Silver Master gh-5 Page 21

  “Probably the early-morning sex,” Davis said. “It seems to put me in a good mood.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me you can read minds. Going invisible I can deal with. Mind reading is a deal breaker.”

  “I can’t read minds, but sometimes I’m a really good guesser. That’s what makes me such a hotshot private investigator.”

  “No doubt.”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “I’ll get it,” Davis said.

  He eased himself off the stool and went into the small front hall. Celinda listened to him greet their visitor.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Furnell,” he said. “You’re looking very bright and cheerful today.”

  “Thank you.” Betty sounded pleased. “Everyone always says that orange is my color.”

  “Everyone is right,” Davis said.

  “I wondered if I could borrow a little milk for my cereal. I ran out, and it’s too early to go to the store.”

  Celinda stifled a sigh. “Come on in, Mrs. Furnell. I’ll get the milk for you.”

  Betty appeared, beaming. “Thank you, dear.” She was, indeed, very bright and cheerful looking in an orange track suit trimmed with purple racing stripes and a pair of neon orange running shoes.

  “How was the wedding?” she asked.

  “It was very pink and very lovely.” Celinda slid off the stool and went around the counter. “My sister looked beautiful.”

  “You must show me the pictures.”

  Celinda tried and failed to resist the good manners impulse. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “I would love one, dear. Thank you.” Betty smiled benignly at Davis. “The two of you came in quite late last night. I thought I heard a third person, too.”

  “My assistant,” Davis said. “He had an important message for me.”

  “I see.” She beetled her brows at him. “I must say, it was an odd time to deliver a message. He stayed for quite a while, didn’t he? I’m sure I heard him leave around four.”

  Something clicked inside Celinda’s head. She looked up from the mug that she was filling with coffee.

  “You never miss a trick here, do you, Mrs. Furnell?”

  Betty winked. “Not much gets by me, dear, and that’s a fact. This is a very quiet place. Sound carries.”

  It hadn’t been all that quiet recently, Celinda thought. Whoever had searched her apartment the other night must have made some noise. Furniture had been turned over and drawers had been emptied in what had appeared to be a frenzied haste.

  Celinda glanced at Davis, who responded by raising his brows in silent question.

  She turned back to Betty.

  “Mrs. Furnell, did you by any chance hear some unusual noises from this apartment three nights ago?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Celinda saw Davis go very still.

  But it was Betty’s reaction that startled Celinda. First, she went completely blank, as though utterly baffled by the question. Then she stiffened. Her fingers fluttered nervously.

  “No,” she said quickly. “No, I didn’t hear a thing.”

  Celinda caught the sudden flaring of agitated psi energy. Betty was experiencing a sudden amount of stress.

  “Are you certain?” Celinda pressed gently.

  “Absolutely certain. I heard nothing.” Betty frowned. “I don’t allow any loud noises from this apartment. Told you that when you took the place. I didn’t see anything, either.”

  Celinda exchanged glances with Davis.

  “She didn’t ask you if you’d seen anything, Mrs. Furnell,” Davis said. “Celinda just wondered if you’d heard anything.”

  “Didn’t see anything or hear anything.” Betty was becoming more anxious by the second. She put her fingertips to her temple. “I’m getting a headache. I don’t want to talk about this any longer.”

  Celinda took one of her hands. Betty’s violently disturbed psi energy flooded her senses. Up on the refrigerator, Araminta and Max stopped whispering sweet nothings to each other and fixed Betty with alert, attentive expressions.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Furnell,” Celinda said quietly. “I understand that you didn’t hear or see anything the other night. There’s no problem. You can relax.”

  Betty looked at her with a dark, haunted expression. “I didn’t hear or see anything,” she repeated, desperate to be believed.

  “I know,” Celinda said.

  Betty seemed to take some comfort from the reassurance, but she did not return to her previously cheerful, inquisitive state.

  “I should go downstairs,” she said, her voice dulled with pain. “I need something for my head.”

