by Jayne Castle
“Sounds like your night went a lot better than mine,” Slade said. “But there will be a second date. She owes me that much.”
Chapter 6
THE PHONE RANG JUST AS CHARLOTTE REACHED INTO her voluminous shoulder bag to find the key to the back door of Looking Glass. She took out the phone instead and glanced at the screen.
“Hi, Mom,” she said. “Before you ask, yes, I’m fine. Things are going swell.”
“What did you have for dinner last night?” Marilyn Enright demanded.
“Grilled salmon, a lovely salad of vegetables fresh from my neighbor’s garden, and some homemade zucchini bread.”
“You’ve never cooked anything on a grill in your life.”
“That’s because whenever a grill was involved Dad and Cort always took over. Something about it being the manly way to cook, remember?”
“It’s the fire thing,” Marilyn said absently. “Men can’t resist an open flame. So, if you didn’t cook the salmon, yourself, what did you do? Eat out?”
“No, it was a home-cooked meal.”
“Someone cooked it for you?”
“The salmon was grilled by my host. But I made the salad. Doesn’t that count?”
“Yes, of course it counts.” Marilyn’s voice softened. “Sounds like you’re making friends there on the island.”
“Getting to know people, yes, indeed.”
Marilyn pounced. “What’s his name, dear?”
“Mom, we’ve talked about this. You promised me that you would respect my privacy, remember? We both agreed that at my age a woman no longer has to give her mother an account of her personal life.”
“I know, dear, but I’m a mother. I can’t help but worry. Let’s face it, your personal life tends to be somewhat volatile where men are involved. That situation with Jeremy Gaines a few months ago became quite worrisome. Your father was starting to think that Gaines might be stalking you.”
“Jeremy wasn’t a stalker. He was just very tenacious.”
“Regardless, we’re all very glad that he’s out of the picture. But your father and I don’t like the idea of you being so far away.”
“I didn’t move to a desert island, Mom. I’m only a couple of hours from Frequency by ferry, for crying out loud. Forty-five minutes by float plane.”
“Technically, maybe. But an island is an island. It feels like you’re a long way from us.”
“Mom, I’ve got to go. I’m at the shop and it’s after eight.”
“I thought you didn’t open the shop until nine,” Marilyn said.
“True, but I’m trying to conduct an inventory this week. It’s easier to do that before I open up. Once the morning ferry arrives I’ll be dealing with customers.”
“All right, I’ll let you go. But first tell me how your date went last night.”
“How do you think it went? It was a disaster, as usual. Got to go. Bye.”
“Wait, who is he?” Marilyn demanded.
“The chief of police here in Shadow Bay.”
“Is he registered?”
“With Arcanematch? No, not any longer. Evidently things didn’t work out when he went the matchmaking route. I thought it gave us something in common but I think I was wrong about that.”
“What’s his name?”
“Slade Attridge. He used to work for the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation. Talk to you later, Mom.”
She cut the connection, dropped the phone back into her purse, and started to undo the lock. It took her a second to realize that the door was already unlocked.
“Devin, I swear, if you’ve been prowling through my shop again, I’m going to report you to your grandmother this time. Forget the local cops.”
She opened the door and moved into the cluttered back room. A trickle of unease fluttered through her. She knew the sensation all too well. Her intuition was kicking in. But this ominous crackle of awareness was much different from the one she had experienced yesterday when she’d discovered the unlocked door.
It dawned on her that the back room was even more disorganized than usual. The lids of several packing crates had been pried off. The contents were strewn everywhere. The drawers of an antique rolltop desk stood open. The top of a fine First Generation steamer trunk had been raised. The bubble wrap had been ripped off several small antique glass items.
Yesterday she had sensed that someone had been inside the shop but the knowledge had not filled her with sharp, clawing dread. She had been annoyed but she had not been scared. This morning she was scared. She was also angry.
She started to back out of the shop. She was going to feel like an idiot calling Myrna at the station again this morning to report another intruder. This time it would be a thousand times worse because she would have to deal with Slade after their dreadful date. She had not yet decided how she wanted to handle that situation. She had been awake most of the night thinking about it. No solution had presented itself.
She saw the shoe sticking out from between two stacks of shipping crates just as she stepped back and reached for her phone. A man’s shoe.
Adrenaline shot through her. Her senses flashed high in fight-or-flight mode. She struggled to lower her talent. The last thing she wanted to do was go back inside but she had no choice. She had to make certain the man was truly dead, not bleeding to death or suffering a seizure.
She made her way around a stack of wooden crates. The unnerving sensation grew stronger as she got closer to the body. When she saw the face of the man sprawled on the floor she froze.
There was no need to check for a pulse. Although there was no blood and no signs of obvious violence, the aura of death was palpable. Besides, fear and adrenaline had kicked her senses into high gear. She could see very clearly that there was no hint of a rainbow around Jeremy. The lack of a reflection meant that there was no aura energy.
Jeremy Gaines had seriously complicated her life while he was alive. She had a feeling that he was going to make things even more difficult now that he was dead.
