Canyons of Night lgt-3 Page 5

  “Yeah? Who?”

  “Miss Enright.”

  “Holy crap.” Devin slammed to a halt. “You’ve got a date with her?”

  Slade kept walking. “You got a problem with that?”

  “No way.” Devin rushed to catch up. “It’s just that Grandma and some other people have been saying that the two of you should date. And now you’re doing it.”

  “Talk about a psychic intercept.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Just a little inside joke.” Slade went up the steps. “Why does everyone think that Charlotte and I should date? Because we’re both new on the island?”

  “I guess. I dunno. I overheard Grandma talking about it to Mrs. Murphy.” Devin paused. “I think everyone’s afraid you’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Yeah?” Everyone is right, Slade thought, but he did not plan to say that out loud to anyone except Charlotte. She needed to know that he had no intention of getting involved in a long-term commitment of any kind. “Why would they think that?”

  “Because the guy who was the chief before you didn’t last long, and neither did the guy before him. Grandma told me that after Chief Halstead died five years ago, no one has stayed more than a few months in the job.”

  “Small-town police departments often experience a high turnover.”

  “Maybe Grandma and the others figure that if you have a girlfriend here in town you’ll stick around for a while,” Devin offered.

  “An interesting theory.”

  Slade opened the door and went inside the station. Rex and Devin followed. Automatically Slade removed his sunglasses and stuck them in the pocket of his shirt. Devin did the same.

  Rex fluttered across the room and bounded up onto his favorite perch, a waist-high file cabinet. He settled down with a lordly air and proceeded to observe what he evidently considered his territory.

  Myrna Reed was at her desk, gazing deeply into her computer screen. She jumped a little when Slade and Devin came through the door. Slade caught a glimpse of a screen full of what looked like women’s sweaters and the words Free Shipping before Myrna got to her mouse and clicked off. The clothes disappeared and a screen-saver appeared in its place.

  “Hi, Chief.” Myrna swiveled around in her chair.

  She was a good-looking woman in her early fifties who kept herself in shape. Her blonde hair was in a twist at the back of her head. She looked at Slade over the rims of a pair of reading glasses balanced on her nose.

  Slade knew something of her history. When he had taken the job, the first thing he had done was run background checks on Officer Willis and Myrna Reed. Old habits died hard. He liked to know who he was working with. He knew that Myrna could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen when she had gotten pregnant with Devin’s mother, who had, in turn, also gotten pregnant in her teens. Myrna had never married. Now she found herself raising her thirteen-year-old grandson. She clearly loved Devin and was determined to do her best. As far as Slade was concerned, that was all that mattered.

  “How did things go down at Looking Glass?” Myrna asked.

  Slade was aware of a sudden silence behind him. He knew Devin was holding his breath.

  “There was no problem at the shop,” Slade said. “Charlotte found her back door unlocked but she says nothing is missing.”

  Myrna laughed. “I’ve seen the inside of that shop. How would she know if anything had been taken?”

  “It’s a little crowded in there,” he agreed.

  “Beatrix seemed to buy a lot more than she sold,” Myrna said. “We could never understand how she made any money, but she always had the cash to buy antiques for the shop.”

  “Guess she made enough on the few pieces that she did sell to keep going.”

  Myrna shook her head. “The woman was obsessed, that’s for sure.”

  Devin spoke up. “I’m gonna go to the grocery store and get a soda and then maybe see if Nate is hanging out at the marina. We’ve gotta make some plans for our hike to Hidden Beach.”

  Slade looked at him. “Later.”

  Devin took his sunglasses out of his pocket and set them on his nose with a practiced movement.

  “Later,” he said. He headed for the door.

  “Be home by six for dinner,” Myrna called after him.

  “Sure,” Devin said over his shoulder.

  In the next moment he was gone with a lightningquick speed that any hunter-talent would envy. Nobody could move faster than a teenage boy on his way to hang out with a buddy. The door closed behind him.

  Myrna exhaled slowly. “I suppose you noticed the sunglasses?”

  “I noticed,” Slade said.

  “Same brand you wear. He found them online. He even puts them on and takes them off the way you do. With both hands, not one.”

  “I do it that way because they last longer. Less wear and tear on the itty bitty hinges.”

  “Nice to know there’s sound engineering logic behind your method, but I don’t think that’s the reason Devin is imitating you,” Myrna said.

  “He thinks I’m making a fashion statement?”

  “No. He thinks you look stone cold when you take the glasses on and off. Very ice-rez, as the kids say.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s all about saving the hinges.” He hefted the package in his hand. “Anything I need to know before I go put this fish in the refrigerator?”

  “All is calm on the streets of the Big City.” Myrna studied the packet of fish. “Looks like a lot of fish for one person and a dust bunny.”

  “Rex is a hearty eater. But before you hear it on the street, I’ve got a dinner guest tonight.”

  Myrna’s expression brightened. “Charlotte Enright?”

  “Amazing detective work. No wonder you’re in law enforcement.”

  Myrna ignored that. “About time, if you don’t mind my saying so. First date you’ve had since you arrived.”

  “Give me a break. I’ve only been in town less than a week.” He started down the hall toward the break room.

