Midnight Jewels (17 page)

"You don't believe my theory?"

"That Gladstone might be a reincarnation of Graves? I think it's highly unlikely. Would you recognize Graves if you saw him?"

"The only pictures I ever had of him were long range photographs. I saw him from a distance the night of the fire. He was running through the flames. It wasn't the best view, believe me. But I would recognize him if he hasn't changed a great deal. Unfortunately, in three years a man can do a lot to himself."

"Like what?"

"Gain or lose twenty pounds, grow a beard, undergo plastic surgery. A lot."

"I see." Mercy considered that, her imagination taking off on a new tangent. "Would he recognize you?"

"No. He's never seen me."

"What about the night of the fine?"

"If he saw anything at all that night, which I doubt, it was only a shadow," Croft said unconcernedly.

"The shadow of a ghost," Mercy said to herself. "Croft, if by some fluke Gladstone really is Graves, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing while you're nearby," he said promptly. "The last thing I want to do is have you involved in
that old mess."

"You'll give me your word that you'll behave yourself while I'm conducting my business with him? You won't attack the man at the breakfast table or anything?"

"I'll try to restrain myself," he said dryly.

"Croft, I'm not joking. I want to know what you intend doing while we're at the Gladstone place."

"All I'm going to do is take a quiet look around and try to figure out if mere's any connection between Graves and Gladstone. I just want to answer a few questions."

"But what will it take to answer your questions?"

"One thing I'll look at is Gladstone's book collection. Even if he wanted them he couldn't have many of the same books as Graves had because so much of the first collection was unique. It's gone forever. But I'll be able to tell if Gladstone's area of interest and expertise parallels Graves'. That will be a very strong clue."

"And if a good look at Gladstone's collection doesn't answer your questions?"

"I'll try to get a look at his private papers. Do some research. Get a feel for the way he's making his money these days, that kind of thing," Croft said casually.

"Oh, my God. Is that all?"

"That's all. We'll leave on schedule. If I've confirmed any of my suspicions, I'll return later, on my own, to pursue
them. Relax, Mercy. I won't carve him up at the dining room table with a dull bread knife."

Mercy went pale and choked on her last sip of coffee. She seized the water glass, her eyes tearing. Croft was startled. He got up and moved around the table to whack her lightly between the shoulder blades.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded furiously, still unable to speak. Slowly her throat relaxed. She tried another sip of water.

"That was a joke, Mercy." Croft sat down again, his eyes concerned. "I would never expose you to violence."

"You have a weird sense of humor, Croft," she gasped. "Kindly remember it's my future you're talking about when you make such horrible jokes."

"Your future," he said thoughtfully. "That's an interesting subject." v "I agree. I think about it a lot. But at the moment I have no intention of discussing it with you. Now, about this Gladstone visit. There is just one other point I'd like to settle." She leaned forward to pin him with narrowed eyes. "We have to decide on the nature of our relationship."

"I really don't like that word. I've given it a lot of thought and I've decided it's a useless word."

"Relationship? I find it very useful."

"Only because you don't have any problem with a certain amount of vagueness in your life."

"I keep telling you, Croft, it's important to be flexible. I think we're getting off the main subject here. About our relationship—"

"What about it?"

"I've been thinking. We can present ourselves to Gladstone as professional acquaintances who also happen to be friends. We'll let him think you're also a book dealer and that you accompanied me on this trip purely out of professional curiosity and because you hoped to interest him in buying through you as well as me."

"It won't work."

Mercy was offended. "Why not?"

"First, because business people do not pay calls on then-clients accompanied by competitors. Also, if he's the suspicious type, all he has to do is pick up the phone and find out whether I've actually got a bookshop. Once he discovers I don't, he'll be very curious."

"He'd only go through all that trouble if he's really Graves or connected to Graves in some fashion." Mercy chewed on her lower Up, thinking quickly.

