Canyons of Night lgt-3 Page 9

  “He said he’d been thinking about me and he wanted to get to know me in a personal way. He said we had so much in common. He apologized for losing his temper the last time I had seen him and he asked me out on a date.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I declined. I had seen his aura rainbow the day he lost his temper. I didn’t like what I saw.” She shuddered. “Not that I needed to view his rainbow after that display of rage. That would have been enough to put off any sensible woman.”

  “Anger-management issues?”

  “Definitely. But in addition there was something else that I didn’t like. I’ve seen it before a few times. The ultralight in Jeremy’s rainbow was very similar to the bands of colors I’ve seen in the rainbows of the few true sociopaths I’ve had the misfortune to meet from time to time.”

  The hair lifted on the nape of his neck. “You can see that kind of thing in a rainbow?”

  “Yes, but only when someone is really jacked up. Unfortunately, I can’t detect the bad stuff in someone who is just walking down the street. Rainbows are linked to auras. They’re generated by strong emotions or strong talents. Or both. That’s why I didn’t . . .”

  She stopped abruptly but she did not need to finish the sentence, he thought. They both knew what she had been about to say. She hadn’t perceived the true colors of his aura rainbow last night until things had gotten hot and heavy between them.

  “I think I’m starting to understand why you didn’t have a lot of luck with your Arcanematch dates,” he said neutrally.

  She exhaled slowly. “Sometimes it’s better not to know too much about a person.”

  “You may have a point there.”

  On the other hand, her talent was evidently what had kept her single all these years, he thought. It had kept her free until he could get back to her. But now he was the one who was facing a psychic prison sentence that would not allow him to be with her for long.

  “Did you ever see Gaines again?” he asked.

  “Yes. He seemed to become obsessed with trying to convince me to give him another chance. There were phone calls. He sent flowers. He discovered my address and showed up on my doorstep one evening with a bottle of champagne. He stopped by my shop the next day, apologized again and asked me out to coffee.”

  “Stalker?”

  She hesitated. “Well, my family worried that he was becoming one but I honestly don’t think that was the case.”

  “Sure sounds like a stalker scenario.”

  “Maybe.” But she was clearly not convinced. “In any event, after a week or ten days he gave up and went away. I truly believe that he just wanted me to take him back as a client. Jeremy being Jeremy, he assumed charm would do the trick.”

  “Why was he so determined to become your client again? There must be a lot of good antiques dealers around.”

  Charlotte’s brows rose. “Not a lot who have the feel for para-antiques that I possess. I told you, I’m very, very good at what I do. I have a certain reputation in the field. Jeremy knew that. It’s why he sought me out in the first place. He was a very serious collector. He wanted only the best.”

  “And you’re the best?”

  “I’m certainly one of the best. But that means that I can afford to be choosy when it comes to my clients.”

  Slade contemplated Gaines’s expensive black turtleneck sweater, black trousers, and black running shoes. “Looks like he came dressed for a night of breaking-and-entering and dropped dead on the job.”

  “Jeremy had no need to steal anything. He could have afforded to buy whatever he wanted.”

  “But you refused to do business with him.”

  “True, but there were ways around that. Gaines could have used another dealer as an intermediary. I probably wouldn’t have found out. Dealers work together all the time without revealing the names of their clients.”

  “It wasn’t my area of expertise when I worked for the Office, but I’ve heard that the world of collectors who specialize in the paranormal is a very gray market that often slides all the way into the black market.”

  “Collectors do tend to be reclusive, eccentric, and secretive,” she admitted. “Dealers who don’t respect that don’t last long in the business.”

  Slade studied the body. “Gaines died here, inside your shop, sometime during the night. If he wasn’t stalking you, he must have been after something that he thought you had but which you wouldn’t sell to him if he came through the front door.”

  “I honestly can’t imagine what he would have wanted that badly from my collection. He went for the more exotic objects.”

  “But if he did want something from your collection, why didn’t he use another dealer to get it for him?”

  “Exactly. It makes no sense.” She looked at the body. “This doesn’t look good for me, does it? I mean, what are the odds that one of my ex-clients who just happens to be wearing a lot of black breaks into my shop and drops dead from a heart attack?”

  “Not good but fortunately for you, that’s exactly what it looks like, a heart attack or stroke. Got a feeling that’s what the medical examiner over in Thursday Harbor will call it.”

  “But you don’t buy it, do you?”

  “No,” he said. He got to his feet. “This was death by paranormal means.”

  She looked shocked. “Are you telling me that someone actually used talent to murder Jeremy?”

  “Talent or a device that generates lethal paranormal energy.”

  Shock turned to bewilderment in her eyes. “What kind of weapon can generate that kind of radiation?”

  “Certain crystals can be alchemically altered to become weapons-grade. But there are also some very high-level talents who can kill with their own natural power.”

  She shuddered. “I’ve heard a few horror stories over the years. Everyone in Arcane has. But I thought the ability to kill with psychic energy was just another Arcane legend.”

  “It’s extremely rare. Takes a hell of a lot of power and only certain kinds of talent can be focused in a lethal way. Since it invariably looks like the victim died from natural causes, the murder usually goes undetected.”

