“Somehow, what with trying to stop a bunch of bad guys who are using a dangerous drug to enhance paranormal talents, fielding an endless series of routine investigations for members of the Society, and stumbling over the occasional serial killer, I manage to keep busy.”
She smiled. “Right.”
“How the hell did we get off on the subject of my failure to travel?”
“Beats me,” she said.
“Look,” he said gruffly, “there’s a regional Arcane conference scheduled in Sedona next week. The opening- night reception and auction is a very big deal as far as my family and the Council are concerned. I’ve managed to dodge it for the past couple of years, but Zack thinks I should attend this year to send a message.”
“What message?”
“Some of the members of the Council are questioning the amount of money and resources that Zack is proposing to allocate to J&J this year to pursue the Nightshade investigation. They think that William Craigmore’s death was a knockout blow to the organization. They don’t see why we have to keep up the pressure.”
“Ah, yes, corporate politics in action.”
“They’ve got a point.” Fallon exhaled wearily. “Pursuing Nightshade is damned expensive and the Society does have other priorities. Also, several people on the Council have pet research projects that they want to see better funded.”
“I understand,” she said.
“It’s not as if Arcane can draw on unlimited resources. The Society is like any other organization. It runs on money. Mostly it relies on membership dues and fund-raisers like the auction at the Sedona conference. All of the high-ranking members from the western district of the Society will be in Sedona. The idea is to pull as much money out of them as possible.”
“What gets auctioned off?”
“Periodically the curators of the Society’s museums go through their basements and weed out some of the less important artifacts. Paranormal antiquities always hold great interest for collectors. Lot of money involved.”
“Sort of a Sotheby’s or Christie’s for the Arcane crowd, hmm?”
“That’s the idea,” Fallon said.
“Do you want me to schedule one of the Arcane corporate jets or do you want to fly commercial to save money?”
“Book one of the Arcane jets and put it down as a Nightshade expense.”
She cleared her throat. “Uh, doesn’t that send the message that J&J is not particularly budget- conscious?”
“I like to think of it as being efficient. Time is money. I don’t want to waste any more than necessary on the Sedona conference.”
“Okay.” She reached for the phone again.
“Have them pick us up at the regional airport outside of Willow Creek. It’s the closest.”
She paused, phone in hand. “Us?”
“You’re coming with me.”
Her fingers clenched around the phone. “I am?”
“You’re my assistant, aren’t you?” He pushed himself to his feet and started toward the door. “No self- respecting executive goes anywhere without an assistant.”
He took his jacket down off the hook and wrapped his hand around the doorknob.
“Wait a second,” she yelped. “I don’t have the right clothes for a business conference.”
“Order up what you need online. Overnight delivery.” He paused, frowning. “You’ll probably need a dress or something for the reception and the auction.”
For a second she could not breathe.
“I’m attending the reception with you?” she finally whispered.
“Like I said, no exec goes anywhere without an assistant.”
He opened the door and went out onto the landing.
She leaped to her feet. “Where are you going?”
“To pick up the mail,” he said. “I feel like getting some exercise.”
He closed the door.
She dropped into her chair and listened to his footsteps on the stairs. After a few seconds she rose again and went to the window. Down below, Fallon appeared on the street. She watched him turn right and disappear around the corner, heading toward Stokes’s Grocery, which also housed the Cove’s small post office.
Fallon had insisted on picking up the mail for the past three days. Prior to that he had been content to let her handle the small, daily chore. Fallon was not exactly a creature of habit, but he had a number of established routines. Any break in the pattern was of great interest.
She gave it a few minutes and then went to the window on the other side of the room. She was just in time to see Fallon walking back from the grocery store. But he did not turn toward J&J. Instead, he disappeared again through a stand of trees, heading toward the bluffs and the path that led down to the Cove.
Another break in the pattern.
She turned, grabbed her coat off the wall hook and went out the door.
A bank of fog hovered just offshore, waiting to swallow the town whole. When she reached the top of the bluffs, she saw Fallon. He was already down on the rocky beach, walking toward the Point at the far end of the Cove. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket. Even from this distance she could sense the dark, moody tension that shivered in the air around him.
She went down the steep path with some care. Loose pebbles skittered beneath her shoes. By the time she reached the bottom of the path, Fallon was nearing the Point. She paused briefly to open her senses. Fallon was illuminated in icy para-fog. But, then, he was always enveloped in the stuff.
She went after him, picking her way between tide pools and rocky outcroppings. Small crabs and sharp-billed shore birds scuttled out of her way.
She knew that Fallon could not have heard her approaching over the background roar of the surf, but he must have sensed her presence, because he stopped and turned to wait for her.
When she got closer, she could see the solemn set of his face and the dark shadows in his eyes.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked.
She ignored the brusque tone.
“You got something important in the mail, didn’t you?” she asked. “Something you’ve been expecting for the past couple of days.”
For a few seconds she thought he might not answer. Then he looked out toward the horizon.
“Yes,” he said finally.
“Can you tell me what it is? Or is it too personal?”
He took the box out of his pocket and looked at it. “I received a ring.”
The stoic resignation in his voice sent a frisson of alarm through her. The ring was connected to something very painful.
“Whose ring is it?” she asked gently.
“It belonged to a man who died three years ago. Last year I got his watch. The year before that I received a photo of his casket.”
She studied his hard face. “What’s going on, Fallon?”
“Someone wants to make certain that I never forget.”
“That you never forget what?”
“That I killed my friend and partner.”
20
