“Later,” he said. He headed for the door.
“Be home by six for dinner,” Myrna called after him.
“Sure,” Devin said over his shoulder.
In the next moment he was gone with a lightningquick speed that any hunter-talent would envy. Nobody could move faster than a teenage boy on his way to hang out with a buddy. The door closed behind him.
Myrna exhaled slowly. “I suppose you noticed the sunglasses?”
“I noticed,” Slade said.
“Same brand you wear. He found them online. He even puts them on and takes them off the way you do. With both hands, not one.”
“I do it that way because they last longer. Less wear and tear on the itty bitty hinges.”
“Nice to know there’s sound engineering logic behind your method, but I don’t think that’s the reason Devin is imitating you,” Myrna said.
“He thinks I’m making a fashion statement?”
“No. He thinks you look stone cold when you take the glasses on and off. Very ice-rez, as the kids say.”
“I’m telling you, it’s all about saving the hinges.” He hefted the package in his hand. “Anything I need to know before I go put this fish in the refrigerator?”
“All is calm on the streets of the Big City.” Myrna studied the packet of fish. “Looks like a lot of fish for one person and a dust bunny.”
“Rex is a hearty eater. But before you hear it on the street, I’ve got a dinner guest tonight.”
Myrna’s expression brightened. “Charlotte Enright?”
“Amazing detective work. No wonder you’re in law enforcement.”
Myrna ignored that. “About time, if you don’t mind my saying so. First date you’ve had since you arrived.”
“Give me a break. I’ve only been in town less than a week.” He started down the hall toward the break room.
“I’ve got a terrific recipe for tartar sauce,” Myrna called after him. “I’ll write it down for you.”
Chapter 3
DEVIN STOPPED IN FRONT OF THE ENTRANCE TO LOOKing Glass Antiques and peered through the window. He could see Charlotte Enright moving about inside the shop. She was dressed in black jeans and a black, short- sleeved T-shirt. She had a little blue triangle-shaped scarf tied around her hair. She was unpacking a crate.
She was busy. He could come back later.
He started to move on but for some reason he could not. Sure, he had to apologize, but Nate was waiting down at the marina. They had plans to make for the hike out to Hidden Beach. He could always apologize later. Like maybe right around five thirty when Charlotte was closing up for the day. She would be in a hurry to go home and he would be able to get the whole thing over with fast.
Or he could get it done now. He thought about how the chief would handle things and groaned. The chief would take care of it now.
Reluctantly he opened the door of the shop and moved inside. The old-fashioned bell chimed overhead. The subtle vibes hit him. It was as if he’d run through an invisible waterfall. The interior of the antiques shop did not exactly get brighter but it seemed to him that it was lit by something more than just normal light and shadow. He could see strange colors but he had no names for them.
He stopped, distracted by the intriguing sensations. It was so ice-rez, this feeling. Scary, sometimes, but incredibly ice-rez. Reluctantly he withdrew into himself. The unnatural colors and lighting in the atmosphere faded back to normal. He was still vaguely aware of some of the sparkling waterfall-like sensations but they no longer distracted him. He could control this feeling, he realized. That was also very cool.
“Hi, Devin.” Charlotte straightened up from the crate she had been unpacking, brushed off her hands, and walked toward him. “I’m glad you stopped by today.”
“Why?” he asked warily.
He should have known that Charlotte had guessed the truth about last night. She was a little weird. The chief was weird, too, but in a different way, and that was okay. The chief was a man and understood stuff. Charlotte, on the other hand, was a woman. He liked her but she made him uneasy. It was as if she could see inside his head or something. That was the main reason he had not ventured into the shop when it was open during the day.
There was another reason why he hadn’t come into the shop, as well. He couldn’t afford to buy any of the cool antiques. He just wanted to hang around them for a while. Shopkeepers didn’t like people who wandered into a store and hung out. They looked too much like shoplifters.
Charlotte smiled. “I came across something I think suits you perfectly. I just unpacked it.” She turned and went back across the room.
He followed cautiously. “My grandma says that your aunt never bothered to unpack most of the stuff that she bought for this shop.”
“No, Aunt Beatrix did not like dealing with customers. In fact, I think it’s safe to say she never quite got the concept of customer service. Makes for a difficult business model.”
“I don’t get it. If she didn’t like to sell her stuff, why was she in the business?”
“Good question. In my family we always said she was eccentric and let it go at that. But between you and me, I think she spent her life searching for something.”
“Yeah? What?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did you ever ask her?”
“I did one time, as a matter of fact. She said it was a key. I asked her what it opened. She said it wasn’t created to open a door. It was made to lock something that should never have been opened in the first place.”
“Do you think she ever found it?”
“No.”
“That’s too bad.”
Charlotte stopped, hands on her hips and surveyed a pile of junk on the floor. At least, it looked like junk to him, but he knew that to her they were antiques.
“Let me see,” Charlotte said. “I think I put it next to that old chocolate pot. Yes, there it is.” She stooped down and scooped up a small object.
For a moment she gripped the object in her hand. At the same time she put the fingertips of her other hand on the mirrored pendant she wore. Light sparked on the pendant. He thought he felt a small flash of fresh energy in the atmosphere but it was hard to be certain.
Charlotte opened her hand and held out the object. “Here you go. This feels like you.”
Alarmed, he took a step back. “I never even touched it, I swear it.”
She smiled. “I know, but it’s yours now, if you want it.”
“What do you mean, it feels like me?”
“It just does. Here, take it. See how it feels to you.”
He looked down at the object in her hand. The antique was a flat amber disc about two inches across and half an inch wide. It was engraved with a compass rose. The four points of the compass were set with small gray crystals. He was instantly fascinated.
“Wow,” he breathed. He took the amber compass from her and examined it closely. It felt good in his hand, warm and comfortable, as if it had been made for him. A shiver of awareness hummed through him. “Does it still work?”