She started to shiver. Damn. She hadn’t had a panic attack in months. She went into the deep-breathing exercise immediately, hoping to regain control before things got worse.
It was all she could do to take out her phone. It required a couple of attempts to call the emergency number. But she managed to keep it together while she reported the situation to Myrna.
“The chief is on his way,” Myrna said, sounding uncharacteristically authoritative and thoroughly professional. “Do not go back inside your shop until he gets there. Understand?”
“Got it,” Charlotte said.
“Are you okay?” Myrna asked. “You sound a little breathless.”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
Charlotte hung up the phone and sank down onto the back step. She forced herself to breathe the way she had been taught, fighting the panic attack with every ounce of her willpower. She hated using the pills.
Breathe.
Chapter 7
SLADE CROUCHED BESIDE THE BODY, PULLED ON THE plastic gloves that Myrna had magically produced from the back of a cupboard beneath the copying machine, and cautiously opened his senses. The haze of violent death shivered in the atmosphere. He didn’t have to go any hotter to know murder when he saw it.
“Who was he and what was he doing here in your shop?” he said to Charlotte.
“His name was Jeremy Gaines,” Charlotte said. She stood some distance away from the body, arms tightly folded beneath her breasts. “He was a former client of mine. I haven’t seen him since I left Frequency. I have no idea what he was doing here. I didn’t even know that he was on the island.”
Slade pulled a ticket receipt out of one of the dead man’s pockets. “Looks like he arrived on the last ferry yesterday evening.”
“I had closed up and gone home by then.”
“Later you walked over to my place.”
“Yes.” She fell silent.
He knew that she was remembering that he had left her at her door
around eleven thirty. She had no alibi for the remainder of the night. He studied her for a moment.
“You look pale,” he said. “Are you okay?”
Her mouth tightened resolutely. “I’m fine. Had a bit of a panic attack when I found the body but I’m okay now.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” She raised her chin. “Don’t worry, I have pills if I need them.”
She did not want to talk about the panic attack, he realized. Fair enough, he didn’t like talking about his senses-related problem, either.
“Was Gaines a talent?” he asked.
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “He is also a member of the Arcane Society, for what it’s worth.”
“Like you.”
“Back in Frequency I catered primarily to collectors who are Arcane.”
“How long was he a client?”
“Not long.” She stopped.
“Might as well tell me the rest,” Slade said. “I’m going to find out eventually.”
She grimaced. “Jeremy was a client. He was very knowledgeable about antiques and antiquities. And he had money. I found a couple of nice Post–Era of Discord items for him. Then he asked me to locate a certain piece of late Nineteenth-Century Old World glassware for him. A snow globe.”
“Go on.”
“Old World antiquities are not my area of expertise. That is a far more rarified market. Most of the good pieces are in museums. But it was an interesting challenge so I agreed to see what I could do. Eventually I traced rumors of an Old World snow globe to the private collection of a woman named Evelyn Lambert. Mrs. Lambert was amazed that I had been able to track it down to her collection. But she declined to sell. I told Jeremy that she was not interested.”
“What happened?”
“Jeremy got angry when I informed him that the collector who owned the snow globe did not want to sell. In fact, he was furious.”
“Did you give him Mrs. Lambert’s name?”
“Certainly not.” Charlotte was indignant. “I always respect and protect the privacy of my clients. A lot of collectors are very secretive. Mrs. Lambert was one of those.”
“What happened after that?”
“Mrs. Lambert was so impressed with my expertise she wanted to talk to me about her plans to give her collection to one of the Arcane museums. I told her who to call to make the arrangements. We got to be friends. She was in her eighties and she lived alone. Her house was filled with the most incredible collection of glass antiques. She knew everything there was to know about glass, not just Colonial antiques but Old World antiquities, as well. I had tea with her almost every Thursday afternoon for two months until she died. I learned a great deal from her.”
“When did she die?”
“Several months ago. She left most of her glass to the Arcane Museum in Frequency but she was kind enough to leave a few very nice pieces to me.”
“What happened to Jeremy Gaines?”
Charlotte’s jaw tightened. Her eyes narrowed a little at the corners. “This is where it gets messy.”
“Talk to me.”
“I thought Jeremy had disappeared for good. I didn’t see him for months after he flew into that rage in my shop. But he showed up one afternoon shortly before I moved here to the island. He turned on the charm. Jeremy had a lot of that. My mother said it was probably an aspect of his talent.”
“Any idea what kind of talent he was?”
“I never asked. I didn’t want to get too personal. But I assume he had a strong psychic sensitivity for old paranormal objects since he was such an avid collector.”
“Ever see his collection?”
She made a face. “You know, you sound just like a cop.”
He looked at her.
She cleared her throat. “Right. The answer is no. He never offered to show it to me. I never asked to view it.”
“What did he want when he reappeared in your life?”
“He said he’d been thinking about me and he wanted to get to know me in a personal way. He said we had so much in common. He apologized for losing his temper the last time I had seen him and he asked me out on a date.”
