Canyons of Night lgt-3 Page 8

  He tried hard to follow her logic. It wasn’t easy. After a few seconds he abandoned the attempt.

  He circled the bed, closing in on her. She retreated quickly until she came up hard against the wall. He stopped inches away and planted his palms on either side of her head.

  “You are not nearly as good at reading rainbows as you think you are,” he said.

  Her mouth fell open. “But I am. I’m the best. Just ask anyone at the Arcane lab where I was tested.”

  “Your talent may be as good as it gets but I am here to tell you that it is not infallible, not by a long shot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I may have some concerns about my personal future but I can guarantee you that I would not have regretted sleeping with you tonight. Not in a million years. Not ever. Regardless of the outcome.”

  “But I saw the tension in your rainbow,” she said. “I could tell that you were deeply conflicted about the consequences of a physical relationship with me.”

  “You sound like a para-shrink. Personally, I have had enough of para-shrinks.”

  She winced. “Men hate it when I start talking like this.”

  “No shit.”

  “The history of my social life is filled with disastrous first dates. Well, sometimes I make it to two or three. Once in a while I get all the way to five.”

  “If you start talking like this on every date, I can see where there might have been a few problems,” he said.

  “In fairness to myself, I have to say that I’ve tried keeping my mouth shut in hopes that I’m wrong.”

  “Must have been hard for you.”

  “I gave all my Arcanematch dates at least three chances,” she assured him.

  “How very broad-minded of you.”

  “The point is, I gave the professional matchmakers a chance. But in the end it always turned out that my rainbow-reading intuition was accurate the first time. More accurate than their parapsych profiles. If I tried to override my intuition I invariably had a panic attack.”

  “Are you having a panic attack now?”

  “No.” She frowned, as though somewhat confused. “Probably because we stopped in time.”

  “Your intuition told you that I was the one who would have regrets so you pulled the plug before you found out whether or not that would actually happen. And before you found out if you would have a panic attack.”

  “Like I said, a woman has her pride. Besides, I thought it would be easier, socially, for both of us that way. We have the next six months to get through together here on this island.”

  “You make it sound like we’re doing time in a prison cell together. Do you really think it’s going to be easier to deal with me at the post office and the grocery store now after what just happened between us?”

  She exhaled slowly. “I didn’t handle this very well, did I?”

  “Let’s just say that I feel like banging my head against this wall.” He pushed himself away from her. “I think I’d better go back to my place now.”

  “Okay, but one question before you leave,” she said quickly.

  “Now this I’m pretty sure I will regret. What?”

  “Were you by any chance conflicted about having sex with me tonight because you’re on the rebound from that Marriage of Convenience that you told me about?”

  “No. That was easy.” He turned to go. “I’m leaving now before this conversation deteriorates any further.”

  “Maybe it’s a physical problem that worries you?” she said very earnestly. “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Forget hitting my head against the nearest wall.” He kept walking. “I think I’ll go back to my place and pour myself a real big glass of Hot Ruins Whiskey.”

  There was a lengthy pause behind him.

  “Good night, Slade. I’m sorry I screwed this up.”

  The sad wistfulness in her voice stopped him in the doorway. He turned around and walked deliberately back toward her.

  “Did you forget something?” she asked.

  He clamped both hands around her shoulders and hauled her close.

  “Promise me something,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Promise me that you will not say another word until I am back out there on the road and too far away to hear you.”

  “Okay.”

  He took one hand off her shoulder and put it across her lips. “Hush. Not a single word.”

  She nodded once but said nothing. Her eyes were wide and deep and full of an expression of bewilderment that he found very gratifying.

  “For the record,” he said, “there is no physical problem involved.”

  She blinked but she did not try to speak.

  He took his finger off her mouth and tightened his grip on her shoulders. He kicked up his senses a few notches, not trying to focus, not going into the danger zone, but hot enough so that Charlotte would be aware of the energy. He kissed her before she could think twice about speaking.

  He did not kiss her the way he had earlier. He did not ask for a response. He was not trying to seduce her now. His only goal was to leave an indelible impression.

  She did not go up in flames when his mouth came down on hers. She froze, shocked or stunned or maybe simply dumbfounded. He held the kiss for a short time, letting her feel the heat.

  He raised his head. “There will be a second date.”

  She blinked several times. “What?”

  He touched her full lips with his forefinger. “No talking, remember?”

  She looked at him with a dazed expression. “Huh?”

  “Forget it. There’s really no point in trying to make you stop talking, is there?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Just remember.” He brushed his mouth against hers once more. “There’s a second date coming up.”

  He walked out of the bedroom before she could think of anything else to say.

  He went out onto the porch and into the night. The green waves of the aurora still flooded across the sky. He realized his senses were still a little heightened. He walked down the driveway to the road and started back toward his cabin.

  Rex materialized out of the woods, chortling a greeting.

  “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 ar
e 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?”