by Jayne Castle
She found the thin slip of paper when she turned to the last chapter. It had obviously been placed there to mark a page that contained a drawing. Shock sizzled through her when she saw the elegantly rendered flower on the page.
“What is it?” Cooper asked.
Startled, she raised her head and saw him lounging, arms crossed over his bare chest, in the doorway. He had put on his trousers. His feet were bare, and his hair was tousled.
“I think I know now why Griggs tried to steal my flower and possibly Rose, too,” she said softly.
She turned the herbal around so that he could see the drawing.
Cooper dropped his arms and padded across the room to the table. He picked up the small case he had left there earlier, removed his glasses, and put them on.
He studied the picture closely. After a few seconds, he looked at the green bloom in the vase on the windowsill.
“It’s a drawing of your flower,” he said quietly.
“Correction, it’s a drawing of Rose’s flower.” She turned the book back around so that she could read it. “And just listen to what Jordan wrote in the text.”
. . . When I awoke, I found this astonishing flower still clutched in my hand. I am convinced that, in some way that I cannot explain, I was able to use it to navigate through the catacombs and return to the surface.
My memories of the time that I was lost in the alien underworld are, at best, shards and fragments devoid of meaning or context. I have been told not to trust any of the images in my head as they are likely all delusions and false recollections forged by a troubled mind. The experts say that I show symptoms of the type of severe parapsych trauma typically induced by an encounter with either a UDEM or an illusion trap.
But I have this drawing and my dreams to remind me that I once journeyed through a strange and wondrous rain forest, a realm lit by an emerald sun and a jade moon, an underground world of vibrant green where every shadow conceals mysteries waiting to be discovered.
Chapter 31
COOPER SPENT THE MORNING IN ELLY’S COZY KITCHEN, A cup of amber-root tea within easy reach, his computer at hand, and his notes spread out across the table. With the exception of occasional visits from Rose, who came upstairs periodically to check in and grab a snack, he had the place to himself.
Ormond Ripley had been right about the headlines in the morning papers. The Cadence Star led with “False Tip Leads to Raid on Casino.” The accompanying photo showed a shot of Ripley standing in the middle of his crowded club looking politely amused. The caption underneath said, “Ormond Ripley accepts apology from police department spokesperson. Claims he will not sue.”
The tabloids used more colorful language. “Has Wonder Boy Lost His Touch?” screamed the Cadence Tattler. Beneath the main headline was: “Cadence PD Humiliated by De Witt’s Big Mistake.”
All of the papers featured large photos of a tight-mouthed, grim-faced DeWitt, dressed in a really sharp, hand-tailored suit, getting into an unmarked car outside The Road.
The detective had to be squirming this morning, Cooper thought. That was a good thing. People who started to squirm usually tended to start screwing up.
“I’ll be waiting,” Cooper promised the photos. “I’m good at that.”
Elly had opened her shop punctually at nine. Judging by the frequent muffled tinkling of the doorbells, he assumed that she was either doing a brisk business or else her neighbors were making excuses to stop in to get updates on her personal affairs.
In the interest of saving time he had contacted Emmett London first thing. The job of researching DeWitt’s background had been turned over to Wyatt’s assistant, a man named Perkins.
The business of finding the former owner of Mary Tyler Jordan’s Medicinal Herbs and Flowers of Harmony was a little trickier. Cooper had reserved that task for himself.
Thanks to Elly, he had the names of the three collectors known to have copies of the rare volume in their collections.
It took patience and some serious name-dropping to get the first two on the phone. They had informed him that their copies of the Jordan herbal were still in their libraries.
He got lucky with number three. Edwin Sheridan was a retired member of the Cadence Guild.
“Thank you for speaking with me, Mr. Sheridan,” Cooper said in his most polite tone.
“My housekeeper said you told her this was Guild business.” The voice on the other end of the line quivered with age. “Used to be a Guild man, myself, back in the days when this was Connor Hyland’s town.”
“That was a little before my time, sir.” Say, about fifty years before, Cooper added silently. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had been a long morning.
Edwin snorted. “Let me tell you, son, when Hyland was in charge, things were different in this town. The Cadence Guild upheld tradition. There wasn’t any of this modern nonsense about going mainstream, that’s for damn sure.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Every time I pick up a newspaper these days there’s some damn article about how the Cadence Guild is trying to modernize, trying to become a respectable social institution. Ridiculous.”
Cooper cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, sir, I’m from the Aurora Springs Guild.”
“Aurora Springs, eh? Now, there’s a good, solidly run, old-fashioned outfit. I hear they’ve got a proper respect for tradition over there in Aurora Springs.”
“We like to think so, sir.”
“Heard the new Guild boss there was all set to marry a nice young woman from a good Guild clan a few months back but that the wedding got called off.”
“It was postponed, sir, not canceled.”
“Is that right? What happened?”
How in green hell had he ended up discussing his love life with Edwin Sheridan? Cooper wondered.
“There were some complications,” he said evenly, “but the new boss is working to straighten them out. Sir, I’d like to ask you about your copy of Jordan’s herbal.”