  “I’ve got a terrific recipe for tartar sauce,” Myrna called after him. “I’ll write it down for you.”

  Chapter 3

  DEVIN STOPPED IN FRONT OF THE ENTRANCE TO LOOKing Glass Antiques and peered through the window. He could see Charlotte Enright moving about inside the shop. She was dressed in black jeans and a black, short-sleeved T-shirt. She had a little blue triangle-shaped scarf tied around her hair. She was unpacking a crate.

  She was busy. He could come back later.

  He started to move on but for some reason he could not. Sure, he had to apologize, but Nate was waiting down at the marina. They had plans to make for the hike out to Hidden Beach. He could always apologize later. Like maybe right around five thirty when Charlotte was closing up for the day. She would be in a hurry to go home and he would be able to get the whole thing over with fast.

  Or he could get it done now. He thought about how the chief would handle things and groaned. The chief would take care of it now.

  Reluctantly he opened the door of the shop and moved inside. The old-fashioned bell chimed overhead. The subtle vibes hit him. It was as if he’d run through an invisible waterfall. The interior of the antiques shop did not exactly get brighter but it seemed to him that it was lit by something more than just normal light and shadow. He could see strange colors but he had no names for them.

  He stopped, distracted by the intriguing sensations. It was so ice-rez, this feeling. Scary, sometimes, but incredibly ice-rez. Reluctantly he withdrew into himself. The unnatural colors and lighting in the atmosphere faded back to normal. He was still vaguely aware of some of the sparkling waterfall-like sensations but they no longer distracted him. He could control this feeling, he realized. That was also very cool.

  “Hi, Devin.” Charlotte straightened up from the crate she had been unpacking, brushed off her hands, and walked toward him. “I’m glad you stopped by today.”

  She knew, he thought. He felt as if h
e’d been shoved off-balance. Belatedly he remembered to remove his sunglasses. He reached up and took off the shades with the smooth, deliberate motion that the chief always used. The action bought him a little time to recover.

  “Why?” he asked warily.

  He should have known that Charlotte had guessed the truth about last night. She was a little weird. The chief was weird, too, but in a different way, and that was okay. The chief was a man and understood stuff. Charlotte, on the other hand, was a woman. He liked her but she made him uneasy. It was as if she could see inside his head or something. That was the main reason he had not ventured into the shop when it was open during the day.

  There was another reason why he hadn’t come into the shop, as well. He couldn’t afford to buy any of the cool antiques. He just wanted to hang around them for a while. Shopkeepers didn’t like people who wandered into a store and hung out. They looked too much like shoplifters.

  Charlotte smiled. “I came across something I think suits you perfectly. I just unpacked it.” She turned and went back across the room.

  He followed cautiously. “My grandma says that your aunt never bothered to unpack most of the stuff that she bought for this shop.”

  “No, Aunt Beatrix did not like dealing with customers. In fact, I think it’s safe to say she never quite got the concept of customer service. Makes for a difficult business model.”

  “I don’t get it. If she didn’t like to sell her stuff, why was she in the business?”

  “Good question. In my family we always said she was eccentric and let it go at that. But between you and me, I think she spent her life searching for something.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did you ever ask her?”

  “I did one time, as a matter of fact. She said it was a key. I asked her what it opened. She said it wasn’t created to open a door. It was made to lock something that should never have been opened in the first place.”

  “Do you think she ever found it?”

  “No.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Charlotte stopped, hands on her hips and surveyed a pile of junk on the floor. At least, it looked like junk to him, but he knew that to her they were antiques.

  “Let me see,” Charlotte said. “I think I put it next to that old chocolate pot. Yes, there it is.” She stooped down and scooped up a small object.

  For a moment she gripped the object in her hand. At the same time she put the fingertips of her other hand on the mirrored pendant she wore. Light sparked on the pendant. He thought he felt a small flash of fresh energy in the atmosphere but it was hard to be certain.

  Charlotte opened her hand and held out the object. “Here you go. This feels like you.”

  Alarmed, he took a step back. “I never even touched it, I swear it.”

  She smiled. “I know, but it’s yours now, if you want it.”

  “What do you mean, it feels like me?”

  “It just does. Here, take it. See how it feels to you.”

  He looked down at the object in her hand. The antique was a flat amber disc about two inches across and half an inch wide. It was engraved with a compass rose. The four points of the compass were set with small gray crystals. He was instantly fascinated.

  “Wow,” he breathed. He took the amber compass from her and examined it closely. It felt good in his hand, warm and comfortable, as if it had been made for him. A shiver of awareness hummed through him. “Does it still work?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s a genuine Damian Cavalon compass. He was one of the first tunnel explorers. Navigating the catacombs was impossible with standard aboveground compasses. They didn’t function in the alien psi. He came up with the first design that could work in a hot-psi environment. There have been a lot of improvements in the technology over the years but any ghost hunter will tell you that there is nothing as reliable as an old-style Damian Cavalon compass. Most hunters still carry them as backup when they go into the Underworld.”

  “I don’t see a dial or a needle. Maybe it broke off?”

