St Helens 02 Zinnia Page 14

  "Simple. We can help each other."

  "Hah. Don't give me that. You don't have any real interest in finding Morris's killer. All you want is the journal." She smiled grimly. "I know perfectly well why you suddenly want us to be partners."

  He folded his arms. "Is that so? Why?"

  "Simple. You're afraid that I'll cause problems for you if I continue my investigation on my own. My blundering around could interfere with your own strategy. And now that I know you're a matrix-talent, it follows that you do have a strategy."

  "I don't want you poking around on your own because it could be dangerous," he said patiently.

  "That's not what's worrying you. The real problem so far as you're concerned is that I'm a loose cannon. An uncontrolled element in the matrix. You want to keep tabs on me and you've decided that the easiest way to do that is to pretend we're partners."

  "It wouldn't be a pretense."

  "Oh? What's in this for me, partner?"

  "I told you that first night, I've got connections on the street."

  "No offense, Nick, but I don't see you sharing information very readily. Not your style."

  "Because I'm a matrix and all matrix-talents are secretive?"

  She raised her wine glass in a salute. "That's one good reason."

  He tapped a finger on his forearm while he considered the challenge. Then he reached for the phone and punched in a familiar number.

  It was answered on the first ring.

  "That you, boss?" Feather was not given to polite preliminaries.

  "Yes. What have you got on Polly Fenwick and Omar Booker?"

  "Looks like they moved fast last night. Must have had their bags packed and in the car when they met you in the park. Their house is locked up tight. Yesterday they told the neighbors they were going on vacation."

  "Keep on it. They've probably left the city-state. Ask our friends in New Vancouver and New Portland to keep an eye out for them."

  "Right, boss."

  Nick hung up the phone and glanced at Zinnia as he punched in another number. "Polly and Omar were packed and ready to leave town before they met us last night. Looks like they had a plan, too."

  She frowned. "They either knew the journal was a forgery or Morris's last instructions really did scare them."

  "Yes." Nick broke off as the second call was answered. "Stonebraker? This is Chastain. I need a favor."

  "I don't do favors, you know that." Rafe Stonebraker's voice was that of a man who lived in shadows. It was laced with a bleak, cynical ennui. "I have bills to pay, same as everyone else. And you, of all people, can well afford my services. What are you looking for?"

  "The name of a very, very good forger."

  "How good?"

  "Good enough to create a fake copy of Bartholomew Chastain's journal from the Third Expedition."

  "When you say good enough, do you mean good enough to fool you?"

  "For a while, yes. It took me almost an hour of close analysis to be certain that I had just paid fifty grand for a fake. And I doubt that I would ever have figured it out if I had been something other than . . . what I am."

  "A matrix?"

  Nick was aware of Zinnia watching him. "Yes."

  "You're right." Rafe sounded marginally more interested in the problem now. "There are very few craftsmen of that caliber. Fewer still who would take on that kind of project. I'll get back to you in a day or two with a name."

  "Thanks." Nick hung up the phone again and met Zinnia's eyes. "That was a friend. He'll find the forger for us. When I get a name, I'll share it with you. Satisfied?"

  "Maybe." She confronted him with a calculating expression. "What do you want from me?"

  Everything. The realization took away his breath. He sucked in air and forced himself to sound calm and in control. "Cooperation. No more going off on your own. We talk before we make our moves."

  She appeared to think that over for a few seconds. Then she nodded once. "Okay, it's a deal."

  He felt something inside himself untwist and relax slightly. "Like I said, we're back to Plan A. As far as everyone else is concerned, you're my new interior designer. And to answer your earlier question, yes. The invitation to dinner tomorrow night still stands."

  Zinnia smiled slightly. "Your place or mine?"

  He glanced around the bright, airy loft. "I like your place better."

  "Let's make it yours," she said softly.

  "You want to eat above a casino?" He didn't want to entertain her there. The casino represented the past he intended to leave behind soon.

