by Jayne Castle
“Absolutely pitiful. But it’s obviously all I’m going to get in the way of law enforcement so I’ll take it.” She turned and went into the front room. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Depends. Is that a bribe? If it is, I think you’re supposed to include a doughnut.”
“Sorry, no doughnuts. Something tells me bribery would be useless with you, anyway.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“My intuition. You are in luck, however. I happen to have half a loaf of leftover zucchini bread that my neighbor, Thelma Duncan, made for me.”
“Thelma Duncan’s zucchini bread seems to be everywhere at the moment. Myrna brought a loaf to the station this morning. Rex ate it.”
“The whole loaf?”
“Well, he and Officer Willis split it. Turns out Rex loves Mrs. Duncan’s zucchini bread.”
“That’s good, because I’m told it will be around for a while. Mrs. Duncan is an incredible gardener and as it happens zucchini season just hit. I’ll cut a slice for Rex.”
She went behind the counter and unwrapped the zucchini bread. She was very aware of Slade watching her as she cut a slice and set it on a small paper plate. She set the plate on the counter.
Slade looked over his shoulder. “Come and get it, Rex. Zucchini bread.”
There was a muffled chortle from the vicinity of the vintage purses and bags. Rex appeared. He scampered across the room and bounded up onto the counter. He rushed to the plate of zucchini bread and fell to it with evident enthusiasm.
“Amazing,” Charlotte said. “You’d think after the loaf he shared with Willis this morning he would have had his fill of zucchini bread.”
“Not yet,” Slade said.
Rex polished off the slice of zucchini bread and bounded back down to the floor. He disappeared amid the array of antiques.
Charlotte ladled coffee into the filter. “Keep an eye on him, please.”
“That’s hard to do in this place.”
“I’m warning you—”
“I know. Your you-break-it-you-buy-it policy.”
“Right.” Charlotte poured water into the coffeemaker and started the machine.
There was a short silence behind her. She watched coffee drip into the glass pot.
“You never went for a full Covenant Marriage,” Slade said after a while.
Startled, she swung around. “No.” She took a deep breath. “No, I haven’t. Not yet.” She turned back to the coffee machine. “I take it you never went for a CM, either.”
“No. Tried a Marriage of Convenience somewhere along the line but it didn’t work out.”
The legally recognized Marriage of Convenience had been designed by the First Generation settlers as a short-term arrangement that allowed couples to experiment with commitment before moving into a full-blown Covenant Marriage. Young people were encouraged to try an MC before taking the plunge into a Covenant Marriage. An MC could be dissolved by either party for any reason, no harm, no foul. Unless there was a baby. A baby changed everything. In legal terms it transformed an MC into a full Covenant Marriage.
The legal and social bonds of a Covenant Marriage were as solid as alien quartz. There was a move afoot to make divorce easier but for now it was extremely rare largely because it was a legal and financial nightmare, not to mention social and political suicide.
Only the very wealthy and well-connected could afford a divorce, but they usually avoided it because the repercussions were major. Politicians could expect to be kicked out of office if they dared to break free of a CM. CEOs got fired by their boards of directors. Exclusive clubs canceled memberships. Invitations to important social functions dried up.
Most sensible people who found themselves in an untenable marriage simply agreed to live separate lives. But their social and legal responsibilities toward each other and their offspring were not affected. Family came first. Always.
The downside of making a poor choice when it came to a spouse ensured the stability of one profession in particular, that of matchmaking. Families did their utmost to make certain that couples were well matched by certified marriage consultants.
“You know,” Slade said, “I always figured you’d be matched by now. Maybe even have a few kids.”
“Did you?” She smiled over her shoulder. “I’m amazed you even remembered me, let alone thought about me during the past fifteen years.”
He reached into the pocket of his trousers and took out the black crystal pocketknife she had given him the morning he had sailed off to his new career in the FBPI.
“I thought about you every time I used this,” he said.
Delight sparkled through her. “You kept it all these years.”
“It’s a good knife.” He dropped it back into his pocket. “You were right about the blade. Still sharp and still strong. It saved my ass more than once.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She smiled, ridiculously pleased. “Nothing like a Takashima knife. How long did it take you to figure out how to open it?”
“I had it down by the time the ferry reached Frequency City. Takes a little talent to rez it.”
“Yes,” she said. “It does.”
“Since we seem to find ourselves stuck together on this rock for a while, would you be interested in having dinner with me tonight?” Slade asked quietly.
Although she had been fantasizing about him since she had watched him walk off the ferry last week, the invitation nonetheless caught her by surprise. She had to work hard to keep her response calm and light.
“Sounds great,” she said. “There are not a lot of options when it comes to restaurants around here. How about the Marina View?”
“I was thinking my place,” Slade said. “I’ll pick up some fresh salmon at Hank’s.”
“All right,” she said. “What can I bring?”
He pondered that briefly. “You’ll probably want something green to go with the salmon.”
“A few veggies on the plate is always good. In addition to the zucchini bread, Mrs. Duncan has been inundating me with tomatoes and basil. I’ll make a salad.”