  “No, it doesn’t work that way. You just rez the amber and the crystals light up. True north is always bright blue. Try it.”

  He focused a little energy into the disc, the amount he would have used to turn on a rez-screen or a toaster. Nothing happened. He pushed a little harder. The crystal set at north started to glow faintly. He turned slowly on his heel and watched it brighten. Excitement shot through him.

  “That’s north,” he announced, pointing across the street toward the door of the Kane Gallery.

  “Evidently,” Charlotte said. She smiled.

  “This is great,” he exclaimed. Then reality hit him. He sighed and held out the compass to her. “But antiques are expensive. No way I can afford something like this.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t work out some arrangements. Are you interested in a short-term job?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I could use someone to help me clean up this place. Dusting, sweeping, and washing the windows. The glass in the display cabinets is so grimy the customers can’t even see what’s on the shelves. Would you be interested in doing that kind of work in exchange for the compass?”

  Excitement crackled through him. He closed his fingers tightly around the compass. “That’d be great. No problem. When do you want me to start?”

  Charlotte looked around. “How about next week? I need to finish unpacking these crates and it would be best to complete an inventory before I start organizing and arranging the items on display.”

  “Okay. See you.” He started toward the door and then froze under the crushing weight of sudden dismay. “Wait, I almost forgot. You may not want to give me the compass.”

  “Why not?”

  He turned around and braced himself. “I’m the one who was inside your shop last night.”

  Charlotte folded her arms and looked at him with her knowing eyes. “I see.”

  “I didn’t take anything, honest.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I just wanted to look around.”

  “Next time you want to look around, try coming through the front door.”

  “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “No,” she said. “Why did you?”

  “I dunno. I just wanted to. Anyhow, I’m sorry.”

  “Okay. Apology accepted. But don’t do it again.”

  “Do you want the compass back?”

  “No.” Charlotte smiled. “We have a deal. See you next week.”

  “Okay.”

  He ran for the door before she could change her mind.

  Chapter 4

  “SO, WHY HAVEN’T YOU EVER MARRIED?” SLADE ASKED.

  Charlotte sipped some of the white wine and considered her answer while she watched Slade arrange the salmon on the outdoor grill. He dealt with the salmon and the fire the same way he seemed to do everything else: competently, coolly, with a minimum amount of fuss. Rex, perched on the porch railing, was watching the activity around the grill with rapt attention.

  “You’re really interested?” Charlotte said finally.

  “Damn curious,” Slade admitted. “Over the years, whenever I thought about you, I told myself you’d be married by now.”

  “Remember me telling you that my talent had a few downsides?”

  He paused, the metal spatula in midair, and looked at her. “Fifteen years ago you said something about having panic attacks when you run hot for any length of time. Didn’t you outgrow those?”

  “Not entirely. I have much better control now. But I still get them if I get super jacked for too long.”

  He shook his head. “Definitely a downside. But what does it have to do with the fact that you’ve never married?”

  “It’s complicated.” She swallowed some more wine. “Let’s just say that, as far as professional matchmakers are concerned, I’m a difficult match.”

  “So you did go to an agency?”

 
“Oh, sure, I went with the best, at least the best one for a member of the Arcane Society.”

  “Arcanematch?”

  “Yes.”

  “I take it that didn’t go well?” he asked.

  “I was reminded that no match is ever one hundred percent guaranteed perfect and that goes double for strong or extremely unusual talents. Turns out I fit both categories. Evidently that makes for a parapsych profile that has too many unknown or unpredictable elements.”

  He frowned. “You told me that your ability was useless for anything except reading aura rainbows and tuning antiques.”

  “That’s all it is good for. I happen to have a heck of a lot of talent for doing it.” Time to change the subject, Charlotte thought. “What about you? Ever try a matchmaking agency?”

  “Remember that Marriage of Convenience I mentioned?”

  “Yes.”

  “We met through a matchmaker. The counselors said we had an eighty-two percent compatibility rating.”

  “Not bad for a strong talent,” she said.

  “But not exactly a slam dunk, either. Susan and I didn’t want to take any chances. We decided to try an MC first.”

  “Good plan, since it turned out you two weren’t a great match. What happened?”

  “Things changed,” he said. “I changed. Let’s just say I no longer fit the profile that I had registered with the agency.”

  “I see.” She didn’t but it was obvious she wasn’t going to get any more information out of him. Fair enough. This was a first date, after all. There were protocols.

  For some reason she’d had a hard time making up her mind about what to wear to dinner that evening. It should have been a simple decision, given the venue—a backyard barbeque. Slade’s weather-beaten cabin stood in a clearing on a tree-studded bluff overlooking a rocky beach and the dark waters of the Amber Sea. In the near distance a scattering of islands, some so small they were no more than oversized rocks, floated in the mist.

  The temperature had been in the mid-eighties all day. It was just now starting to dip down into the seventies. The sun would not set for another three hours. Her wardrobe selection should have been a no-brainer. Jeans, a pullover top, and maybe a sweater to wear when she walked back to her own cottage later in the evening were the obvious choices. But she had dithered, rummaging around in her small closet far too long before choosing jeans, a dark blue pullover, and a sweater to wear on the way home.