  "Not the casino," Zinnia said. "Your new home. The one I'm supposedly going to redecorate for your future bride."

  Chapter 12

  You've got to be kidding." Leo swept the crowded coff-tea house with a worried glance, as though he feared that some of the students or faculty clustered around the small tables might eavesdrop. Then he turned back to Zinnia. "You're going to be his what?"

  "His interior designer." Zinnia grinned. "Don't get excited. It's not quite the same thing as being his mistress."

  "This is not a joke, Zin."

  "No. Actually, it's just a pretense."

  "You're talking about a little game of pretend with the guy who just happens to operate the most exclusive casino in town. Are you out of your mind? Chastain is dangerous."

  "He may be able to turn up information that will point to Morris's killer. Something that I can take to the cops to get their attention."

  Zinnia had been braced for a negative reaction to her plans, but Leo seemed more upset about them than she had anticipated.

  When had her gangly little brother turned into a strong handsome man, she wondered. Leo had their mother's clear, thoughtful blue eyes and their father's lithe build. His dark brown hair was drawn back from his face and tied with a black cord in a style left over from the waning Western Islands look.

  Zinnia was grateful that he hadn't gone in for the garish colors and outlandish designs of the new Alien Artifact fashions as had so many of the other students on campus. In truth, he was already starting to look like a budding young professor of Synergistic Historical Analysis in his cuffed khaki trousers, unpressed button-down shirt, and slouchy tweed jacket.

  It seemed only yesterday that he had stood beside her at the memorial service that had been held for their parents. With their stoic-faced relatives ranged behind them, they had held each other's hands and fought back tears. Perhaps it was then that Leo had begun to emerge into manhood, Zinnia thought.

  She certainly had not been the same since that bleak day. The stress of dealing with the personal tragedy as well as the very disastrous, very public bankruptcy of Spring Industries had changed both of them.

  "I admit he's got a reputation," she said. "But I think it's somewhat exaggerated. In fact, I think he deliberately promotes it because he believes it's good for business."

  "The rumors about him aren't all fantasy." Leo's fingers tightened around his double tall coff-tea latte glass. "Listen, after the story about you and Chastain finding Fenwick's body broke in the newspapers I started hearing things."

  "What sort of things?"

  "Remember John Garrett?"

  "Sure. Garrett Electronics. John used to be a friend of yours back in the old days." The old days was mutually understood by both of them to refer to the era before the loss of their parents.

  "John and I ran into each other again in a History of Synergistic Theory class this semester. He took me aside yesterday. Told me he'd seen the headlines about you and Chastain. He wanted to warn me."

  "About what?"

  "About what kind of guy Chastain is." Leo leaned a little farther across the tiny table. "Seems like John's cousin, Randy, lost a lot of money in Chastain's Palace a few months ago. Randy had to go to his father for cash to settle the debt."

  "That would be John's uncle?"

  "Right. At any rate, old man Randolph Garrett was furious. Mostly because he didn't have the cash. He didn't want anyone
to know he was having financial problems. Some kind of merger was in process. At any rate, John said that borrowing to pay off Randy's debt would have brought the kind of attention from the business news media that could have jeopardized the deal."

  "What happened?"

  "Randy's father went to see Chastain who said that things could be worked out." Leo glanced around once more and then lowered his voice. "Get this, Chastain told him that the gambling debt would be wiped off the books provided Garrett sold him a certain piece of property up in the hills above the city."

  "So? That seems perfectly reasonable to me. Generous, even."

  Leo gave her an exasperated look. "The property was the original Garrett estate. The one John Jeremy Garrett, himself, built three generations ago. It's a piece of the Garrett family history. They would never have parted with it willingly. Chastain must have known that."

  "Did Randy's father sell the property to Chastain?"

  "He had no choice. John told me that the other branches of the Garrett clan were furious when they found out that the estate had been sold off. It was supposed to pass down through Randy's side of the family."