  “Mrs. Furnell, I might be able to do something about that headache if you’ll allow me.”

  “Thank you so much, dear. I would really appreciate that. I rarely get headaches. But for the past couple of days they’ve been bothering me. Every time I think about—” She broke off, blinking in confusion.

  “Think about what?” Celinda probed cautiously.

  “I’m not sure.” Betty shook her head, bewildered and frightened. “I get them when I think about something. But I can’t recall what that something is, if you see what I mean.”

  “Was it something that happened the other evening?” Celinda asked.

  “No, nothing happened the other night. It was just a dream.” Betty’s psi energy kicked up violently again. “Did you say you had some pills, dear?”

  “I think I may have something more effective.” Celinda smiled encouragingly. “Will you allow me to use it?”

  “Yes, anything. I can’t stand this feeling. It’s worse than a headache. To tell you the truth, I’m afraid I might be going senile.”

  Celinda released her hand. She raised the plastic lid on the cookie jar, reached inside, and took out the ruby amber relic.

  “What’s that?” Betty asked, frowning with curiosity.

  “One of Araminta’s toys.”

  She touched Betty’s hand again and rezzed a little energy through the relic.

  Instantly she could clearly detect Betty’s sparking, flashing psychic wave patterns. It was relatively easy to identify the most disturbed rhythms and trace them back to a distinct location on the spectrum.

  Cautiously she went to work, soothing and strengthening the chaotic pulses until they resumed a normal rhythm.

  Betty grew visibly calmer. Her distraught expression cleared miraculously.

  “How do you feel?” Celinda asked.

  “Much better.” Betty blinked and then smiled. “My headache seems to be gone. That’s amazing. What did you do, dear?”

  “It’s a form of psychic meditation that I’ve been studying lately,” Celinda said, keeping things vague. “It’s supposed to be very relaxing.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I understand why it might work on you, since you’re the one studying the technique, but why did it work on me?”

  “I’m not sure,” Celinda admitted. “The instructor said it has an effect on others around the practitioner.”

  “I suppose it makes sense,” Betty said. “Psi energy does radiate, doesn’t it? Everyone knows that some people, such as myself, who are highly intuitive, often notice when others are upset or depressed.”

  “Exactly,” Celinda said. “Now, do you remember if you heard or saw anything unusual from this apartment three nights ago?”

  “Oh, no, dear, I’m sure that nothing out of the ordinary—” Betty broke off abruptly. Her eyes widened with indignation. “Good heavens, the burglars. How could I have forgotten about those two dreadful men? I was going to call the police but—” She halted again, looking baffled. “But I didn’t.”

  Davis turned slightly on the stool and rested one arm on the counter. “Why didn’t you call the police, Mrs. Furnell?”

  “Why, because it was all a dream.” Anger flashed across her face. “No, that’s not right. I didn’t call the police because that dreadful man told me that it was a dream. And I believed him.
He said that if I tried to remember the dream in detail I would get a terrible headache.”

  “Can you tell us exactly what happened?” Davis asked.

  “I heard noises from up here. Thought the two of you had come home early and were, well, you know.” Betty waved one hand. “Doing what couples do. But after a while, I realized that something was not right. I came up here with a key and opened the door. There were two men in here. I knew that they were burglars and tried to back out, but they had heard my key in the lock.”

  “What did they do?” Celinda asked.

  “The tall, thin one grabbed me. The other one said, ‘Hold her still.’ Then he…he touched me.”

  Celinda was horrified. “Intimately?”

  Betty looked startled. Then she quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. He just put a hand on my arm and started telling me how everything I had heard and seen was a dream and how I would get a headache if I tried too hard to remember it.”

  “Where was his other hand?” Celinda asked. “Was he holding anything in it?”

  Betty frowned a little. “No, I don’t think so. Wait. I remember he kept his other hand in the pocket of his raincoat.”

  “But it wasn’t raining the other night,” Davis said quietly.

