Midnight Crystal (9 page)

“The problem with working openly with you and Arcane is that it’s bound to start rumors.”

She thought about that for a few seconds. “We shouldn’t have any trouble keeping a joint research project quiet. Arcane and the Bureau have both had a lot of experience with that sort of highly classified work. But you’re right; the media will certainly notice if you and I spend a lot of time together aboveground searching for the lamp. You’re a Guild boss. The media loves gossip about high-ranking ghost hunters. We need a cover.”

“Got any ideas?”

“I’m the head of J&J. Of course I’ve got an idea. By the way, I want to meet your sister as soon as possible. Preferably at night.”

SHORTLY BEFORE NOON, WITH GIBSON UNDER ONE arm, Marlowe opened the glass-paned front door of Jones & Jones and walked into the office.

Rick Pratt was at his desk. He fixed her with an accusing look and held up a copy of the
Frequency Beacon
.

“You’re having an affair with the new Guild boss, and you didn’t tell me, your faithful office manager?” Rick said. “I’m crushed, I tell you. Devastated.”

She had hired Rick immediately after taking over the office. He had been the first and only applicant for the job, but one look at his dreamprints had told her he would be perfect. Not only was he intelligent, he had a high level of intuitive talent and a flair for organization.

He was about thirty, red haired and blue eyed. He wore a pair of gold-framed spectacles and bought his designer jeans and shirts at the trendiest shops in the Quarter. An amber and gold stud gleamed in his earlobe. There was an expensive engagement ring on his hand. He and his fiancé, Daniel Fields, a professor at the university, had been formally matched by an Arcane matchmaker. They were in the midst of planning a Covenant Marriage.

Uncle Zeke had been running J&J for years without an assistant, claiming there was no need for one due to the lack of business. It was certainly true that clients were not exactly standing in line out front, but Marlowe had big plans. She intended to make J&J the premier psychic investigation agency in Frequency, once again the first choice for members of the Society who needed the services of a PI.

“Let me see that paper,” she said.

She put Gibson down on the desk and picked up the newspaper. The photo on the front page of the
Beacon
showed Adam and her standing on the side of the mountain road at two thirty in the morning. Gibson was perched on Adam’s shoulder. The scene was illuminated by the headlights of the pickup that had stopped for them. It had been raining when they had emerged from the catacombs. All three of them were soaked.

The banner headline read, “Guild Boss and Mistress Caught by Storm.” Beneath it was another line: “Rain Dampens Secret Rendezvous.”

Gibson crossed the desk to the large ceramic cookie jar and looked hopeful. After replacing three broken lids, Rick had devised a wire closure that thus far had withstood Gibson’s attempts to get at the contents of the jar on his own. Marlowe knew that Gibson had not given up, but until he figured out how to undo the wire lock, he was forced to wait for Rick to open the treasure chest for him. Rick had given Marlowe a similar device to lock the cookie jar on her kitchen counter.

“Here you go, little biker dude,” Rick said. He unfastened the wire lock and lifted the lid. “You probably need a couple of energy bars. Looks like you had a hard night up there in those mountains.”

Gibson chortled agreement and hopped up onto the rim of the jar. He surveyed the mound of High-Rez Energy Bars inside. The bars were identical as far as Marlowe could tell, but Gibson always dithered a bit before making his selection. When he found the perfect bar, he tumbled back down to the desk and began to unwrap it.

Marlowe tossed the
Beacon
aside. “The rain ruined my new leather jacket.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Rick demanded. “You’re the head of J&J, charged with the noble responsibility of investigating crime. You’re having a secret affair with the boss of the most corrupt Guild in the four city-states, and all you’re concerned about is your new leather jacket?”

“I suspected the guy who picked us up had taken a couple of shots with his cell phone.” Marlowe peeled off her old leather jacket. “He recognized Adam, of course. I didn’t realize he would manage to sell the shots to the
Beacon
. Enterprising soul. Wonder how much he got for that picture.”

“It’s the
Beacon
, and it’s an exclusive. Trust me, he got a lot for it. What’s more, he took more than one photo.” Rick held up another paper. “Sold this one to the
Examiner
. I think Gibson looks especially dashing in it, don’t you?

She glanced at the second newspaper and winced at the picture. It showed her getting out of the pickup on a narrow street in the Quarter. She was wrapped in the old, tattered blanket that the driver had given her, and her hair was hanging in damp tangles. The finishing touch was the bright, psi-green sign of the sleazy tavern on the sidewalk behind her. The name of the establishment was Fallen Angel
.
The headline read, “Bad Date for New Guild Boss?”

“Oh, geez,” she muttered. “I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t realize just how bad.”

Rick eyed the picture with a critical eye. “Winters looks good. But then, he’s a Guild boss. You, on the other hand, look like a professional dominatrix who fell into a swimming pool. Bet all that leather got tight as it dried, huh?”

She shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

“Cheer up,” Rick said. “As far as I know, there’s no video.”

“I’ll cling to that.” She headed toward the inner office. “Anything from Pete on those alibis he’s checking out?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to like it.” Rick got out of his chair and came to stand in the doorway. “He called this morning to say that everyone on the museum staff can account for his or her whereabouts at the time the artifact was stolen, but he also said that some of the alibis were less than airtight. He’s digging deeper as we speak.”

She sank down into the old chair behind her desk. It squeaked beneath her weight. The chair had been purchased by Jeremiah Jones at the end of the Era of Discord, one of several items of furniture that had been replaced after the rebels had torched the place. Every Jones who had taken over the Frequency office of J&J following Jeremiah had kept the chair, faithfully sending it out for repair as needed. No one had ever been able to get rid of the squeak.