“How the heck did that book become Guild business?”
Cooper looked at the herbal in front of him. “It came up in the course of an internal Guild investigation.”
“Ah, one of those,” Edwin said wisely. “The Guilds police their own.”
“Yes, sir. Could you tell me if—”
“That’s one damn good reason why the organizations shouldn’t get involved in this mainstreaming stuff. First thing you know, they’d have to open up their files to every police detective or attorney or politician who comes along thinking he can build a reputation by going after some high-ranking Guild man.”
“You make a very good point, sir. Now, about the herbal. Is it still in your collection?”
“Nope, sold it a few months back. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know it was in the library. You see, it was my wife who was the collector in the family, not me. She passed on a few months ago.”
“My condolences, sir,” Cooper said.
“Thank you. Well, the long and the short of it is that neither my sons nor my grandkids are interested in the books, so I’m selling them off here and there whenever I get a good offer.”
Cooper sat forward and reached for a pen. “Who was the buyer of the herbal?”
“Don’t know. Buyer insisted on remaining anonymous.”
“How was the transaction conducted?”
“It was handled by a dealer named Bodkin who specializes in private sales between clients who don’t like publicity.”
“I’d like Bodkin’s address, if that’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble, but I doubt if he’ll tell you the name of his buyer. Bodkin evidently has a reputation for confidentiality.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind doing a favor for the local Guild boss,” Cooper said.
Five minutes later he hung up the phone, folded his glasses into the case, and headed downstairs, keys in hand.
Elly was at the counter, measuring out a small amount of dried purple flow
ers from an herb jar. Her client was a middle-aged woman who beamed when she spotted him in the doorway.
“Oh, hello, there,” the woman said. “You must be Elly’s friend from Aurora Springs. I’m Sally Martin. I work in Butler’s Relics just down the street.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Martin.”
“I have a cousin over in Aurora Springs,” Sally said brightly. “Maybe you know her. Laura Meehan?”
“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” Cooper said in a tone he hoped would cut off that line of inquiry. He looked at Elly.
“I’ll be back later this afternoon,” he said.
She frowned a little. “Everything okay?”
“Got a lead on the sale of the herbal.”
“Good luck,” she said. “And please be careful,” she added, lowering her voice slightly.
It occurred to him that he had been living alone a long time, long enough to forget how it felt to have someone tell him to be careful when he went out the door.
He walked to where she stood with her measuring scoop and jar and kissed her. It felt good to be able to kiss her like this; good to know that he would be returning here later; good to know that she would be waiting for him.
“I’ll do that,” he said.
He was halfway across the back room, reaching for the knob of the alley door, when he heard Sally Martin’s low-voiced comment to Elly.
“My goodness, I can certainly understand the attraction, dear. There was a time when I had a thing for khaki and leather, too. I suppose every woman does at one time or another. Best to get it out of your system while you’re still young and single, though.”
BUSINESS SLACKED OFF RAPIDLY AFTER LUNCH. ELLY WENT upstairs to make herself a sandwich and fresh tea. She ate at the table, sharing bites with Rose, and listened for the sound of the door chimes.
When she finished, she picked up the Jordan herbal and took it back down to the shop so that she could leaf through it in her spare moments.
She was alone with Rose, who was busily rearranging the contents of the jewelry box, when she looked up from the herbal and saw the curtain twitch in Doreen’s kitchen window.
She closed the herbal, dove for the phone, and rezzed Doreen’s number. She had already called several times. Each time she had gotten the shop’s after-hours message. “. . . We are closed for the day. Please call back during regular business hours or leave a message at the beep . . .”
“Doreen, this is Elly. I know you’re there. Pick up your phone, or I’m coming over there with my key.”
There was a long pause. For a time she thought Doreen was going to ignore her. But finally there was a click.
“Hello, Elly.” Doreen’s voice was weary and oddly thick. “What do you want?”
“What do you think I want? I want to know if you’re all right.”
“I put a sign in the window.”
“Yes, I know. I went across the street and read it a couple of hours ago when I realized you hadn’t opened up for the day. It says Closed Because of Illness. What kind of illness?”
“Flu.”
“Are you running a fever?”
There was another pause. “Probably. I don’t know.”
“I’ll bring over some fever-light. It works wonders on a temperature.”
“No. You can’t come over here. Not today. The last thing you want to do is catch this stupid flu, trust me.”
“Doreen? Is there something else wrong? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I told you, I’m sick. I don’t even feel like talking. I just got up to get a glass of water. I’m going straight back to bed. I’ll call you when I’m better. Don’t come over here.”
There was a click and a sudden silence.
Elly looked at the phone in her hand for a long moment, thinking about the strange raspy quality in Doreen’s voice.
“She didn’t sound sick,” she said to Rose. “She sounded like she’d been crying.”
She went around behind the counter, grabbed her keys, and held out her arm. “Something is very wrong. Let’s ride, sister.”
Rose abandoned her jewelry hoard and tumbled down the countertop until she could scamper up to Elly’s shoulder.