“My keen cop intuition tells me you probably drink white wine, right?”
“I drink red, too,” she assured him. “It’s not like I’m inflexible. But white goes better with fish.”
“I’ll pick up a bottle on the way home,” he said. “All I’ve got in the refrigerator is beer.”
There was a faint thump from the back room.
“Rex.” Charlotte rushed back out from behind the counter. She shot Slade a glowering look. “I told you to keep an eye on him.”
“Sorry.”
Rex appeared in the opening between the two rooms. He carried a small black evening bag studded with glittering black beads. The dainty purse was barely large enough to hold a lipstick and a compact.
Charlotte confronted him, her hands planted on her hips. “Step away from the clutch.”
To her amazement, Rex dropped the object at her feet.
“I think he likes you,” Slade said. “Usually he ignores commands like that. What is that thing?”
“A very nice Claudia Lockwood evening clutch bag. It’s worth several hundred dollars in good condition and this purse is mint.”
Rex sat back on his haunches and fixed her with an expectant expression.
“He wants you to throw the purse,” Slade said.
“Forget it. This thing is too valuable to be used as a dust bunny toy.” She hesitated. “I didn’t know dust bunnies liked to play fetch.”
“Rex doesn’t exactly play fetch,” Slade said. “Not like a dog, at any rate. But if you throw an object he goes after it.”
“What does he do with it?”
“He kills it,” Slade said.
“Obviously you want to be careful what you throw for him.”
“Very careful,” Slade agreed.
She looked down at Rex. “Sorry, Rex. I can’t let you rip this to
pieces.”
Rex’s expression intensified. He was utterly still on his rear legs, a statue of a dust bunny.
Charlotte laughed. “Do you think he’s trying to use psychic power to make me do what he wants?”
“Wouldn’t put it past him.”
“You can’t have the purse,” she said to Rex. “How about a duck?”
She went to the counter and picked up the small, yellow rubber duck sitting near the cash register. She squeezed the duck a couple of times. The duck squeaked. Rex was electrified with excitement.
She tossed the duck into the back room. Rex leaped to follow. There was a thump. Several increasingly faint, desperate squeaks could be heard. Eventually there was silence followed by much gleeful chortling.
“Something tells me the duck didn’t make it,” Charlotte said. She went behind the counter and poured the coffee. She set the mug on the counter in front of Slade. She studied his cool cop eyes.
“You know who was inside my shop last night, don’t you?” she said.
“Yes,” Slade said. He picked up the coffee mug. “I’ll talk to him. It won’t happen again.”
Chapter 2
HANK LEVENSON TOSSED THE HEADLESS, TAILLESS FISH onto the scale. “Lot of expensive Amber River salmon for one person to eat. Planning on sharing with the dust bunny? I can always sell you a smaller piece of the salmon and give you some cheap bottom fish for Rex. Doubt if he’d know the difference.”
Slade leaned one arm against the glass display case and contemplated his options. There was no point trying to finesse the situation. The news that he’d had dinner with the owner of Looking Glass Antiques would be all over Shadow Bay by tomorrow morning, no matter what he did.
“I’m not so sure that Rex wouldn’t know the difference,” he said. “He’s damn picky. He’ll get some of that salmon but I’m planning on sharing the rest with a dinner guest.”
“A guest, hmm?” Hank swept the salmon off the scale and wrapped the silvery fish in brown paper. “Would that be Charlotte Enright, by any chance?”
“What was your first clue?”
Hank snorted. “Saw you come out of her shop this morning. Had a feeling you and she might get on well together.”
Hank was in his late sixties. He had grown up on Rainshadow and he was endowed with the tough, weathered features of a man who had spent his life on or around the water. When he reached for a strip of tape to seal the package of salmon, a portion of an old tattoo appeared beneath the rolled-back sleeve of his shirt. The image was that of a mythical sea serpent.
“Charlotte thought she had a break-in last night,” Slade said. “I went to her shop to check it out.”
“Yeah?” Hank looked up, eyes faintly narrowed in concern. “Anything stolen?”
“Who knows?”
Hank snorted. “Good point. That place is crammed with junk. Beatrix Enright was a very strange woman and she got more eccentric toward the end. She was obsessed with those antiques of hers.”
Slade remembered the talk he had overheard that long-ago summer when he had worked at the marina. “I remember. Everyone thought she was a little weird fifteen years ago.”
“She got even more odd as time went by, and that’s saying something around here. Rainshadow attracts a lot of eccentrics. We know the type well. The thing about Beatrix was that she was always buying antiques from estate sales and the like but she never seemed to worry much about selling the stuff, leastways not as far as I could tell.”
“She managed to keep the business going,” Slade pointed out.
“That’s a fact. Sometimes I got the feeling that she was searching for some particular object but whatever it was, I don’t think she ever found it. What happened to make Charlotte think that she’d had an intruder?”
“She found the back door of the shop unlocked this morning. It made her nervous. But as far as she can tell, nothing is missing.”
“City girl.” Hank nodded in a knowing way. “Glad it was nothing serious. But then, we don’t have a lot of trouble around here.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Slade said.
