Zinnia

but the privacy's great.'

'I appreciate it.' Zinnia glanced around at the paneled confines of the dining room.

She had deliberately chosen a refined, rose-orchid-red gown with a discreet neckline and long sleeves to suit the somber elegance of her surroundings. The Founders' Club was a prime example of the heavy Gothic style popular during the Later Expansion Period. Arched doorways, carved stonework, and a sense of brooding age were the key elements. The atmosphere provided a suitable backdrop for the wealthy movers and shakers of New Seattle who were members of the club.

A sense of wistfulness went through Zinnia. 'My father used to belong to this club.'

'I know. So did mine.' Duncan looked up as the wine steward came to a halt beside the table. 'A bottle of the 'ninety-seven Chateau Sequim blue, please.'

'Yes, Mr. Luttrell.' The steward vanished quietly.

Zinnia relaxed for the first time that day. Duncan had a soothing effect on her. Having dinner with him was a lot like dining out with her brother. No pressure, just a sense of pleasant companionship.

Duncan was good-looking in an open, rugged sort of way. He had a strong muscular build that seemed at odds with his career in the high-tech world of computers. He wore his light brown hair cut short in a conservative style that suited his position as the head of his own firm. His brown eyes lit easily with laughter.

After the waiter had taken their order, Duncan turned back to Zinnia with a commiserating expression.

'I know how irritating the tabloids can be,' he said. 'After Dad took his own life last year, the press hounded me for days. I refused all comment and they eventually went away.'

'My technique precisely.'

The waiter returned with the wine. Zinnia waited until Duncan concluded the tasting ritual and approved the vintage.

When they were alone again, Zinnia took an appreciative sip of the fine blue wine. She rarely got to drink the expensive stuff these days. The bottle she had at home in the icerator was a cheap green.

'I think the worst of it is over. When you picked me up tonight, the Synsation van was gone.'

'A good sign.' Duncan smiled. 'So long as you and Chastain don't feed the fires of gossip, the whole thing will dry up and blow away.'

Zinnia winced. 'Don't worry. I definitely don't want to throw any more bones to the gossip columnists. And it's safe to say that Nick Chastain feels exactly the same.'

'I understand how you happened to stumble over Morris Fenwick's body. You're the type who would worry about a missing client. What I don't quite get is why Chastain was with you when you found Fenwick. The stories in the papers did not make that clear.'

Zinnia hesitated a split second while she decided how much to tell Duncan. For some obscure reason she felt a responsibility to protect Nick's privacy and she knew intuitively that he would not want her to discuss the Chastain journal. She opted for a limited version of the truth.

'You'll never believe it, but apparently Nick Chastain collects rare books.'

Duncan chuckled. 'You're right. Hard to believe a casino owner with a taste for antiquarian books.'

'I know. But he was one of Morris's clients and I was aware that they had been in negotiations. When Morris failed to keep an appointment, I contacted Chastain to see if he knew what had happened to him.'

Duncan frowned. 'You actually went to see Chastain?'

'I couldn't think of anything else to do. He was as concerned as I was. We both went to the book shop to see what was going on and found poor Morris together. Mr. Chastain called the police.'

Duncan looked thoughtful. 'Mind if I give you a little friendly advice?'

Zinnia held up one hand. 'Stop. I have a hunch you're going to tell me the same thing I've already heard from everyone else. You want to warn me to stay clear of Nick Chastain. Right?'

Duncan smiled, but the expression in his eyes remained serious. 'Right. I'm no expert on the subject, but I've heard enough to know that Chastain is not the kind of guy whose attention you want to attract.'

'Don't worry, I'm in complete agreement.'

A short silence descended.

Duncan picked up his wine glass and swirled the contents with a reflective air. 'When you went to see Chastain did you get into his office?'

Zinnia helped herself to a bit of pate and a cracker. 'Uh-huh.'

Duncan leaned forward and lowered his voice. 'So, is it true what they say about his incredibly bad taste?'

Zinnia grinned as she crunched down on the cracker. 'Every single word.'

She could not see him but she sensed his presence. He was there in the darkness, waiting for her. She knew she should turn and run from him while she still could. But some invisible force tugged at her, drawing her into the endless night. If she entered that darkness with him there would be no turning back. She would be trapped with him in the terrifying emptiness that seemed to extend forever.

She heard the muffled sound of her own heart beating. The sound grew louder, ringing loudly in her ears. The thunder of blood.

Zinnia came awake with a great startled gasp. Her nightgown was clinging to her sweat-dampened body. Only a dream. A nightmare. But the thunder did not cease.

It took her a few seconds to realize that what she was hearing was the telephone, not her pounding heart.

She glanced at the clock beside the bed. Midnight. No one called at midnight unless something was terribly wrong.

She picked up the receiver with a trembling hand. 'Yes?'

'Miss Spring? This is Polly Fenwick. Morris Fenwick's wife?'

'Yes. Hello, Mrs. Fenwick.'

'Did I wake you?'

'It's all right.' Zinnia collapsed back against the pillows. 'I'm so very sorry about Morris.'

'That's why I called.'

Zinnia frowned as the anxiety in Polly Fenwick's voice finally seeped through the phone. 'Are you all right, Mrs. Fenwick?'

'I've been going through his things. There was a note. With instructions, you know.'

'Instructions?'

'Very specific. Morris was that way. Very specific. I followed the instructions to the letter. I found a book that he had hidden. It looks like a diary or a journal of some kind.'

Zinnia stilled. 'A journal?'

'According to Morris's note, it's quite valuable. But his instructions are to dispose of it as fast as possible. He thinks it may be dangerous to possess it. I'm to sell it to Mr. Chastain. You, know, the man who owns that casino in Founders' Square?'

'Yes. Yes, I know.' Zinnia was having trouble following the rushed explanation. Part of her mind was still churning with the images embedded in the nightmare. 'Excuse me, Mrs. Fenwick, but are you saying that you have this journal in your possession?'

'Yes. Didn't I make that clear? But Morris's note says I must get rid of it quickly. Apparently he thought someone might come looking for it if anything happened to him.'

'What, exactly, does the note say?'

'I just told you, I'm to conclude the sale of the journal the moment I discover it.'

'You want to sell the journal now? Tonight?'

'Yes. I don't mind telling you that Morris's note has made me very nervous. I'm sorry to bother you like this, but it definitely says here that I'm to call you. It says you'll contact Mr. Chastain for me. Will you do that?'

'Me?'

'Please, Miss Spring. My stomach is terribly upset as it is. I just couldn't call that dreadful man personally. The very thought of dealing with him terrifies me. Why, he's not much better than a gangster.'

Shades of Aunt Willy. Zinnia closed her eyes. 'All right. I'll call Mr. Chastain for you.'

'Thank you so much, Miss Spring.' Gratitude and relief bubbled in Polly's voice. 'We mustn't be seen together, though. I thought we could meet at Curtain Park in an hour.'