by Jayne Castle
“Dunno.” He turned back, jiggling a little. “Been by her shop a couple of times since yesterday. She’s not there. Wanted to show her something I found in my sector. Get her opinion, y’know? When it comes to identifying the valuable stuff, she’s as good as any of those fancy para-archaeologists up there at the university.”
“She’s probably working underground.”
“Don’t think so.” He pulled the grease-stained collar of his jacket up around his neck, compulsively attempting to shield his features from passersby on the street. “She never stays underground overnight. Sleeping down in the catacombs spooks her.”
“Maybe she went to see her daughter and grandchildren,” Elly offered helpfully.
“Nope. She told me she was there a couple of weeks ago for one of the kid’s birthdays. No reason she’d go back so soon.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” Elly said, trying for a soothing approach. The last thing they needed was to have Herschel start asking questions about Bertha’s extended absence. “I’m sure she’ll turn up. Meanwhile, why don’t I fix you a nice cup of Harmonic balm tea?”
Herschel’s eyes darted to the table that held the hot water pot and plastic cups. “Yeah, sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”
Elly crossed to the tea table and selected a canister from the shelf while she tried to think of a way to distract Herschel from Bertha’s closed shop.
“You say you’ve come across a particularly valuable relic?” she asked casually.
“Maybe. Don’t know yet.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and bounced on his toes a couple of times, peering out at the street. “That’s why I want Bertha to look at it before I sell it. If it’s as special as I think it is, I may go straight to the folks at the Cadence Museum with it, instead of my usual cheap-ass dealers.”
“Good plan.” She put the herbs into a cup, poured hot water over them, and stirred gently.
“Can’t figure out why she’d up and disappear like this.” Herschel began to pace. “Thought maybe the guy who runs the flower shop next door to her place, Griggs, or whatever his name is, might have seen her or at least know where she went. But he was closed, too.”
She carried the cup of tea to the counter and set it down together with a small paper napkin. “Here you go, Herschel. Be careful, it’s hot.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He picked up the cup and inhaled the steamy aroma. Some of the nervous tension in him eased. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Herschel took a cautious sip and went toward the door. “I ran into Benny and Joe. They hadn’t seen her either.”
“Who are Benny and Joe?”
“Freelance hunter-tangler team. Some of the ruin rats hire ’em to go underground as protection. Griggs uses them a lot because he doesn’t have any para-rez talent of his own.”
“Stuart Griggs, the florist?” she asked, startled. “He goes into the catacombs to search for relics? I didn’t know he was in that line.”
“He’s not.” Herschel made a face. “Benny and Joe don’t know why he likes to go down into the catacombs, but he hires them on a regular basis. They don’t give a damn what he’s looking for as long as he’s willing to pay for their services.”
“I see.”
“Well, thanks for the tea. See ya.”
“Bye, Herschel.”
Elly leaned on the counter and watched Herschel hurry away into the gray mist.
“Guess the state of my sex life isn’t of great interest to everyone in the neighborhood after all, Rose.”
Rose crouched over her hoard of jewelry like some tiny, fluffy dragon gloating over a pile of gold, and munched her second cookie.
“You know, it occurs to me that other people may start to notice that Bertha isn’t around,” Elly said. “We don’t want folks to get too curious about her absence. Maybe I should trot on down to her shop and put up a little sign saying she’s out of town for a few days.”
The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. She had a key, she reminded herself. She could slip down the alley, enter the shop through the back door, put the sign in the window, and depart very discreetly.
Given the rapidly thickening fog, it was unlikely that anyone would notice her coming and going via the alley. But even if someone did see her, no one would think it odd. Everyone knew that she and Bertha were friends. She could always say that she’d had a call from Bertha. Something about a family emergency.
She used a felt pen to hand-letter the sign on a sheet of paper. When she was satisfied with the results, she turned over the Back in Ten Minutes sign in her own shop window.
She yanked her coat down off the hook, put it on, and opened her tote for Rose.
“Let’s ride, sister.”
Mumbling cheerfully, Rose dashed along the top of the counter and hopped down into the tote. She hooked her front paws over the top and poked her head up, blue eyes open wide, so as not to miss anything.
Chapter 21
THE SMALL, INDIVIDUALLY WRAPPED PACKETS WERE packed neatly inside the three cardboard boxes stacked inside the old storage closet. The boxes were labeled Toilet Tissue, which struck Cooper as oddly appropriate under the circumstances.
He let himself out of the closet. The two-hundred-year-old basement was walled and floored with stone, but water had seeped in, as water always did in such places, creating a damp, moldy atmosphere.
Water was not the only thing that trickled into the large, dark space, he noticed. A lot of stray psi energy permeated the atmosphere down here, too. Not surprising, given the proximity of the Dead City Wall. Probably a hole-in-the-wall somewhere in the vicinity, just as Elly had suggested.
He used the flashlight to make his way back to a heavy wooden door that looked as if it had been there since the building was constructed.
Opening the door, he went up the old, cramped staircase. At the top of the staircase, he paused to listen intently for a moment before opening another door and moving into the janitorial storage room.