On her way out the front door, Elly flipped the Back in Ten Minutes sign.
The fog had finally lifted, but the day was overcast and damp. There was very little traffic in Ruin Lane. She cut across the street, moving between a Float that was searching for a parking space and a sleek Coaster.
When she reached the front door of Doreen’s shop she de-rezzed the lock with the spare key that Doreen had given her and went inside.
She made her way to the staircase in the back room and started up the steps.
“Doreen?”
The floorboards creaked upstairs.
“I told you not to come here,” Doreen called down from the landing.
“I know there’s something wrong.” She went swiftly up the stairs. “You can’t expect me to just ignore a situation like this.”
“Please, go,” Doreen said from the vicinity of the bedroom.
Elly reached the landing and looked down the short hall. Doreen stood, or rather sagged, in the doorway of the bedroom, propping herself up with one hand braced against the frame.
She was swathed in a bathrobe. Her amber pendant, which she never removed, gleamed against the dark skin of her throat.
She held an ice pack to the side of her face.
“Doreen?” Elly started toward her. “What in the world?” Then she saw Doreen’s swollen lip and the bruises under her eyes. “Dear heaven, what happened to you?”
Doreen started to weep. “I feel so incredibly stupid.”
Elly reached her and put an arm carefully around her. Rose chattered anxiously.
“Did you fall down the stairs?” Elly asked. “We need to get you to an emergency room.”
“No.” Doreen’s eyes widened in panic. “I can’t do that.”
“I don’t understand. You’ve been injured. Why don’t you want to see a doctor?”
“He hurt me.” Doreen pressed her face against Elly’s shoulder. The tears turned into sobs. “I thought. . . I thought he was going to kill me.”
“Someone attacked you? Did you call the police?”
Doreen shook her head. “I can’t.”
A terrible chill of premonition shot through Elly. “Don’t tell me it was your new boyfriend, the undercover cop?”
Doreen sobbed harder.
“Let’s get you into the kitchen. I’ll make a cup of tea. You can tell me all about it.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER SHE HAD DOREEN ENSCONCED AT the kitchen table with a box of tissues nearby. Rose hovered near Doreen making anxious little noises.
Elly filled the kettle at the faucet. “All right, tell me the whole story.”
Doreen sniffed and reached for a tissue. “You already know most of it. I met him at a club a couple of weeks ago. We danced. He was hot. He was also a great dresser. We started dating. He told me that he was a police detective working undercover to take down a major drug lord. He said that until the case was completed, we had to keep a very low profile. He didn’t want to be seen with me because it might put my life or the case or both in jeopardy.”
“You entertained him here in your apartment?”
“Sure.” Doreen picked up the ice pack and reapplied it to her cheek. “He was here a lot. Usually showed up late at night. Always came through the alley door. What can I say? The sex was pretty intense. Very exciting. Until yesterday, that is.”
“That’s when he attacked you?”
Doreen closed her eyes in pain. “It was the first time he ever came here during the day. He showed up in the middle of the afternoon. I could tell right away that there was something different about him.”
“Different?”
“It was obvious that something had happened.” Doreen opened her eyes and gingerly adjusted the ice pack. “He was very rezzed, very aggressive. Told me to clos
e up the shop. Then he demanded sex. I got scared. I wondered if he had been drinking, but I didn’t smell any booze on him.”
“Was he high on drugs? It wouldn’t be the first time in the history of the world that a vice cop got involved with the vice he was supposed to be investigating.”
“I don’t know.” Doreen grimaced and then sucked in a painful breath. “I swear it was as if he’d had a personality transplant. He had always been so smooth, so cool. But yesterday he was a sex-crazed thug. When I fought back, he started beating me. He’s a lot bigger and stronger, and I’m sure he would have raped me, but for some reason, he suddenly seemed to get nervous. I got the impression he was scared of hanging around here, like something terrible would happen if he didn’t leave right away.”
“What did he say?”
“Among other things, he told me that if I breathed a word about what had happened to anyone, let alone went to the police, he would come back and slit my throat.” Doreen shuddered. “I believed him.”
A sex-crazed thug. Elly thought about that.
The medics had said that Stuart Griggs had likely been dead for a couple of hours by the time she found him. If he had been murdered with blue dissonance energy, as Cooper believed, the killer might well have melted amber to accomplish his goal. That meant that shortly afterward he would have been consumed by a very intense case of lust.
A killer in the grip of a serious amber meltdown might attempt rape. But he would be operating within a very narrow window of opportunity. It was only a matter of time before he started to sink into a heavy sleep, and he would not want to do that while he was near his victim.
“Doreen, please think carefully. Exactly when did the bastard come here?”
Doreen’s face puckered up in close contemplation. “Somewhere around three. Right after the mail was delivered. Why?”
“Stuart Griggs died of a heart attack yesterday afternoon. I found the body at about four.”
“The florist up the street?” Doreen frowned in surprise. “He’s dead? I heard the sirens, but I was in such bad shape that I didn’t even bother to look out the window.”