  “You sound like an expert on the subject.”

  “Detecting murder by paranormal means is what I do, Charlotte, remember? Or, rather, what I did when I worked for the Office.”

  “Right. Sorry. I’m getting a little frazzled here. I can’t help but point out that if Jeremy was murdered, I’m the obvious suspect. He and I had a history and I don’t have an alibi for half of last night.”

  “True, but what you do have is a talent for reading rainbows. Not exactly the kind of ability that your average rogue psychic uses to commit murder.”

  She brightened. “And I certainly don’t possess any of those crystal guns you mentioned.”

  He opened his senses a little higher and studied the darkly radiant pools of energy on the floor. “Someone does.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Down in the tunnels it’s possible for a very powerful ghost hunter to commit murder from a distance by generating certain types of ghost light. But aboveground the killers who are strong enough to kill with their natural energy almost always have to have physical contact with the victim. Whoever killed Gaines did it from a distance of several feet.”

  “You can tell that, as well?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What happens now?”

  “Standard procedure. I’ll notify the authorities in Thursday Harbor and try to get in touch with Gaines’s family.”

  “Are you going to tell them that you think Jeremy was murdered by paranormal means?”

  “No. Like I said, the ME will call it death by natural causes.”

  “Hang on. I admit, I was not a fan of Jeremy Gaines. Still, it doesn’t seem right to just ignore his murder. There’s a killer running around. For all we know he might still be on the island.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to investigate. I just said t
hat it’s unlikely that I’ll find any usable evidence. It doesn’t mean I won’t find the killer.”

  “But if you can’t arrest him, what will you do if you identify a suspect?”

  “It depends.”

  “It depends?” She unfolded her arms and waved her hands. “What kind of cop talk is that? There are rules about this sort of thing. At least there are supposed to be rules.”

  “When it comes to crimes committed by paranormal means, the rules are a little vague.”

  She gave him a speculative look. “In other words, if you decide that I murdered Jeremy, a lawyer wouldn’t do me much good.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you killed him,” he said.

  She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. It took her a second to get it closed.

  “Good,” she said finally. “Great. I mean, that is a huge relief.”

  “But if you did kill him, you probably had a real good reason.”

  “Thanks. That’s supposed to reassure me?”

  “It’s the best I can do at the moment.”

  “And to think that I was worried about the two of us feeling a bit awkward the morning after.”

  Chapter 8

  FLETCHER KANE OPENED HIS SENSES AND STUDIED THE painting on the table. The image on the canvas was similar to the others that lined the walls of the gallery, a vision of a fantastical, otherworldly forest landscape lit by an eerie phosphorescence. The picture should have looked like an enchanted fairyland but the strange canyon just barely visible through a stand of trees gave it a hellish quality. The canyon was filled with a disturbing darkness that was slowly seeping out into a glowing forest world, threatening to consume the luminous scene.

  Like the others, the painting would sell quickly enough, Fletcher thought. A day-tripper off the ferry or a visitor staying at a local bed-and-breakfast would respond to the intensity of the picture and snap it up. But it was doubtful that whoever bought it would see the deeper reality that he perceived. The painting seethed with ominous energy.

  “The dreams are getting worse, aren’t they?” he said quietly. “I heard you get out of bed and take the meds again last night.”

  Jasper Gilbert exhaled and walked to the window. He watched the small crowd of tourists prowl the boutiques and galleries on Waterfront Street.

  “These aren’t the old dreams, Fletch,” he said. “These are different. Something bad is happening out there in the Preserve.”

  “Take it easy. I don’t doubt your visions.”

  Jasper snorted. “Even if the Guild shrinks think I’m a crazy thanks to that last trip into the Underworld?”

  “You’re not crazy, and what the Guild doctors didn’t understand is that you’ve always had weird dreams.” Fletcher tapped the edge of the painting with his finger. “But it’s clear your dreams about the Preserve are getting darker and more intense.”

  Jasper clasped his big hands behind his back and looked across the way at the entrance of Looking Glass. “Two people connected to the antique shop are dead. First Beatrix and now that stranger they say was stalking Charlotte Enright. What are the odds?”

  “Beatrix was an elderly woman. She died of a heart attack.”

  “Gaines was only about forty years of age.”

  “It happens, Jasper.”

  “Two deaths within the past six months and both linked to Looking Glass. And now the shop has a new owner.”

  “I understand,” Fletcher said.

  He and Jasper had been bonded both professionally and personally for a long time. They had met back when they had both been young Guild men. Like most of those who worked the Underworld, they had retired in their forties. Guarding the corporate and academic expeditions that explored the tunnels was hard, risky work. Burning ghosts in the catacombs took a lot out of a man, and Guild retirement benefits were very good.

  They had married and moved to Rainshadow to pursue their dreams. Jasper had always longed to concentrate on his art. Fletcher had been surprised to discover that he had a knack for business. They made a good team in the art world just as they had in the Underworld. Years ago they had discovered that their ghost-hunter talents had given them the ability to penetrate partway into the Preserve where Jasper had taken inspiration from the eerie landscape inside the fence.