  "You just told me that Randy's father was in financial difficulty. If that was true, the estate would likely have been sold, in any event. We had to sell our family home four years ago. These things happen." It worried Zinnia that she was trying to defend Nick Chastain or at least excuse his actions. Not a good sign, she thought. Not good at all.

  "John said the Garrett estate would have been the last thing to go. And even if it had been sold, the family would never have agreed to sell it to someone like Chastain."

  Zinnia chuckled. She couldn't help herself. "Horrors. A casino owner in the neighborhood. Who will they let in next?"

  Leo's mouth tightened. "Don't you get it? It's an example of how Chastain works. He obviously wanted that estate. He knew he'd never convince the Garretts to sell it to him, so he manipulated Randy into a big loss at the casino."

  "Are you accusing Nick of cheating his customers?"

  "He wouldn't have to resort to cheating." Leo flopped back in his chair. "John said Randy is kind of wild. Give him a few drinks, feed him all the gambling chips he wants, and the end result would be a foregone conclusion. Chastain must have known that."

  Yes, Zinnia thought, Chastain would have known that.

  "He's a matrix," she said quietly.

  "Chastain? Five hells." Leo's mouth twisted with acute disgust. "I should have guessed. That explains a few things."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as your trying to see his good side when it's obvious to everyone else that he doesn't have one. You know how you are when it comes to matrix-talents. You always feel sorry for them. God knows why."

  "Don't worry about me feeling sorry for Nick Chastain. I'm well aware of the fact that he can take care of himself. I promise I'll watch my step."

  "Zin, I don't want you fooling around in a murder investigation."

  "If I find anything I'll go straight to the cops. Now, enough about that. How are things going with you?"

  Leo frowned at the change of subject. He raised one shoulder in a small shrug. "Okay."

  "That doesn't sound like okay to me."

  Leo groaned. "Uncle Stanley came to see me yesterday. Took me to lunch. Said he wanted to talk to me man-to-man."

  "Oh, dear. Same song and dance?"

  "Yeah. Asked me when I was going to give up the academic world and start concentrating on preparing myself for the real world of business. Went into his usual routine."

  "You mean he pointed out that there was no serious money in teaching?"

  "Yeah. Reminded me that the Spring family roots were in business. Said you were being difficult about fulfilling your responsibilities to the clan. That if you refused to contract a suitable marriage, there would be no one left but me to restore the family fortunes. Blah, blah, blah."

  "Don't listen to him, Leo." Zinnia reached across the table to touch his sleeve. "You're going to be a brilliant synergistic historian. It's what you were born to do. You've got a powerful psychometric-talent and an aptitude for research. It would be a crime to give up your dreams."

  Leo's mouth twisted. "And besides, we both know I'd never make it big in the business world. Spread sheets, bottom lines, and five-year financial forecasts bore the socks off me. But the family is going to keep pushing both of us, Zin."

  "We'll stand firm."

  "Easier said than done."

  "I know." Zinnia sighed. "I know. But we've made it this far. We can hold out for the duration."

  "Don't count on it."

  Zinnia and Leo exchanged troubled glances. When push came to shove on St. Helens, family almost always won.

  "What is it, Feather?" Nick did not look up from the computer screen on his desk.

  Feather's voice emerged from the intercom only slightly more gravelly than usual. "Hobart Batt is here, boss."

  Nick stared at the screen full of financial data in front of him. He should have been pleased that Batt had apparently moved quickly to start the matchmaking process, but for some reason, he felt a chill in his gut.

  "Damn," he said softly. "I forgot about him. Give me a couple of minutes, then send him into the red chamber, Feather."

  "Sure, boss."

  "By the way, Feather?"

  "Yeah?"

  "When I'm through with Batt, ask Rathbone to come see me for a few minutes."

  "You want to talk to the head chef, boss? Something wrong in the Palace dining rooms?"

  "No. It's a private matter."

  "Private?" Feather sounded confused.

  "Tell him to bring some sample menus for a picnic for two."