“Once in a while we have a few problems with some of the boating crowd on the long summer weekends. A little local drunk and disorderly stuff. And there are always a few hot-weed dealers operating in the islands, as you discovered this week.”
“Right.” Slade glanced at his watch.
“The Amber Sea Islands have always been popular with smugglers, drug runners, and pirates.” There was a note of pride in Hank’s voice. “Long history of that sort of thing around here. Fifty years ago, Captain Harry Sebastian himself sailed these waters. Legend has it he buried his treasure somewhere on Rainshadow.”
“And then disappeared, presumably murdered by his former business partner who felt he had a claim to the treasure. I know the story. Heard it fifteen years ago.”
Hank winked. “They say Sebastian’s ghost walks the Preserve at night.”
“If I see him, I’ll arrest him.”
Hank laughed. “You do that.”
Slade took another look at the portion of the tattoo that was visible on Hank’s arm. He’d seen similar tats, mostly on old smugglers.
“But generally speaking, the Bay is a real quiet place,” Hank continued with satisfaction. “Yes, sir, I’d say it’s the perfect little town for a man in your profession.”
“So people keep telling me.” Slade reached for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”
“Nineteen ninety-five. I gave you the local rate.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Hank handed over the package of fish and lounged against the counter. “No, sir, don’t have any of the usual big-city-crime problems here on Rainshadow.”
“I’ve noticed.”
No rogue psychics to profile, Slade thought. No serial killers. No investigations of murder by paranormal means. And it was just as well because he was no longer able to handle that kind of work.
“Got to admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect when that Reflections business opened up at the old lake lodge a few months back,” Hank continued. “But so far the folks coming in for the retreats seem like a quiet, well-behaved bunch. They spend money in the shops. The chef at the lodge buys his fish from me, so I’m not complaining.”
“Given what it costs to attend one of those flaky weekend meditation seminars, I doubt that Reflections will attract the kind of crowd that is prone to break into the local shops and businesses,” Slade said.
Hank chuckled. “You’re right about that.” He glanced through the front window of the shop at Rex, who was perched on the railing outside, graciously accepting pats and coos from passersby.
“Where’d you pick up the dust bunny?” Hank asked.
“He showed up a while back,” Slade said.
“Didn’t know they made good pets.”
“They don’t,” Slade said. “Thanks for the fish. See you later.”
“You bet.” Hank beamed. “Have a good time tonight now, you hear?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Outside on the front porch, Rex examined the package of salmon with great interest.
“Forget it,” Slade said. “This is dinner, not an afternoon snack. It’s going into the refrigerator at the station and then it’s going back to the cabin after work.”
Rex appeared to lose interest in the salmon. Slade was not deceived. He went down the steps.
Cautiously he jacked up his other senses a couple of degrees. He knew better. The doctors at the clinic had warned him against pushing his talent beyond a very minimal range. But he was unable to resist. He had to know how much worse the damage was getting, had to know how much time he had left before his senses shut down altogether and he went psi-blind.
His other vision kicked in for a few seconds. Waterfront Street—with its weathered, wooden storefronts—the ferry landing, and the marina began to glow in eerie shades of ultralight. The footprints of the people strolling on the sidewalks heated with i
ridescent energy. But when he inched a little higher and tried to work his way into the zone, he sensed the seething storm of energy that was out there waiting to envelop him. The good news was that it did not seem to have grown any darker since he had last checked.
He still had some time left before his talent failed completely, but the psychic powers that had shaped his life and made him so good at what he did for the past fifteen years were slowly but surely being consumed by the storm at the end of the spectrum.
He clamped down on the useless tide of rage that threatened to well up inside. There was no point giving in to the anger. He had to keep moving forward because there was no alternative.
At least he was going to have dinner with an attractive, interesting woman tonight. It had been a long time since he’d had a date. Susan had left after the verdict had come down from the doctors and para-psychs. He didn’t blame her. For a time it had looked like he was probably going to self-destruct. They had both known that there was nothing she could do to stop the slide. Even if he did not put a mag-rez pistol to his head or get permanently lost in a haze of drugs and alcohol as some expected, he would never again be the man she had planned to marry.
Susan had cut her losses and he had been relieved when she did. At least he no longer had to pretend that some day he might recover his talent; that some day he might be able to return to the Bureau.
But Charlotte Enright had never known him in what he now thought of as his other life. To her he was a clean slate. No baggage. And he would not be hanging around Shadow Bay long enough for her to get the wrong impression. He’d been straight up about that. She now knew that he planned to leave within six months. He was pleased that he’d gotten that issue out of the way before he’d asked her to dinner.
They were just two semi-strangers passing in the night, he thought. No reason they couldn’t spend some time together. She wasn’t a kid anymore. They were both adults.
He had been literally stunned to see her when he’d walked off the ferry five days ago. Most of the town had turned out to greet the new chief of police, but it had been the sight of Charlotte in the crowd that had sent the jolt of lightning across his senses and awakened sensations he could not identify.