“Would Dr. Lewis’s alibi be one of those that isn’t solid?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Rick said.

“I just can’t believe he took the artifact.”

“You’re the one who said his dreamprints were the freshest at the scene. You told me they led directly to the cupboard where the lamp was stored.”

“I know, but Dr. Lewis loves the museum,” she said. “For crying out loud, he has dedicated his life to maintaining the collection. Stealing one of his own precious relics is completely out of character.”

“People do things that are out of character all the time.”

“Not according to Uncle Zeke,” she said. “He claims that if you look deep enough, you can always find the explanation for an act that seems to come from left field.”

“No offense, but your uncle is a chaos-theory talent. By definition, he’s always looking for conspiracies and patterns.”

The chair squeaked again when she lounged back in it. “I know. Still.”

“It’s possible that Dr. Lewis has something a little twisted in his psyche that no one knew about until now.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not buying it, are you?” Rick said.

“Not yet.”

“The problem with verifying Lewis’s alibi is that he lives alone,” Rick said. “He told Pete that he was asleep in his bed when the break-in occurred.”

“Well, he does live alone. By the way, I’m expecting a call from my mechanic. Put him through immediately.”

“Speaking of which, what the heck happened to your bike? And Winters’s car, for that matter? I know the papers said something about both of you having car trouble, but that’s a little hard to believe.”

“Some idiot hunter mistook Dream for a deer. Flattened one of the tires. Adam sent someone from the Guild to pick it up and drop it off at the bike shop this morning. It’s supposed to be ready this afternoon.”

“And what about your, uh, date’s car?”

“Same hunter got to it. Shot up the tires.”

“Right. And if I believe that, you’ve got a solid-amber bridge you can sell to me.”

She made a face. “Okay, okay. Adam has some enemies.”

“Of course he does. He just took over the most corrupt Guild in the four city-states.” Rick’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that someone tried to kill him? While you were with him?”

“Yep. That’s why we went underground and ended up hitchhiking.”

“Whoa. Whoever it is must be desperate. The Guilds usually keep their political squabbles in-house. They don’t like to involve civilians. That’s an excellent way to attract the attention of the police, and that’s the last thing the organizations want.”

“Adam thinks that someone on the Council is very unhappy about being passed over.”

“Sure. Douglas Drake. That’s no secret.” Rick gave her a benign smile. “So, how long have you been seeing
Adam
?”

“Not long.” She swiveled the chair to switch on her computer.

“Thought you told me and everyone else that after Tucker Deene, you had sworn off men for six months.”

“I changed my mind,” she said evenly. “And if you want to keep your job, you will refrain from mentioning Tucker Deene’s name in this office.”

“Sorry, boss.”

Rick sounded contrite, and she knew he was. Tucker Deene had completely and utterly deceived her. For ten glorious days she had delighted in his company. He had seemed to possess all of the attributes that she had ever hoped to find in a lover: intelligence, humor, an upbeat and positive personality, and complementary worldviews. As an added bonus he had been incredibly good-looking. It had all made for a very sexy package.

Tucker had been perfect. Too perfect.

Discovering the truth had not broken her heart. She was almost certain that her talent made her immune to the kind of deep, abiding bond that her parents and so many others in the Jones family enjoyed. But the experience had done something much worse. It had shattered her faith in her own judgment. She was the head of J&J. She wasn’t supposed to make mistakes like the one she had made with Tucker.

“Live and learn,”
Uncle Zeke had said.
“Chalk it up to experience.”

Attracted by the squeaking chair, Gibson tumbled through the doorway, the wrapper of the High-Rez Energy Bar in one paw. He hopped up onto the window seat and deposited the wrapper in the container Rick had placed there for that purpose.

Marlowe knew that Gibson was not into recycling. He just liked shiny things. Recently he had become especially fond of the bright orange foil wrappers that the High-Rez company used to package the energy bars. He had piles going both in the office and at home. Like all avid collectors, he was obsessed with adding to his collections, hence the new locks on the cookie jars.

When he had added the wrapper to the stash on the window seat, Gibson bounded up onto the desk and from there leaped nimbly to the high back of the chair. It was one of his favorite perches.

Rick folded his arms, propped one shoulder against the doorframe, and looked wise. “Bet your relatives freaked when they heard that you and Winters were seeing each other, hmmm?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a mature adult. I don’t take my dates home to be vetted by Mom and Dad.” She paused. “But as it happens, they don’t know yet that I’m seeing Adam Winters.”

“Bet they do now.”

“Relax. My parents don’t read the
Beacon
or the
Examiner
. I’ve got plenty of time. I’ll give Mom a call later.”

The phone rang. Rick looked at it.

“Your mom,” he said.

Marlowe sighed and reached for the phone. “Sometimes I forget that she’s a high-grade intuitive talent.”

 

 

TEN MINUTES LATER SHE ENDED THE CALL, THOROUGHLY alarmed. She picked up the phone again and punched in the code Adam had given her. To her amazement, he answered personally.

“Hello, Marlowe,” he said.

She frowned. “Don’t you have an administrative assistant to screen your calls?”

“Of course I’ve got an administrative assistant. Two of them. But this is my personal phone. No one screens the calls that come in on this number. It’s not usually a problem, because very few people have this number.”

“Oh, right.” She cleared her throat. “I’m calling to warn you that I just talked to my mother.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“She’s heard the news. About us. I explained everything, naturally.”