  "A picnic?" Feather was beyond confused now. He was beginning to sound uneasy. "You going on a picnic, boss?"

  "A classy picnic. The kind you see in movies. You know, where they serve a bottle of good wine and pate and tiny little sandwiches."

  "I never been on any picnics like that."

  "Neither have I. But I'm sure Rathbone can handle it. Any chef who can get the tri-city-state award of excellence four years in a row and who could please the Founders' Club members for a decade should be able to put together a decent picnic."

  "I'll tell him you want to see him, boss." The intercom went silent.

  Nick reluctantly blanked the computer screen and got to his feet. He went to the wall and pushed the button that opened the secret panel. It slid aside with the hushed mechanical whir of a hidden motor to reveal the gilded red-and-black chamber.

  Batt could not have come up with any matches yet, Nick assured himself. There were forms to be filled out. A battery of syn-psych tests to take. Everyone knew that the marriage registration process was a lengthy thorough-going business. No reputable syn-psych counselor could produce a match after a single interview.

  It was too soon.

  What the hell was he thinking, he wondered as he walked toward the gleaming obsidian-wood desk. He wanted Batt to move quickly. Why the cold chill?

  It didn't take a matrix to answer that, he decided grimly. He took his seat behind the ornate desk. For all his planning and unwavering intentions, he didn't want to think about his future wife now that he was involved, however tenuously, with Zinnia.

  The door opened. Feather's gleaming skull reflected the soft glow of the jelly lamps. He ushered Hobart, who was nattily attired in a fashionable, well-cut gray suit and a pink bow tie, into the room.

  "Come in, Hobart." Nick did not rise. "Please sit down. I assume you're here on business?"

  Hobart cleared his throat and walked nervously to the chair in front of the desk. "I brought a questionnaire. You'll have to fill it out before I can proceed."

  "Of course. Let me see it."

  Hobart perched primly on the edge of the chair and opened his briefcase. "It asks for details about your personal preferences, your hobbies and uh—" He glanced around the chamber with ill-concealed dismay and swallowed heavily. "Your tastes."
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  "Don't look so worried, Hobart." Nick smiled as he took the questionnaire. "I'm sure you'll find me a lady who won't mind my tastes. And I have no hobbies."

  "No hobbies?"

  "I don't have time for unimportant pursuits." Nick glanced through the thick questionnaire. "Running a casino keeps me fully occupied."

  "I see." Hobart drew himself up. "Mr. Chastain, we really must discuss your business occupation and your unusual psychic talent."

  "What's to discuss?"

  "You must understand that both are serious impediments to a successful match, especially since you have insisted upon limiting your selection to registrants from a certain social class."

  "Don't worry about it, Hobart." Nick closed the questionnaire. "I'm sure you'll find someone suitable for me."

  "There is one other thing, sir."

  "Yes?"

  Hobart took a deep breath. "You mentioned that you were an untested talent."

  Nick raised his brows. "What of it?"

  "Sir, I work for a very reputable marriage agency. Synergistic Connections adheres to a code of ethics. We simply cannot attempt a match unless both parties have been rated and assigned a position on the paranormal power spectrum."

  "In that case, I'm afraid you'll have to handle this match off the record, Hobart. It will be our little secret."

  "How am I supposed to convince a respectable lady to consider a match with an untested matrix-talent? It just isn't done. No family would permit such an alliance. No woman in her right mind would even think of taking such a risk."

  "You're forgetting my one great asset, Hobart."

  Hobart looked wary. "What is that, sir?"

  "I'm rich."

  Chapter 13

  Zinnia stood in the courtyard and surveyed the imposing structure in front of her. "As we interior designers say in situations such as this, it's got great bones."

  This was the home that Nick had chosen for his bride, she thought. The place where he and the future Mrs. Chastain would raise a family. She did not want to admire the mansion. For some obscure reason, she longed to find fault with the soaring columns, graceful steps, and spacious gardens. But the designer in her was too honest. The old Garrett estate was beautiful.