatt for twenty-three years. I think I know him well enough to say that he would not have wanted me to give the caller’s name to the police.”
“Because?”
“Because the call was from an old friend of his who was, I’m sure, in no way connected to the dreadful events.”
Emmett rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll need the name, Perkins.”
“Yes, sir, I understand, sir. The caller’s name was Sandra Thornton.”
Emmett frowned. “She gave you her name when she phoned?”
“No, sir, but I recognized her voice immediately.”
“She calls frequently?”
“She hasn’t called at all in the past two years, but before that Miss Thornton and Mr. Wyatt had a close, extremely personal relationship for a period of several months. During that time, she called Mr. Wyatt’s private number on several occasions.”
One of Wyatt’s former mistresses, Emmett thought. Great. Talk about complications. He closed the file and stacked his hands on top of it. “Let me get this straight, Perkins. One of Mercer Wyatt’s old lovers who hasn’t been in touch in two years just happens to call the day before Wyatt gets shot and you didn’t think that was worth mentioning to the cops?”
Perkins looked down his nose at Emmett. “I beg your pardon, sir, but this is Guild business of the most personal nature.”
Emmett tried not to grind his back teeth. He reminded himself that this was the Cadence Guild, not the new, reformed Resonance Guild. In spite of Wyatt’s avowed intentions to modernize the organization, they still did a lot of things the old-fashioned way in this town. And by long-standing tradition, Guild affairs were guided by one unshakable precept: Guild business stays within the Guild.
“What’s the story on Sandra Thornton?” Emmett asked, reigning in irritation. “Think she’s still got feelings for Wyatt? Was she angry when he broke off the relationship?”
Perkins blinked a couple of times in obvious surprise. “My understanding is that Miss Thornton was the one who ended the affair, sir, not Mr. Wyatt.”
“Did she call it off because Wyatt was seeing other women besides her?”
“I have no idea why she ended the arrangement, sir.” Perkins cleared his throat. “Mr. Wyatt did not confide that information.”
He wished Perkins hadn’t used the word arrangement.
“Did Wyatt say anything after Thornton called? How did he react? Was he annoyed?”
“Perhaps a bit preoccupied, sir, but that was all.” Perkins
hesitated. “He did ask me not to mention the call to Mrs. Wyatt, however.”
“Why not?”
“Mr. Wyatt cares deeply for Mrs. Wyatt. I believe he was afraid that she would be hurt or upset if she knew that an old flame had contacted him.”
Tamara would not have been pleased, that was certain. Emmett considered his options. He would turn the information over to Detective Martinez, but given the extensive resources and manpower available to him through the Guild, he could probably find Sandra Thornton a lot sooner than the cops.
Wyatt’s last coherent words before he went unconscious rang in his ears: It wasn’t politics, it was personal.
“Get hold of Verwood,” Emmett said. “Tell him I want to see him immediately.”
Lloyd Verwood was in charge of Guild security here in Cadence. The only thing Emmett knew about him was that Wyatt had appointed him to the position. That was enough. Verwood wouldn’t have gotten the job if he wasn’t good.
“Yes, sir,” Perkins said. “Shall I—”
He stopped when the door opened without warning. Tamara Wyatt walked into the office. One look at her tense, drawn expression and Emmett knew that she was very tightly rezzed. The stress she was under was taking its toll.
“Perkins.” She nodded at the little man. “Wondered where you were.”
“Mrs. Wyatt.” Perkins bobbed his head deferentially and then looked at Emmett for directions.
“That’s all for now, Perkins,” Emmett said. “Let me know when Verwood gets here.”
“Yes, sir.” Perkins left, closing the door discreetly behind him.
Tamara went straight to the window and stood looking out at the view of the Dead City and the mountains beyond. In spite of the strain she had been under since the call that had summoned her to the hospital, she was as sleek and polished as ever. Her dark hair was neatly coiled in an elegant chignon that focused attention on the excellent bones of her striking face. She wore her amber in her earrings.
Tamara was a ghost-hunter, a strong one, although she had never worked much underground. Her interests lay elsewhere. Tamara preferred the halls of Guild politics to the alien catacombs.