that you have become involved with that dreadful casino owner. You're a Spring. We do not associate with his sort. And how could you put yourself into a situation involving murder and drugs?'
Zinnia yanked her red trench coat off the whimsical Early Exploration Period coat tree and headed for the door. She was in no mood to discuss the night's events with her aunt but she owed Clementine Malone an explanation.
A screaming yellow van with the words READ SYNSATION FOR THE LATEST SENSATION painted in purple on the side rounded the corner at the end of the block just as she drove out of the underground garage.
Zinnia accelerated rapidly and swept past the vehicle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a photographer inside the van lift his camera for a shot of her fleeing car.
She was tempted to give him the universally recognized single-digit salute, but she resisted. Aunt Willy would not have approved.
Byron Smyth-Jones-Psynergy, Inc.'s executive secretary, receptionist, and all-around gofer-was at his command post behind the front desk when Zinnia arrived fifteen minutes later.
Byron had recently abandoned the popular Western Islands look for the newer and decidedly more avant- garde Alien Artifact style. Both had been inspired by the New Seattle Art Museum's exhibition of the mysterious and very ancient alien relics that Lucas Trent had discovered deep in an island jungle.
No one knew what to make of the strange artifacts because there was no trace of any other intelligent life on St. Helens. As far as the descendents of the Earth colonists could discern, they had the planet to themselves. The handful of mysterious relics were the only existing evidence that once, a long time ago, someone else had discovered St. Helens.
The Western Islands look had consisted of designer versions of the hard-wearing boots and khaki clothing favored by the rugged folk who prospected and mined the fuel source called jelly-ice. The attire had sometimes appeared a little silly on trendy urban types such as Byron, but at least it had looked as though it had been designed for real human beings. The Alien Artifact style, on the other hand, was over the top in Zinnia's professional opinion.
Today Byron was a vision in tight-fitting acid-green pants and a matching shirt patterned with images of the artifacts. He wore a heavy necklace made out of plastic designed to resemble the strange silver-colored alloy the aliens had used for their tools. His blond hair was razored to within a quarter of an inch around his entire skull. The toes of his black-and-green knee-high patent leather boots were so pointed Zinnia wondered how he managed to walk.
'Sex, murder, and crazy-fog. How exciting can life get?' Byron chuckled gleefully as he put down the copy of Synsation. 'How did you ever come to meet Nick Chastain? I want to hear every single juicy detail, Zinnia. Never in a million years would I have guessed that the two of you were involved in a relationship. You've been hiding things from your good buddy, Byron. I'm devastated.'
Zinnia glowered at him. 'For the record, Mr. Chastain and I are not involved in a relationship.'
'The Times called you Chastain's companion, a loaded word if ever there was one.' He stabbed a finger at the tabloid lying on the desk. 'And Synsation clearly states that you two are a couple. So, which is it?'
'Neither. Is Clementine in yet?'
'I'm here, Zinnia.' Clementine stuck her head around the door of her office. 'I nearly had a seizure when I opened the paper. You okay?'
'Yes, I'm fine.' Zinnia relaxed slightly. The sight of her part-time boss was somehow reassuring.
Clementine Malone could be brusque and acerbic, and she had a very short fuse, but she was also savvy, good-hearted, and loyal to her employees.
Unlike Byron, Clementine was not swayed by every passing gust of the fashion wind. Year in and year out she stuck with studded black leather and steel accessories. Her brush-cut, stark white hair was a brilliant contrast to her dark eyes.
'I tried to call you but there was no answer,' Clementine said. 'Kept getting the machine so I hung up and didn't leave a message.'
Zinnia grimaced. 'The phone started ringing before I even got out of bed. I haven't answered it all morning.'
Clementine eyed her thoughtfully. 'Mind telling me how in five hells you wound up in the company of Nick Chastain last night?'
'It's a long story. When I still couldn't reach Morris Fenwick late yesterday evening, I sort of panicked. I leaped to the conclusion that Mr. Chastain had, uh, gotten hold of him.'
'Gotten hold of him?'
Zinnia groaned. 'If you must know, I decided that Chastain had kidnapped him in order to try to intimidate him into turning over that journal that Morris had discovered. So I finally went to see him.'
'Who? Fenwick?'
'No, Nick Chastain.'
Byron uttered a soft low whistle. 'Holy synergy.'
Clementine's eyes narrowed. 'Let me get this straight. You actually confronted Chastain in his own casino and accused him of snatching Fenwick?'
'I'm afraid so.'
Byron cleared his throat. 'I hate to ask this, but does Chastain know that you work here part-time?'
'Yes, he does.' Zinnia glanced at him. 'Why?'
Byron shuddered. 'Just wanted to know if we should be prepared for a visit from some of his security personnel.'
'Oh, for heaven's sake, Byron.' Zinnia frowned. 'Don't be ridiculous.'
'You accused him of kidnapping?' Clementine fell back against the door. 'Say it ain't so, Zin. Tell me that you're just having a little cruel fun at poor old Clem's expense.'
For some obscure reason, Zinnia felt obliged to defend Nick. 'He was actually quite decent about the whole thing. I don't think he's the type to hold a grudge.'
'Decent?' Clementine pushed herself away from the door. 'Not hold a grudge? For your information, Nick Chastain has a reputation in this city-state. No one screws Chastain and gets away with it. Nor does he take insults well. And he absolutely hates publicity, especially the kind he got in this morning's papers.'
'How do you know so much about him?' Zinnia asked.
Clementine made a face. 'Everybody who knows anything knows something about Chastain's reputation. Gracie filled me in on some of the lesser-known tidbits, such as his dislike of publicity.'
Gracie Proud, owner of Proud Prisms, was Clementine's permanent partner. Same-sex alliances were treated just as seriously by society and the law as heterosexual marriages. Gracie and Clementine had been matched by a professional match-making agency several years ago and had been blissfully happy ever since, in spite of the fact that they were fierce business rivals. Gracie was always a fountain of inside information, rumors, and gossip, much of which tended to be extremely accurate.
Zinnia drew herself up. 'It certainly wasn't my fault that Mr. Chastain chose to have me followed after I left the casino last night and that the guy who did the following called him when he saw me go into Fenwick's Books.'
Byron gazed at her, goggle-eyed. 'Nick Chastain had you followed?'
'He had a business arrangement with poor Morris. He wanted to see what was going on and therefore happened to be on the scene when I discovered the body.'
'He actually had you followed,' Byron repeated in a voice infused with delicious horror. 'There was nothing about that in the papers.'
'He was just making certain that I got home safely.'
'Oh, yeah, right,' Clementine muttered. 'This gets worse by the minute. The owner of Chastain's Palace has you followed after you leave the casino and you think it's just business as usual.'
'It probably is for Chastain,' Byron said.
Zinnia had had enough. 'Look, I can't hang around here all morning just to entertain the two of you. If you need me, I'll be at home, working. I'll be screening my calls with my answering machine, so stay on the line if you want to talk to me.'
Clementine gave her a level look. 'If you have any more problems with Nick Chastain, call me. I don't know