“What did you do?”
“I declined. I had seen his aura rainbow the day he lost his temper. I didn’t like what I saw.” She shuddered. “Not that I needed to view his rainbow after that display of rage. That would have been enough to put off any sensible woman.”
“Anger-management issues?”
“Definitely. But in addition there was something else that I didn’t like. I’ve seen it before a few times. The ultralight in Jeremy’s rainbow was very similar to the bands of colors I’ve seen in the rainbows of the few true sociopaths I’ve had the misfortune to meet from time to time.”
The hair lifted on the nape of his neck. “You can see that kind of thing in a rainbow?”
“Yes, but only when someone is really jacked up. Unfortunately, I can’t detect the bad stuff in someone who is just walking down the street. Rainbows are linked to auras. They’re generated by strong emotions or strong talents. Or both. That’s why I didn’t . . .”
She stopped abruptly but she did not need to finish the sentence, he thought. They both knew what she had been about to say. She hadn’t perceived the true colors of his aura rainbow last night until things had gotten hot and heavy between them.
“I think I’m starting to understand why you didn’t have a lot of luck with your Arcanematch dates,” he said neutrally.
She exhaled slowly. “Sometimes it’s better not to know too much about a person.”
“You may have a point there.”
On the other hand, her talent was evidently what had kept her single all these years, he thought. It had kept her free until he could get back to her. But now he was the one who was facing a psychic prison sentence that would not allow him to be with her for long.
“Did you ever see Gaines again?” he asked.
“Yes. He seemed to become obsessed with trying to convince me to give him another chance. There were phone calls. He sent flowers. He discovered my address and showed up on my doorstep one evening with a bottle of champagne. He stopped by my shop the next day, apologized again and asked me out to coffee.”
“Stalker?”
She hesitated. “Well, my family worried that he was becoming one but I honestly don’t think that was the case.”
“Sure sounds like a stalker scenario.”
“Maybe.” But she was clearly not convinced. “In any event, after a week or ten days he gave up and went away. I truly believe that he just wanted me to take him back as a client. Jeremy being Jeremy, he assumed charm would do the trick.”
“Why was he so determined to become your client again? There must be a lot of good antiques dealers around.”
Charlotte’s brows rose. “Not a lot who have the feel for para-antiques that I possess. I told you, I’m very, very good at what I do. I have a certain reputation in the field. Jeremy knew that. It’s why he sought me out in the first place. He was a very serious collector. He wanted only the best.”
“And you’re the best?”
“I’m certainly one of the best. But that means that I can afford to be choosy when it comes to my clients.”
Slade contemplated Gaines’s expensive black turtleneck sweater, black trousers, and black running shoes. “Looks like he came dressed for a night of breaking-and-entering and dropped dead on the job.”
“Jeremy had no need to steal anything. He could have afforded to buy whatever he wanted.”
“But you refused to do business with him.”
“True, but there were ways around that. Gaines could have used another dealer as an intermediary. I probably wouldn’t have found out. Dealers work together all the time without revealing the names of their clients.”
“It wasn’t my area of expertise when I worked for the Office, but I’ve heard that the world of collectors who specialize in the paranormal is a very gray market that often slides
all the way into the black market.”
“Collectors do tend to be reclusive, eccentric, and secretive,” she admitted. “Dealers who don’t respect that don’t last long in the business.”
Slade studied the body. “Gaines died here, inside your shop, sometime during the night. If he wasn’t stalking you, he must have been after something that he thought you had but which you wouldn’t sell to him if he came through the front door.”
“I honestly can’t imagine what he would have wanted that badly from my collection. He went for the more exotic objects.”
“But if he did want something from your collection, why didn’t he use another dealer to get it for him?”
“Exactly. It makes no sense.” She looked at the body. “This doesn’t look good for me, does it? I mean, what are the odds that one of my ex-clients who just happens to be wearing a lot of black breaks into my shop and drops dead from a heart attack?”
“Not good but fortunately for you, that’s exactly what it looks like, a heart attack or stroke. Got a feeling that’s what the medical examiner over in Thursday Harbor will call it.”
“But you don’t buy it, do you?”
“No,” he said. He got to his feet. “This was death by paranormal means.”
She looked shocked. “Are you telling me that someone actually used talent to murder Jeremy?”
“Talent or a device that generates lethal paranormal energy.”
Shock turned to bewilderment in her eyes. “What kind of weapon can generate that kind of radiation?”
“Certain crystals can be alchemically altered to become weapons-grade. But there are also some very high-level talents who can kill with their own natural power.”
She shuddered. “I’ve heard a few horror stories over the years. Everyone in Arcane has. But I thought the ability to kill with psychic energy was just another Arcane legend.”
“It’s extremely rare. Takes a hell of a lot of power and only certain kinds of talent can be focused in a lethal way. Since it invariably looks like the victim died from natural causes, the murder usually goes undetected.”
“You sound like an expert on the subject.”