  “No, it wasn’t.” Betty’s lips thinned. “I remember thinking it was odd that he was wearing any sort of coat. The night was quite warm.”

  “Can you describe the two men you saw?” Davis asked.

  “Well, I’m not sure I can give you a very useful description,” Betty said uneasily. “I was a bit distracted at the time.”

  Celinda smiled sympathetically. “For a very good reason.”

  “The lights were off, of course, so I couldn’t see their faces very clearly,” Betty explained. “The one who held the gun on me wore a cap pulled down very low over his eyes. He was rather twitchy. I remember being terrified that he would pull the trigger by accident.”

  “What about the other man?” Davis asked.

  Betty pursed her lips. “Tall, but not as tall as the twitchy guy. From what I could tell he was well-built. Very fit and trim. Excellent shoulders. I remember wondering if burglars worked out in fitness clubs.”

  “Do you recall anything at all about his features?” Celinda asked.

  Betty shook her head. “I’m afraid not. As I said, it was quite dark in here.”

  “Anything else about him strike you as distinctive?” Davis said.

  Betty hesitated. “Well, there was his voice.”

  “What about it?” Celinda asked.

  Betty’s forehead crinkled. “He didn’t have a burglar’s voice, although I must admit I’ve never spoken with a burglar before.”

  Celinda leaned forward across the counter a little. “What sort of voice did he have?”

  “Cultured. Well-bred. Forceful.” Betty thought for a few seconds. “Maybe authoritative is the right word. Like a doctor or a professor. He was obviously a well-educated man. He just didn’t sound like a burglar, if you see what I mean.”

  “I understand,” Celinda said.

  Betty shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t know why I thought the entire incident was a dream and why I never called the police. It’s…worrisome.”

  Celinda dropped the relic back into the cookie jar and replaced the lid. The implications of what Betty had seen and heard made the adrenaline rush through her veins. She knew that Davis had to be thinking the same thing.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Furnell,” she said. “You’re not going senile. I think that burglar with the well-educated, professorial voice used a form of psychic hypnosis on you to make you think that everything you saw and heard that night was a dream.”

  “Hypnosis.” Betty’s eyes widened. “Good heavens.”

  “He reinforced the hypnotic suggestion by doing something to your psi senses that induced a headache every time you tried to recall what really happened.”

  “I suppose that would explain it,” Betty said slowly. “But how could he hypnotize me so quickly in the dark?”

  “Obviously, he has some sort of extremely powerful psi talent,” Celinda said.

  Betty looked at Davis, baffled. “I understand now why I didn’t call the police. But why didn’t you call them when you got home?”

  Davis assumed his darkly mysterious air. “Because this is Guild business, Mrs. Furnell.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” Betty looked thrilled. “You don’t say. How exciting. You’re with the Guild, then?”

  “I’m working for Mercer Wyatt,” Davis said.

  Betty was satisfied now. “Expect the Guild can handle a couple of burglars.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Davis said.

  “I’d better be off, in that case.” Betty got to her feet. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do.” She smiled at Celinda. “Thank you so much for that meditation treatment. I feel ever so much better now.”

  “What about your milk?” Celinda asked.

  “Oh, that’s all right, dear. I’ll pick up some at the store this afternoon.”

  Davis had the phone in his hand when Celinda returned from seeing Betty out the door.

  “You realize what this means?” he asked her while he rezzed the number.

  “Yes,” she said. “There’s a second ruby amber relic, and the man with the professorial voice not only has it, he’s got the talent required to activate it.”

  “A talent like yours.”

  Chapter 30

  THE DOORBELL SOUNDED LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER. Araminta and Max suddenly seemed quite excited. They both bounced a couple of times and then quickly scampered down from the refrigerator.

  “I’ll get it,” Davis said. He rose from the counter stool and went into the front hall.

  Araminta and Max bobbed enthusiastically at his heels.