"Not necessarily," Croft surprised her by saying. "He's obviously something of an eccentric and he has a valuable collection. He could be perfectly innocent and still be well within his rights checking up on an uninvited guest. I'd do the same thing in his place. No, Mercy, I'm afraid we're going to have to pose as lovers. You'll be the rare book expert. I'll just be along for the ride. I decided to accompany you on this little jaunt because it meant we'd have a vacation together. The Gladstone visit is just a short detour in the midst of a passionate romp in the Colorado mountains."

Mercy glared at him. "I don't like it."

"You're stuck with it unless you can come up with something better and convince me it will work."

"How can I convince you of any idea I dream up? You're bound to be prejudiced against it right from the start."

He shook his head firmly. "I'm always willing to be reasonable and logical about strategy. I'm always reasonable and logical about everything."

Mercy stabbed a finger at him. "You're the most unreasonable, illogical man I've ever met."

"One of these days, Mercy, I'll have to give you a few lessons in logic and philosophy. You've spent too many years operating on instinct and emotion."

"If I
operated
only on instinct and emotion, I wouldn't have survived running my own business for the past two years," she tossed back triumphantly. "Are you ready to go? According to the map we should be at Gladstone's place in another hour or so."

His hand shot across the table in the blink of an eye, capturing her wrist and stilling her just as she was about to rise. Croft's eyes were suddenly very intent. The command in them was almost as powerful as it had been during the night when he had ordered her to let him handle the authorities. Mercy didn't move.

"It's understood that we will pose as lovers while we're at Gladstone's? I don't want any surprises from you, Mercy. Not while we're there. It would be too risky."

"You said that if I came up with a better idea you'd be open to it," she replied, feeling very uneasy.

"You won't come up with a better idea. I've already thought the problem through. A better idea doesn't exist. I want to be certain
that you're going to act the part of my woman for the next couple of days."

"And if I don't agree?"

"Then we'll cancel the whole trip right now."

She was shocked. "You can't do that! This is my future we're talking about here. Don't you dare threaten me, Croft."

"I've told you more than once, I don't make threats."

The situation was infuriating but Mercy felt trapped. That morning she had tried to cut the emotional strings that seemed to bind her to this man's will, tried to tell herself he was using her and that she owed him nothing. But she knew now as she faced him across the table in the dingy little café
that nothing about this situation was going to be simple or straightforward.

And there were, heaven help her, some undeniable facts to take into consideration, not the least of which was that
Croft had managed to instill unpleasant worries in her mind about the true identity of her valuable client. That alone was probably reason enough to take a companion with her to the Gladstone home.

But she couldn't ignore the fact that Croft had misled her, or rather allowed her to come to some false conclusions. She didn't doubt for a moment that he had behaved within the framework of his own eccentric, strict, but honorable personal code. As far as he was concerned he had unfinished business to handle. He was determined to protect her even as he used her to follow the trail of
Valley of Secret Jewels
. In his own way he was doing his best to meet the obligations of honor and vengeance he felt he had to fulfill. She was forced to respect that even as it made her seethe.

Set against the need to make certain the creator of the Society of the Graced was truly dead, Mercy supposed her desire to gain a toehold in the world of antiquarian books was rather unimportant to Croft. The best she could hope for was that Gladstone was the innocent, reclusive eccentric he appeared to be.

"All right," she finally said, knowing there was no other choice. "We'll pose as lovers."

The blazing forcefulness went out of his eyes in a single blink. When his lashes lifted again, Croft's hazel gaze was warm as his mouth tilted. "It shouldn't be too hard. That's exactly what we are. Lovers."

Abruptly incensed Mercy yanked her hand from under his as he relaxed his grip- "Whatever else we are, we're not lovers. This trip is turning out to be nothing more than what it was originally planned to be: A business vacation, pure and simple." She shot to her feet, reaching down to collect her shoulder bag.

"Mercy, don't try to deny our, uh,
relationship
. I won't let you pretend it doesn't exist." Croft was on his feet, picking up the grease stained check that had been dropped on their
table earlier. He hurried after Mercy who was already several steps ahead.

