Canyons of Night lgt-3 Read online

  “Tell me about the breakin,” Slade said.

  “Right.” She dusted off her hands. “As I explained to Myrna when I called the station this morning, I think I had a breakin. The problem is that I don’t know if anything was stolen.”

  “I can understand why it would be hard to tell if something was missing. This place is crammed with junk.”

  Charlotte glared. “That’s antiques and collectibles to you.”

  “Right. Antiques and collectibles. Tell me about the breakin you think you had,” he said.

  “He came through the back door. I’m positive I locked it last night when I closed up.”

  “No one locks their doors here in Shadow Bay.”

  “I do. I’m from the city, remember? At any rate, the door was unlocked this morning when I arrived. And there are what look like muddy prints on the floor.”

  “Oh, good,” Slade said. “Actual clues. That should be interesting.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

  “In the five days that I have been chief of police here the most serious crime I’ve had to deal with involved the supposed theft of Hoyt Wilkins’s bicycle. It turned up the following day. Astonishingly, it was still leaning against the tree where Hoyt had left it when he realized he was too drunk to ride it home from the Driftwood Tavern.”

  “I heard that two nights ago you also had to break up a fight at the Driftwood.”

  “Breaking up a bar fight is not the same thing as conducting an investigation. Mostly it involves trying not to get slugged while you separate the drunken idiots involved.”

  “But wait, there’s more,” she announced triumphantly. “Yesterday you arrested those two hot-weed runners who anchored their boat in the marina in order to hide from the Coast Guard.”

  “Both of those guys were too stoned on their own product to notice that they’d been arrested. All I did was throw them in jail until the authorities from Frequency could get here to collect them and the weed,” Slade said.

  “Still, it sounds like a busy first week on the job. Why am I getting the feeling that you’re already bored?”

  “Is it that obvious?” Slade asked.

  “If you didn’t want to be a small-town police chief, why on earth did you take the job here on Rainshadow?”

  “I told you, I needed something to tide me over until I can get my project up and running.”

  “Things didn’t work out in the FBPI?”

  “Let’s just say I’m ready for a change. Now, about your breakin.”

  “Follow me.”

  She led the way through the crowded, shadowed space and into the back room of the shop. She was very aware of Slade following close behind her. Face it, she thought, he’s the sexiest man you’ve ever met in your entire life and you are alone with him on an island.

  Okay, not alone, exactly. She and Slade shared Rainshadow with the other residents, but an island was an island, and given that a ferry that operated twice a day was the only regular link to the outside world, there was a very real sense of remoteness and isolation.

  The back room of Looking Glass was even more crowded than the front sales room. It was jammed almost to the ceiling with packing crates and shipping boxes full of antiques and collectibles that her aunt had never bothered to unpack. The containers formed a narrow canyon that led to the rear door. There were also several new crates stacked around the room. They contained the objects that she had elected to bring with her when she closed down her Frequency shop.

  “I don’t envy you trying to take an inventory,” Slade said. “Some of these crates look as if they’ve been sitting here for decades.”

  “Like I said, Aunt Beatrix wasn’t big on organizing stuff.”

  “This goes beyond a lack of organizational skills. There’s a word for folks with this kind of psychological problem, you know.”

  “Hoarder? Yes, I know.” Charlotte stopped. “What can I say? It’s no secret that my aunt was a little weird.” She gestured down the narrow path created by the towering walls of crates. “That’s the door that was unlocked this morning when I arrived.”

  Slade walked forward and crouched on the floor directly in front of the door. “Huh,” he said.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Looks like the print of a running shoe.” Slade got to his feet. “Judging by the muddled footprints, he spent some time in this room and then went into the front of the shop. Turned around and came back here. Left the same way he got in. Through the back door.”

  “Believe it or not, I figured that much out all by myself.”

  “Yeah?” Slade raised his brows. “You ever think of pursuing a career in crime fighting?”

  “Very funny. What do you think happened here?”

  “I think someone found the door open last night, walked into the shop, took a look around and then left.”

  “I told you, I locked up last night,” she said firmly.

  Slade glanced at the lock on the back door. “Even if you did, all anyone would need to get through that door is a credit card.”

  “I intend to order new locks. But there’s been so much else to do that I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  “Good plan.”

  She frowned. “Shouldn’t you be dusting for fingerprints or something?”

  “Oh, yeah, and maybe swab for DNA while I’m at it. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “You really are not going to treat this seriously, are you?”

  He looked at her. “If you were in Frequency City and your shop got robbed what do you think the cops would do?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not much. Probably just ask for a list of stolen goods in case any of the objects turned up in a pawn shop.”

  “Since nothing appears to have been stolen here and there are no pawn shops on Rainshadow, the scope of this investigation is somewhat limited.”

  “Cripes. You’re really not into your job, are you?”

  Slade shrugged. “It’s just a temporary detour.”

  “It strikes me that you have a very poor attitude, Chief Attridge.”

  “Okay, okay. Here’s the most likely scenario. Last night after closing up someone noticed that the door of your shop was open. He came inside, took a quick look around to make sure everything was okay, and then he left. How’s that for a theory of the crime?”

  “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 G
lass 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 breakin 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.”