The shelves were crowded with cleaning supplies, cartons of industrial-sized rolls of toilet tissue, and paper towels.
He crossed the room, selected a few rolls of paper towels, and let himself out into the hall.
The janitorial cart was waiting right where he had left it. He grabbed the handle and went down the corridor and around the corner to a private elevator marked Executive Offices.
Finding the stash of drugs had been easy, he thought. Maybe too easy.
Chapter 22
THE ALLEY WAS CHOKED WITH DAMP, GRAY MIST. AN uneasy chill flashed down Elly’s spine and raised the hair on the nape of her neck. The close, looming walls of the buildings that lined the narrow service lane cut off much of what little light the fog allowed to filter through. She could barely make out the shape of the trash container across from her. The thick vapor acted like an otherworldly sound absorber, muffling the engines of the cautiously moving cars on the surrounding streets.
“Perfect cover,” she whispered to Rose. “No one will see us.”
She went forward, unable to suppress an icy prickle of tension.
The fog was a good thing under the circumstances, she thought. So why was it making her so nervous?
She found herself listening intently for the familiar clatter of a garbage can lid or the soft thud of footsteps behind her.
From time to time she glanced down at Rose, watching for signs of the dust bunny’s second set of eyes.
Rose appeared alert but showed no indication of alarm.
When they arrived at the opening at the end of the alley, Elly felt a sharp sense of relief. The sensation vanished quickly when she discovered that the cramped street in front of her was disconcertingly empty of traffic and pedestrians. The entire neighborhood seemed to be suddenly deserted.
Hurrying across the pavement, she entered the alley that serviced the next block of shops. Maybe it was just her imagination, she thought, but the fog seemed d
enser and more ominous now. It had a disorienting effect on her sense of sight and direction. Rose rumbled softly in what seemed a reassuring manner.
She paused at the rear entrance of a shop to check the sign, afraid that she might overshoot her goal.
“Stuart Griggs, Florist,” she read aloud to Rose. “Almost there. Bertha’s shop is next.”
She looked down at the dust bunny and froze when she saw that Rose was staring very hard at the closed door of the florist’s shop. All four eyes were wide open, but there was no sign of any razor-sharp teeth.
Rose rumbled softly.
“What is it?” Elly asked. She looked from Rose to the door and back again. “I know you don’t like Mr. Griggs, but I wish you wouldn’t growl at his door. It’s embarrassing.”
Rose’s attention remained riveted on the door. Something was wrong; Elly felt it, but Rose was not acting as if she sensed a threat.
Herschel’s comment about the floral shop being closed, too, went through her head.
Tentatively, she tried the doorknob. It twisted easily in her hand. Rose rumbled again, but there was still no sign of her teeth. She had not gone all sleek and dangerous, either, Elly thought. So far, so good.
She opened the door of the florist’s back room. The faint hum of a refrigeration unit vibrated in the darkness. Her psi senses tingled gently. The rich, lush scents of cut flowers and greenery wafted toward her.
There was something heavy and unpleasant blended into the mix of floral smells, something that did not belong.
Probably dead and decaying flowers, she thought. Whatever it was, it made her feel queasy. She had to fight the impulse to turn and run.
The only thing that held her there, poised on the step, was the realization that Rose was still not displaying any indication that she sensed an imminent threat.
“Mr. Griggs?”
There was no answer. She knew then, deep down, that she had not expected a response.
The smell intermingled with the floral fragrances was that of death.
Chapter 23
ORMOND RIPLEY CHECKED HIS AMBER-FACED WATCH AS he went past his executive assistant’s desk. “Please tell Maitland I want to see him in my office in half an hour to go over the new set of financials.”
“Yes, Mr. Ripley.” The assistant reached for the phone. “Mr. Dugan called while you were out. He said to tell you that he’s found a new, very hot act for the club. The group will be auditioning at four this afternoon if you want to check it out for yourself.”
“Thanks, I’ll be there.” He went to the door of his office. “Send Maitland in as soon as he arrives.”
“Yes, sir.”
He opened the door and walked into his office, savoring as he always did the hushed atmosphere. In his considered opinion, the room exuded an aura of power and luxury that was infinitely more intoxicating than any drug and more compelling than any woman he had ever met.
The walls were paneled in wave-wood that had been cut and shipped from the jungles of remote islands. The intricately inlaid stone flooring had been quarried in the mountains of the Northern Continent.
The artwork on the walls had once belonged to the private collection of one of the founders of the Cadence Museum. The paintings had been destined for the museum’s galleries, but Ormond had made certain that they ended up here, instead. He was no great fan of the softly hued works of post–Era of Discord modernism, but that was not important. What mattered was that the art of that period was considered by connoisseurs to be brilliant and extremely valuable; in short, the province of the most elite collectors.
He had come a long way from the dusty, backwater mining town where he had been born and raised, he thought, and every time he walked into this office he took a moment to reflect on that journey.