She swung around and noticed the bare table behind him. "Aren't you going to leave a tip?" she snapped, keeping her voice low so the waitress wouldn't overhear.

Croft's eyes narrowed. "Why should I? She didn't bother to make the tea the way I asked. A tip is supposed to be given for good service. It doesn't make sense to reward lousy service. It only encourages more of the same."

"Spare me your philosophy on the nature of punishment and reward. That woman is working minimum wage at most. I wouldn't be surprised if she's divorced and raising a couple of kids on whatever she earns here. From the looks of things she'll probably be stuck in this berg for the rest of her life. That's punishment enough for a bad cup of tea. Leave her a tip, Croft."

He surrendered without a word and reached for his wallet. Mercy nodded once in satisfaction. Every time she was about to give up on him, she saw a small ray of hope. Croft could be managed. He could be pushed. He could be made to alter his ways. But a woman would have her hands full in the process.

Following Gladstone's directions, Croft turned off the narrow mountain highway fifteen miles past the small cafe where they had stopped for breakfast. The new road was even narrower than the one they had left. It was obvious that keeping it in good repair was not a high priority for the State. Croft slowed the car to thirty miles an hour as the Toyota began to protest the scarred, uneven road surface. The towering bees seemed to press in on the thin road as if trying to push it off the mountain altogether.

"I get the feeling this isn't the route to any of the major ski resorts," Mercy remarked.

"You were right when you said you thought Gladstone
liked his privacy. This road is definitely one way to keep visitors at bay."

They rounded a hairpin turn and without any warning found themselves confronting a desolate assortment of grayed and weatherbeaten shacks that occupied a small clearing.

"A ghost town," Mercy exclaimed in delight. "A real, live ghost town."

"I mink that may be a contradiction in terms." Croft slowed tine car even more as he drove through the crumbling remains of what had probably once been a thriving mining town.

Mercy avidly examined the ruined buildings, sagging doors, and empty windows. The remains of a planked, wooden sidewalk that had once connected a row of shops stretched along one side of the road. A partially decayed wooden wagon was overturned beside a building that still bore the faded legend Drifter's Creek General Store.

Some of Mercy's initial delight began to fade as she examined the scene. The tumbledown buildings didn't look quite real. There was an overall pall of eerie isolation to the place, as if it existed in another time or another dimension. Mercy had the feeling that if she actually got out of the car and tried to touch one of the crumbling boards on a nearby structure it would vanish beneath her hand. The soft sighing of the pines had an unnatural whine to it. It was nearly midday, but Mercy felt chilled. She rolled up her window.

"I dunk I see why they call them ghost towns, Croft."

"Yes." He said nothing more.

"But it's fascinating, isn't it? When we leave Gladstone's place, let's stop here and spend some time looking around. I've never had an opportunity to explore a ghost town."

"It's a deal."

He sounded unexpectedly pleased. Belatedly Mercy realized he probably saw the suggestion as an excuse to pursue
the personal side of this trip. She wasn't quite sure how to take that. Croft guided the car around another sharp bend and Drifter's Creek disappeared behind them. Mercy felt wanner almost at once. She rolled the window back down.

A couple of miles beyond what was left of Drifter's Creek the roadway disintegrated further.

"I have a hunch the car rental agency would take a dim view of this," Mercy said.

"I think you're right." Croft slowed to a halt and switched off the engine. He folded his arms on the wheel and leaned forward to study the terrain in front of him.

"What's wrong? Why are we stopping?"

"Take a look. There's a fence up ahead."

Mercy peered toward the trees. Loosely connected logs emerged from the forest on either side of the road and met in the middle of the path. "Doesn't look like much of a fence. Just a wooden gate. There's something in the instructions Gladstone gave us about calling the house for access when we reach the wooden barrier. This must be it. See a call box?"

"Over there in the trees." Croft was already opening the car door. His expression was becoming remote, his hazel eyes alert and unreadable.