route. I thought it gave us something in common but I think I was wrong about that.”
“What’s his name?”
“Slade Attridge. He used to work for the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation. Talk to you later, Mom.”
She cut the connection, dropped the phone back into her purse, and started to undo the lock. It took her a second to realize that the door was already unlocked.
“Devin, I swear, if you’ve been prowling through my shop again, I’m going to report you to your grandmother this time. Forget the local cops.”
She opened the door and moved into the cluttered back room. A trickle of unease fluttered through her. She knew the sensation all too well. Her intuition was kicking in. But this ominous crackle of awareness was much different from the one she had experienced yesterday when she’d discovered the unlocked door.
It dawned on her that the back room was even more disorganized than usual. The lids of several packing crates had been pried off. The contents were strewn everywhere. The drawers of an antique rolltop desk stood open. The top of a fine First Generation steamer trunk had been raised. The bubble wrap had been ripped off several small antique glass items.
Yesterday she had sensed that someone had been inside the shop but the knowledge had not filled her with sharp, clawing dread. She had been annoyed but she had not been scared. This morning she was scared. She was also angry.
She started to back out of the shop. She was going to feel like an idiot calling Myrna at the station again this morning to report another intruder. This time it would be a thousand times worse because she would have to deal with Slade after their dreadful date. She had not yet decided how she wanted to handle that situation. She had been awake most of the night thinking about it. No solution had presented itself.
She saw the shoe sticking out from between two stacks of shipping crates just as she stepped back and reached for her phone. A man’s shoe.
Adrenaline shot through her. Her senses flashed high in fight-or-flight mode. She struggled to lower her talent. The last thing she wanted to do was go back inside but she had no choice. She had to make certain the man was truly dead, not bleeding to death or suffering a seizure.
She made her way around a stack of wooden crates. The unnerving sensation grew stronger as she got closer to the body. When she saw the face of the man sprawled on the floor she froze.
There was no need to check for a pulse. Although there was no blood and no signs of obvious violence, the aura of death was palpable. Besides, fear and adrenaline had kicked her senses into high gear. She could see very clearly that there was no hint of a rainbow around Jeremy. The lack of a reflection meant that there was no aura energy.
Jeremy Gaines had seriously complicated her life while he was alive. She had a feeling that he was going to make things even more difficult now that he was dead.
She started to shiver.
It was all she could do to take out her phone. It required a couple of attempts to call the emergency number. But she managed to keep it together while she reported the situation to Myrna.
“The chief is on his way,” Myrna said, sounding uncharacteristically authoritative and thoroughly professional. “Do not go back inside your shop until he gets there. Understand?”
“Got it,” Charlotte said.
“Are you okay?” Myrna asked. “You sound a little breathless.”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
Charlotte hung up the phone and sank down onto the back step. She forced herself to breathe the way she had been taught, fighting the panic attack with every ounce of her willpower. She hated using the pills.
Chapter 7
SLADE CROUCHED BESIDE THE BODY, PULLED ON THE plastic gloves that Myrna had magically produced from the back of a cupboard beneath the copying machine, and cautiously opened his senses. The haze of violent death shivered in the atmosphere. He didn’t have to go any hotter to know murder when he saw it.
“Who was he and what was he doing here in your shop?” he said to Charlotte.
“His name was Jeremy Gaines,” Charlotte said. She stood some distance away from the body, arms tightly folded beneath her breasts. “He was a former client of mine. I haven’t seen him since I left Frequency. I have no idea what he was doing here. I didn’t even know that he was on the island.”
Slade pulled a ticket receipt out of one of the dead man’s pockets. “Looks like he arrived on the last ferry yesterday evening.”
“I had closed up and gone home by then.”
“Later you walked over to my place.”
“Yes.” She fell silent.
He knew that she was remembering that he had left her at her door around eleven thirty. She had no alibi for the remainder of the night. He studied her for a moment.
“You look pale,” he said. “Are you okay?”
Her mouth tightened resolutely. “I’m fine. Had a bit of a panic attack when I found the body but I’m okay now.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” She raised her chin. “Don’t worry, I have pills if I need them.”
She did not want to talk about the panic attack, he realized. Fair enough, he didn’t like talking about his senses-related problem, either.
“Was Gaines a talent?” he asked.
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “He is also a member of the Arcane Society, for what it’s worth.”
“Like you.”
“Back in Frequency I catered primarily to collectors who are Arcane.”
“How long was he a client?”
“Not long.” She stopped.
“Might as well tell me the rest,” Slade said. “I’m going to find out eventually.”
She grimaced. “Jeremy was a client. He was very knowledgeable about antiques and antiquities. And he had money. I found a couple of nice Post–Era of Discord items for him. Then he asked me to locate a certain piece of late Nineteenth-Century Old World glassware for him. A snow globe.”
“Go on.”
“Old World antiquities are not my area of expertise. That is a far more rarified market. Most of the good pieces are in museums. But it was an interesting challenge so I agreed to see what I could do. Eventually I traced rumors of an Old World snow globe to the private collection of a woman named Evelyn Lambert. Mrs. Lambert was amazed that I had been able to track it down to her collection. But she declined to sell. I told Jeremy that she was not interested.”
“What happened?”
“Jeremy got angry when I informed him that the collector who owned the snow globe did not want to sell. In fact, he was furious.”
“Did you give him Mrs. Lambert’s name?”
“Certainly not.” Charlotte was indignant. “I always respect and protect the privacy of my clients. A lot of collectors are very secretive. Mrs. Lambert was one of those.”
“What happened after that?”
“Mrs. Lambert was so impressed with my expertise she wanted to talk to me about her plans to give her collection to one of the Arcane museums. I told her who to call to make the arrangements. We got to be friends.