  Celinda poured herself another cup of coffee and prepared for the showdown with Mercer Wyatt. She’d heard enough of Davis’s side of the phone conversation to know that the Guild boss was not a happy camper.

  She listened to Davis greet the newcomer. To her amazement he sounded like he was welcoming an old friend.

  “So, Wyatt sent you to do the dirty work,” Davis said. “Come on in.”

  Evidently it was not Wyatt who had come to lay down Guild law. According to the press, he and his wife had a mansion on Ruin View Drive. Maybe slumming in this part of town was beneath a man of his exalted station.

  Then she heard a woman’s voice, warm and vivacious.

  “Hello, Davis. Good to see you again. How are you, Max? And who’s this?”

  “That’s Araminta,” Davis said. “She lives here.”

  “I hear you’ve got a problem on your hands,” a man said, sounding a little amused.

  “Are you all right, Davis?” The woman was concerned.

  “I’m fine,” Davis assured her. “But the case has gone to green hell.”

  “Got that impression,” the man said. “What’s going on? When he called, Wyatt told me this was supposed to be a simple retrieval operation.”

  “Things got complicated,” Davis said. “Come on into the kitchen and have some coffee. There’s someone you need to meet.”

  Celinda waited for them behind the counter, instinctively seeking a barricade between herself and the sure-to-be-intimidating representatives of the Guild.

  The dark-haired man with the specter-cat eyes and the redheaded woman who accompanied him were not at all what she had expected. The vibes of both were powerful. The man could be ruthless, she thought, but never cruel. He did not look like a typical hunter. His hair was cut short, and he wasn’t dressed in khaki and leather. Instead, he wore a stylish, expensively tailored mix of trousers, jacket, and open-collared shirt. The face of his watch was amber. He could have passed for a pricey business consultant.

  The woman had smart, insightful eyes. She wore a conservative, skirted suit and heels. There was something about her that made Celinda think she might have an academic background.

  Most
reassuring of all was the dust bunny the couple had brought with them. He sported a small yellow bow on top of his head. Max and Araminta had already taken charge of him, leading him straight to the cookie jar on the counter.

  “Celinda, this is Lydia and Emmett London,” Davis said. “Emmett’s an old friend of mine. Lydia and Emmett, Celinda Ingram. The bunny with the yellow bow on his head is Fuzz.”

  There was a polite round of greetings. Celinda poured coffee for Lydia and Emmett, and they sat down in the living room.

  “All right,” Emmett said, looking at Davis, “I’ve got Wyatt’s version of events. Give me the rest of the story.”

  Davis told them everything in short, terse sentences. When he was finished, Emmett contemplated the cookie jar.

  “You definitely picked an innovative hiding place,” he said neutrally.

  “My theory is that if anyone tries to take the relic out of that cookie jar, Araminta will know about it,” Celinda explained. “For some reason she wants me to have it.”

  Lydia nodded thoughtfully. “Dust bunnies clearly have some psychic abilities. My guess is she senses that you can resonate with the relic and, therefore, it ought to belong to you. Probably thinks it’s a toy of some kind.”

  “That’s what I concluded,” Celinda agreed.

  Lydia raised her coffee cup and looked at Celinda over the rim. There was a wealth of understanding in her expression. “I don’t blame you one bit for not wanting to turn that relic over to the Guild.”

  Davis and Emmett exchanged grim looks. Celinda and Lydia ignored them.

  “The thing is,” Celinda said, relieved now that she had a supporter, “I think the relic has enormous potential as a medical device for the treatment of psi trauma and, perhaps, other kinds of psychic and psychiatric disorders as well. The Guild isn’t exactly into high-tech medical research.”

  “Nope, it sure isn’t,” Lydia agreed. “I’m with you one hundred percent on this. The relic should go to a reputable lab.”

  Emmett looked at Davis. “Wyatt isn’t going to relinquish control of the relic. Not if it’s as powerful as you think it is.”

  “We’ve been giving the problem some thought,” Davis said. “Got a proposal to make to Wyatt.”