His dissonance-energy para-rez talents had been his ticket to a good-paying job as a Guild man. He’d had no family connections to lean on, but an aptitude for internal politics and an intuitive ability to choose the winning side had helped him rise within the Guild to the status of Council member.
But he had known from the start of his career as a hunter that he wanted to do more with his life than chase ghosts through the catacombs. His driving goal had been to establish his own empire. The Road to the Ruins was the culmination of his ambitions, and he gloried in the most minute details of the day-to-day operations of his kingdom.
He started toward the heavily carved wooden desk at the far end of the room.
The door of his private bathroom opened almost but not quite soundlessly. Startled, he turned on one heel.
He scowled at the janitor lounging in the opening.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “That bathroom is never cleaned at this time of day unless I request it.”
“We need to talk,” the janitor said, leaning on his mop. “Better have your assistant hold your calls for a while.”
“Who are you?”
“At the moment I’m the only thing standing between you and an extended stay in prison.”
“Not my vacation destination of choice. What’s going on here?”
The janitor took a small packet out of one pocket. “I think you’ve been set up to take the fall for dealing the crap they call enchantment dust.”
“What in the name of green hell?” Ormond held out his hand. “Let me see that.”
The janitor tossed it to him without comment.
He caught the plastic bag and unsealed it cautiously. There was no need to taste or sniff the powder inside. His parapsych senses were very acute. This close to the drug, he could feel the faint tingle on the paranormal wavelengths to which he was attuned.
So much for the possibility that the janitor was bluffing.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, buying some time to think while he resealed the bag. Visions of his hard-won personal empire crumbling before his eyes flashed through his head. He had not come this far only to lose it all now.
“Found it down in the old basement. Place leaks like a sieve, by the way, water and psi energy. Got a rat hole down there?”
Ormond ignored that. “I don’t sell drugs.”
“Going to be tough to prove if the cops raid this place and find the stash that I just found.”
“There’s more of this junk down there?”
“Three large cardboard boxes filled with little packets like that one.”
Ormond went to stand behind his desk, trying to collect his thoughts.
“You really think someone is trying to frame me?” he asked finally.
“That’s how it looks.”
“Why not assume that I’ve gone into the drug-dealing business?”
“I did a little research before I came here today.” The janitor’s smile was cryptic and cold. “If you did decide to deal drugs, I don’t think you’d pack them in nonwaterproof boxes and then stash them in an empty closet in a damp basement. You’re smart, and you’re a strong para-rez. You’d be far more likely to conceal them in the catacombs where the odds would be against anyone finding the stuff.”
“You sure about that?” Ormond asked. “Maybe I was going with the hide-it-in-plain-sight theory.”
“A possibility. But there’s something else that makes me think you’re not involved in this.”
“What’s that?”
“Like I said, I checked around.” The janitor gave the expensive room an assessing look. “You’ve worked hard to build this place, and you’ve been damn careful to stay inside the legal zone. You’re a risk-taker, but I don’t think you’re the type to put all this on the line for the sake of some short-term drug profits. Not just my opinion, by the way. There’s someone else who agrees with me.”
“Who?”
“Mercer Wyatt.”
Ormond went very still. “This is Guild business?”
“Yes. Wyatt said you served on the Council here in Cadence for a few years.”
“What of it?”
“It means you’re cleared to discuss
blue freaks.”
“There’s one involved in this thing?”
“Yes.” The janitor indicated the mop in his hand. “Wyatt asked me to clean up the mess before it becomes a major PR problem for him.”
“Well, hell.” Ormond exhaled and lowered himself slowly into his chair. “You’re not the janitor. You’re the librarian.”
Chapter 24
ELLY PUT ONE HAND JUST INSIDE THE OPENING, GROPED for and found the lights.
Two overhead fluo-rez tubes came on, illuminating the scene in a cold blue light. Masses of flowers and bunches of decorative greenery filled the room. Arrangements in vases of various shapes and sizes lined the shelves behind the glass doors of the cooler. The effect was funereal.
The body of Stuart Griggs, sprawled facedown on the floor, provided the finishing touch.
There was no sign of blood, she noticed, no indication that the florist had been attacked. Perhaps he’d had a stroke or a heart attack.
She reached into the tote for her phone and punched in the emergency number.
Instinctively she started to turn away from the body on the floor. But the sight of a strip of white bandage sticking out from under Griggs’s rolled-up sleeve made her hesitate.
She forced herself to move closer to the body, ignoring Rose’s warning grumble.
Holding her breath and fighting her roiling stomach, she leaned over, caught hold of the sleeve with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, and twitched the fabric back a couple of inches.
There was a wide, white bandage wrapped snugly around Stuart Griggs’s lower left arm.
“Oh, damn,” Elly whispered.
Chapter 25
COOPER SAW THE FLASHING AMBER AND RED LIGHTS OF the ambulance when he turned the corner onto Ruin Lane. They created an eerie, strobelike effect in the fog.
An uneasy sensation gripped his insides. The emergency vehicle was almost directly in front of Bertha Newell’s shop. There was a police cruiser in front of it.