  But things had started to change five years ago, Fletcher thought. Two strangers had managed to go deep into the Preserve. This time there were no survivors. The search-and-rescue team sent out by the Foundation had brought out the bodies.

  Immediately afterward the mysterious people who ran the Foundation had intensified the force field that functioned as an invisible fence. Jasper and Fletcher could barely make it through now, and when they did they were no longer able to navigate the terrain. They dared not go more than a short distance inside, but that was far enough to tell them that something dark was stirring deep in the forbidden territory.

  It wasn’t just the atmosphere inside the Preserve that had changed, Fletcher thought. Jasper’s dreams had begun to change, too.

  Fletcher walked through the gallery to join Jasper at the window. Together they watched Slade Attridge leave Looking Glass and walk down Waterfront Street toward the police station.

  “When do we tell him that we think there’s something dangerous going on inside the Preserve?” Jasper asked.

  “When we know for sure that he’s the right man for the job. When we can be certain that he’ll stay on in Rainshadow.”

  Chapter 9

  “THEY TOOK THE BODY AWAY ON A POLICE BOAT OUT OF Thursday Harbor,” Charlotte said. “The chief says I can open the shop anytime I want but somehow I don’t feel in the mood to conduct business as usual.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Rachel Blake came out from behind the counter, two steaming mugs of tea in her hands. She set both mugs down on the small round table. “Finding a dead body first thing in the morning is not a great way to start the day. Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Charlotte picked up the mug of tea. “Well, I am now. I had a panic attack when I found the body but, hey, I think I deserved it under the circumstances.”

  “Absolutely. A dead body is enough to give anyone a panic attack.” Rachel paused, the mug halfway to her lips. Her dark eyes shadowed with concern. “You’re still having problems with panic attacks?”

  “They aren’t nearly as frequent as they were when I was coming into my talent, thank heavens. But if I get too anxious or badly shaken, my talent automatically flares from zero to sixty. If that happens, it can set off an attack. I’ll concentrate on starting the inventory this afternoon. That will take my mind off what happened this morning.”

  They were in the small coffee shop at the back of Shadow Bay Books. Like Charlotte, Rachel had spent many summers on Rainshadow. They were the same age and, in addition to sharing the normal trials and tribulations of the teenage years, they had shared the bond that came with the development of talents that neither of them had wanted or understood.

  Rachel’s great-aunt and the aunt’s lifelong partner had owned the bookshop in those days. But a year ago the couple had retired unexpectedly and offered the business to Rachel. They had instructed her to do whatever she wanted with the shop and then they had moved to the sunnier climes of a desert retirement community.

  Rachel had confided to Charlotte that at first she had been stunned because she had no idea the pair had the financial wherewithal to finance a high-end retirement community in the desert. I always thought they were just squeaking by on the income from the bookstore and a few investments they made over the years. Who knew the investments were in a couple of small start-ups that got bought out for a fortune?

  Rachel had matured into an attractive young woman. There was a lively energy about her that was infectious. But Charlotte sensed shadows and mysteries in her friend’s amber brown eyes that had not been present all those years ago.

  The summer friendship between the two women had gone into a long period of hibernation af
ter they went off to college and started their separate adult lives. But when they had both found themselves back on Rainshadow it was as if they had never been apart. There was still a lot of history to catch up on but the old bond between them had snapped back into existence immediately. It was as if they had never been apart.

  “So this Jeremy Gaines was a client of yours?” Rachel asked.

  “Ex-client.” Charlotte sipped some tea. “Can’t imagine why he came here or why he was in my shop last night.”

  “Got any ideas?”

  Charlotte smiled wryly. “You sound like the chief. The answer is no idea whatsoever.”

  “How did your association with Gaines end?”

  “Badly. And from the way you phrased the question, I think you’ve been reading too much suspense and mystery fiction.”

  “Not like there’s much else to do here on Rainshadow,” Rachel said.

  “Which brings up the obvious question—why did we both come back?”

  “Don’t know about you,” Rachel said, “but I needed a change and I’ve always had this fantasy of operating a bookstore. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I more or less fired Jeremy as a client. He got pissed. Made a pest of himself for a while.”

  “Stalker?”

  “My family was starting to think so,” Charlotte admitted.

  “And then he shows up here inside your shop. You know what? I’ll bet he was stalking you. Probably came here last night to do something very nasty inside Looking Glass. That’s the sort of thing stalkers start out with.”

  “I suppose it’s a possibility,” Charlotte said.

  “Lucky he dropped dead of a heart attack when he did. Guys like that, they just keep going and the violence tends to escalate. The only way to stop them is to kill them.”

  A chill shivered through Charlotte. “You speak from experience, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “I do.”

  Chapter 10

  “WORD AROUND TOWN IS THAT THE GUY WHO DROPPED dead in Charlotte’s shop was stalking her,” Myrna said. “Probably came here to vandalize her store or leave a dead rat on the premises in order to frighten her. Good thing he dropped dead when he did.”