Dream Eyes

this evening. This is Wesley Lancaster. Wesley, this is Judson Coppersmith.”

It didn’t take any psychic talent to know that he had just been promoted from the role of financial adviser to that of lover, Judson thought. No problem. He could work with that. He moved to stand very close to Gwen, his shoulder just brushing hers.

“Lancaster,” he said. Taking his cue from Gwen, he was careful to keep his tone civil, at least until he figured out what the hell was going on.

“Coppersmith.” Wesley acknowledged the introduction with a short, brusque inclination of his head that went well with his short, brusque greeting. It was clear that he was not thrilled to learn that Gwen was not alone.

At close range, it was clear that somewhere along the line a few Vikings had contributed to Wesley’s gene pool. He was tall, narrow-hipped and strategically muscled in the manner of a man who spent a fair amount of time at his gym. A strong jaw, high cheekbones, light-colored eyes and the elegantly styled sweep of blond hair added to the image. All he needed was an axe, shield and helmet to complete the look, Judson thought.

Instead of the battle armor, Wesley wore a pair of hand-tailored black trousers and a dark blue silk shirt. The collar of the shirt was open partway down his chest. A slouchy linen jacket, a pair of Italian loafers and some designer shades finished the look. But Judson was sure that no self-respecting Viking warrior would have been caught dead at his own funeral pyre looking like he was dressed to make a pitch at a Hollywood film studio.

“Wesley is the ghost hunter on Dead of Night, the television show that investigates reports of old hauntings and paranormal occurrences,” Gwen said.

That explained a lot, Judson thought.

“Is that right?” he said. He made himself stop there. No sense pushing the envelope by adding that he considered all ghost hunters to be frauds and that he had never heard of the show.

“Gwen tells me that the two of you are in town to handle Evelyn Ballinger’s funeral and her affairs,” Wesley said.

“That’s right.” Judson went for casual, still trying to get a feel for the vibe between Wesley and Gwen. They clearly shared a past, but beyond that things got murky fast. “What brings you to Wilby?”

Wesley blew out a long sigh and looked troubled. “I came here to see Evelyn. I’ve been trying to contact her for several days now. She stopped replying to my e-mails, and she wouldn’t respond to the messages I left on her voice mail. I decided to grab a plane to Portland and drive up here to Wilby to find out what was going on. It came as a hell of a shock to discover that Evelyn died sometime last night.”

“Why were you so concerned about her when you couldn’t get in touch?” Judson asked. “Close friends?”

“Business associates,” Wesley said grimly.

Gwen unfolded her arms and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. “Evelyn did some contract work for Wesley. She was his primary researcher. She checked out stories of hauntings and paranormal activity. It was her job to identify locations that were suitable for episodes of Dead of Night. After Wesley made his choice, I wrote up the script.”

Judson looked at her. “You did the scripts?”

“Yes,” she said. She glared, silently daring him to challenge that.

“For a series that investigates haunted houses?” he said carefully.

“Yes,” she said. Ice dripped from the word.

Wesley scowled. “You got a problem with that, Coppersmith?”

“No,” Judson said. “I knew Gwen was a psychic counselor, but I didn’t realize that she had been writing fiction, that’s all.”

Gwen raised her eyes toward the evening sky and looked mildly annoyed.

“Dead of Night is not fiction,” Wesley snapped. “We deal with real hauntings. Gwen’s scripts are based on the actual details and rumors that surround old murders and mysterious disappearances and deaths.”

“I see,” Judson said. “How many people work for you?”

Wesley eyed him with impatience. “Several, why?”

“Just wondered if you’re in the habit of hopping a plane and driving a couple of hours to see one of your staff whenever you can’t get in touch by phone or e-mail.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwen’s expression sharpen. He felt energy stir and knew that she had heightened her talent. She was studying Wesley’s aura. What do you see, Dream Eyes?

Wesley was getting angry. “Evelyn was late with the results of her last research project. She’d missed two deadlines. Every time I asked her if she had finished researching the next location, she told me that she just needed another few days to finish. Finally she stopped taking my calls. Dead of Night operates on a very tight schedule. I can’t afford to sit around and wait on a researcher. So, yes, when I couldn’t get hold of her, I came here to see her in person. I had no clue that she’d died during the night.”

“What time did you arrive?” Judson asked.

“You know, I really don’t owe you any explanations, Coppersmith.” Wesley turned back to Gwen. “Think about what I said. If you’re interested in taking over the research as well as the scriptwriting, I’ll make it worth your while. I’m in a real crunch here. I need your help.”

“I’ll think about it,” Gwen promised.

“Do that,” Wesley advised. “But do it fast. I’ll give you the same salary that I gave Evelyn. We both know that between the research and the scriptwriting, you’ll make a hell of a lot more than you will in the psychic counseling business.”

“I know,” Gwen said. She studied him with an assessing expression. “How long do you plan to be in town?”

“I’ve got to get back to Portland tonight to catch a plane to California first thing in the morning. We’re filming all day tomorrow. But you can reach me on my cell. Call anytime, day or night. I’ll need an answer soon, Gwen.”

“I understand.”

Wesley hesitated. “Do you have any idea what she was working on there at the end?”

“No. She never sent me any notes. Usually the two of us batted around ideas for a show before we settled on a couple that we thought would work for you. But I hadn’t heard from her in nearly two weeks.”

“If you find anything connected to Dead when you go through her files, let me know.”

“All right,” Gwen said.

“It’s weird,” Wesley said. “The last time I spoke to her—about a week ago before she stopped taking my calls—I got the impression that she was working on something really big. You’re sure she didn’t drop any hints?”

“None.”

“Well, that’s it, then. Shit.” Wesley’s jaw hardened. “I’m dead serious about my offer, Gwen. Evelyn would have wanted you to take over her job. Think of it as carrying on her legacy of research into the paranormal. And I can guarantee you that the money is good.”

“I promise I’ll think about it.” Gwen took one hand out of her jacket pocket and glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. You’ll have to excuse us, Wesley. Judson and I have some business to attend to.”

“Yeah, right. Business.” Wesley shot Judson a narrow-eyed look and then jerked open the door of a nearby car. He got behind the wheel and looked up at Gwen.

“Don’t forget,” he said. “If you turn up that last research file she was working on, call me.”

“Okay,” Gwen said. “But I can tell you right now that it was probably on her computer and her computer is missing.”

“Shit.” Wesley slammed the door and fired up the car.

Judson watched the vehicle roar out of the parking lot.

“Guess we can’t add him to our suspect list,” Judson said. “Sounds like he depended on Ballinger to keep his show on the air.”

“She was certainly important to him,” Gwen said. “So it doesn’t seem like he would have had a motive. Also, if I’m right, Evelyn was killed by paranormal means. That means it’s practically impossible that Wesley killed her.”