“Old one,” Fallon explained. “Just a skeleton. Belongs to the con artist who founded an intentional community here twenty-two years ago. The members of the community kicked him out when they realized that he’d taken all their money and was trying to set up his own private harem. He returned one night to try to steal the curiosities. He got one out, the clock.”
Zack dusted muffin crumbs off his hands and looked interested. “How did he get dead?”
“Workplace accident,” Fallon said.
AN HOUR LATER Fallon stood with Zack in the shelter. They watched Rafanelli and his team painstakingly deactivate the clockwork mechanisms that animated the objects in the glass cases. Each curiosity was carefully stowed in one of the leaded-glass boxes the Society’s museums used to transport artifacts infused with a hefty amount of unknown crystal or glass-based psi.
Isabella and Raine were on the other side of the room, standing over the skeleton. They talked in low voices. Zack glanced at the body with a thoughtful expression.
“That was no workplace accident,” he said.
“Close enough.” Fallon shrugged. “Lasher was a thief, and he appears to have been at work trying to steal stuff when he got whacked. Workplace accident, like I said.”
“Who used the crowbar on his skull?”
“We think there was a woman with him. Her name was Rachel Stewart and she had some talent. From the looks of it, Rachel got really pissed off.”
“You’re going with a falling-out-among-thieves scenario?”
“It fits,” Fallon said. “In any event, it happened more than twenty years ago. No one gives a damn now.”
“And it would be a little awkward to turn the case over to the authorities,” Zack agreed dryly, “given the hot psi down here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“See?” Zack widened his hands. “This is how the Joneses accumulate secrets.”
“Another thing we’re good at, like acquiring enemies.”
Raine and Isabella turned away from the skeleton and walked back across the small space.
“You say you’re planning to dump the remains off the Point?” Raine asked.
“That’s the plan,” Fallon said.
“Use your own judgment,” Raine said. “But I think you should know that I can hear the echoes of the voices of the people who were here that night.”
Fallon looked at her. “And?”
Shadows flickered through Raine’s eyes. “There was a woman involved. But she was not the killer. There were three people down here at the time of the death. Someone else struck Lasher with that crowbar.”
“Lovers’ triangle?” Isabella asked.
Raine’s brows tightened over the rims of her glasses. “No, I don’t think so, not exactly. But there was a violent quarrel.”
Fallon pondered possible revisions to the scenario for about one second, made the small adjustment necessary to his theory of the crime and was satisfied.
“Doesn’t change anything,” he said. “No one cares.”
Across the room Preston Rafanelli finished locking down the last of the curiosities. A short, sturdily built man in his early forties, he balanced his balding head with a neatly trimmed beard. He gave final instructions to one of the techs and then walked forward to join Fallon and the others. His broad face was flushed with excitement.
“This is an incredible find,” he enthused. “I can hardly wait to get these artifacts into the lab. I know Dr. Tremont will want to examine them as soon as possible. I’ll e-mail her tonight. Got a hunch she’ll be cutting her sabbatical short when she hears that an entire cache of Bridewell’s inventions has been located. I can’t thank you enough for bringing me in on this project, Jones.”
“No problem,” Fallon said. “I live to bring joy into the lives of others.”
Everyone except Isabella stared at him, mouths agape.
Isabella widened her hands. “And people say Fallon Jones has no sense of humor.”
18
A t four o’clock that afternoon, Zack got behind the wheel of the rental car. Raine buckled up in the passenger seat. She waved at Isabella and Fallon, who were standing on the narrow sidewalk in front of the office.
Zack put the car in gear and drove slowly along the Cove’s narrow main drag, following the SUV carrying Rafanelli and his team.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Raine said. “But I believe that the Earth may have just shifted on its axis.”
Zack smiled. “Because Fallon finally hired an assistant?”
“Not just any assistant. He managed to find the one woman on the face of the planet who seems to be able to appreciate his rather unique nature. They’re sleeping together.”
“Yeah, I did get that impression,” Zack said. “Always knew that when Fallon finally went down, he’d fall like one of those big woolly mammoths at the end of the Ice Age.”
“Hard?”
“Very. I’m surprised we didn’t feel the ground shake all the way up in Seattle.”
Raine drummed her fingers lightly on the seat. “I like Isabella very much, but I do sense that she’s as comfortable with conspiracy theories as Fallon is. Maybe even more so.”
“I think it’s in the blood. Fallon says that she’s the Sentinel’s granddaughter.”
Raine turned her head sharply, startled. “The nut who operates that weird website? Iceberg?”
“One and the same. Evidently the Sentinel died recently or faked her own death, depending on your point of view.”
“Good grief.”
“Isabella is convinced that someone may have murdered her grandmother because of some secret conspiracy. She thinks the killers are after her as well.”
Raine rested her head against the back of the seat and groaned. “Oh, brother. Isabella really is a little out there, isn’t she?”
“Looks like it.”
“She seems so nice. I really like her. What does Fallon think?”
“Fallon really likes her, too. I got the impression that he’s not buying into her conspiracy theory, at least not entirely. But he’s sleeping with her and he’s a Jones, so he’ll do just about anything for her. He’s investigating the Sentinel’s death.”
“Wait until the rest of the Joneses hear about this.” Raine’s mouth twitched. “The clan is going to go into shock. Everyone has been hoping that Fallon would meet someone who could keep him anchored in reality, a woman who would serve as a counterbalance for his rather unusual nature.”
“Instead he’s gone right off the deep end for someone who is even further over the horizon than he is.”
“What did he say when you asked him to come to the Winter Conference?” Raine asked.
“I explained the situation to him. He understood. He’ll be there. He won’t be staying long, though, just the night of the reception and the auction. But that’s enough for my purposes.”
“Get a bunch of Joneses in one room together and people pay attention,” Raine said. “Any idea why Fallon hates social gatherings so much?”
“He’s never been keen on them, but he really does not want to attend this particular gig.”
