Changeling Detective Agency - Shadows In The Starlight Part 8

"d.a.m.n! I'm glad you're one of us... So to speak."

Gwen's heart did a sudden free fall toward the pit of her stomach. "Geez, thanks for the reminder. I've gone all morning without once thinking about the whole not-human thing."

"Yeah? Sounds like your day's been more interesting than mine."

"That I doubt. I've been dragging my a.s.s all over cybers.p.a.ce."

"Don't let Forest hear you say that. He'd probably think you were spamming for a p.o.r.n Web site-'Elves on the Internet,' or some d.a.m.n thing."

Gwen supposed she should be pleased that Ian had accomplished his purpose so thoroughly, but she didn't want to hear the E-word from anyone, even when it dripped with sarcasm.

"Ian likes to yank people's chains. Forget about him. Listen, I've got to run. I'll meet you at the park tonight."

"As far as our guy's concerned, you're there to sample a new party drug. Don't forget to dress the part."

She rolled her eyes. "And me with a closet full of plaid skirts and sensible shoes."

"Huh. Good point."He hung up without saying good-bye, just like Quaid always did. Apparently he was picking up a few of his other partner's habits.

Gwen's grin faded abruptly. His other partner? Since when had she started regarding Damian O'Riley as her rookie trainee as well as Gary Quaid's?

Her gaze nicked to the disc Damian had given her last night. Some part of her hoped she could clear her name, settle the books, and go back to her old life. Maybe on some level she even believed it could happen. But c'mon-an elf on the Providence vice squad?

Wait a minute-a what?

For a moment Gwen stood frozen with shock. She slumped into one of the wingback chairs and dropped her head into her hands. It was a bit much, having two nasty little pieces of self-knowledge hit her in the last five minutes. The first was bad enough-what the h.e.l.l business did she have training a rookie cop?-but the second was a full-fledged paradigm shift: She believed Ian Forest. Down deep inside, she knew he was right about who and what she was.

And the funny thing was, Gwen suspected that she'd always known.

CHAPTER SIX.

As Gwen drove down the long gravel driveway, she noticed something sticking out of her mailbox.

The postal delivery wasn't due until afternoon, but a large manila envelope had been bent into an inverted U and slid partway into the mailbox, with at least a third of it exposed. Someone wanted to be sure to get her attention.

The vision hit her the moment her fingers touched the envelope. A lean, dark face, with cheekbones so sharp they cast shadows on the hollows below. Dark eyes studied her with a mixture of hunger and resentment, and the thoughts behind those eyes flooded her with numbing clarity. Wallace Earl Edmonson, her father's brother, had regarded her as both a necessity and a nuisance. He'd envied the "gift" she'd inherited, but he'd reconciled himself to using her as a tool and was eager to get on with it.

Edmonson's face dissolved, and the vision shifted into a smothering emotional cloud, a dark miasma of dread and death.

Gwen quickly released the envelope and drew in a long, shuddering breath. She reached into the pocket of her leather jacket for a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on, not so much to preserve fingerprints on the envelope-she doubted there would be any-as to mute the intense memories captured by whatever was in the envelope.

She tore it open and pulled out two photos. One was a black-and-white picture of Frank's fishing boat adrift on moonlit waters, just as it had looked the night he'd drowned. The picture was carefully composed and beautifully printed, mocking her grief with art.

Gwen quickly shuffled it behind the second photo, and her eyes widened.

The second picture was also black-and-white, but in this case a color shot would have looked much the same. A small, ornate silver handgun was displayed against black velvet. Gwen recognized the weaponimmediately. Ian Forest had given it to her as a gift-and taken it from her hand the last time she'd faced down Edmonson.

The warning was unmistakable: Tie Frank's death to Edmonson, and we'll tie Edmonson's death to you.

Her lips firmed around a small, cynical smile. How stupid did Ian think she was? As warnings go, this one definitely lacked teeth. After all the trouble they'd gone through to make sure no one missed Edmonson?

They weren't about to negate the effort by accusing her of his death. And even if they did, what use was a weapon if you couldn't produce a corpse? After her parents died in a car crash, their bodies had been stolen from the morgue to avoid close scrutiny. Gwen didn't know much about the Elder Folk, but one thing was very clear: when they died, they disappeared.

Her smirk faded as a new explanation occurred to her. They didn't need to tie her to Edmonson's death.

Her fingerprints were on the silver gun. If she stepped out of line, someone would die. Almost certainly someone she knew. That she'd be blamed for it was beside the point.

Gwen carefully set the photos aside. Ian had it right-she was an idiot. He'd given her an unregistered gun, and she'd taken it. When he asked for it back, she'd handed it over without question. That wasn't like her, and the lapse bothered her almost as much as the threat.

She'd noticed that Ian was unusually persuasive, but it had never occurred to her that his particular "gift"

might enable him to override people's normal reservations and inhibitions.

Muttering imprecations, she stripped off the gloves and dialed Ian's number on her cell phone. He answered after the first ring.

"h.e.l.lo, Gwen. I'm glad you called."

For once his silky baritone had absolutely no effect on her libido. "Like I had a choice," she snarled.

"Okay, you win. I won't challenge the official ruling on Frank's death. If you want, I'll take an oath on it, but first you have to give me back that little silver trinket and give me your oath that it won't be used on anyone else."

"That sounds reasonable. Shall I bring the item by your apartment?"

"I'll be out late tonight. But then, that won't be a problem for you, will it? You always seem to know where to rind me. Damian had it right when he called you a stalker."

"Gwen-"

"Don't bother. Nothing you could say will change any of this. Overriding people's judgment, clouding their ability to make their own choices? In my book, that makes you no better than a rapist. Oh, and an extortionist. Let's not forget that."

A long silence followed. "In time, you'll understand why certain precautions were necessary."

She threw the cell phone into the pa.s.senger seat and yanked the gearshift into first. Gravel spit from her tires as she spun out of the drive. By the time she reached Jason's house in East Providence, her hands had stopped shaking.

Despite the bad start, the drive down to Tiverton ended up being surprisingly pleasant. Jason drove his car, vowing that that bottom was due to fall out of Gwen's any day now. That freed Gwen's hands to tackle the Italian subs Jason had put together for the trip. He had filled bakery-fresh torpedo rolls withspicy meats, provolone, onions, and hot peppers-enough good stuff to drown out the requisite lettuce and tomatoes. The car's top was down, the sun was warm, and jazz poured out of the sound system. By the time Gwen had worked her way through the second sub, she was feeling, for lack of a better term, almost human again.

They drove along the Sakonnet River in companionable silence, pa.s.sing scene after scene ripped from the pages of the Scenic New England book on Marcy's coffee table. The whole town had an out-of-the-way feeling, and The Green Man, tucked as it was into a grove of beech and maple trees on a narrow side road, wasn't exactly designed to pull in drive-by customers.

Gwen got out of the car and studied the carved wooden sign over the door-a man's face surrounded by oak leaves, presiding over "The Green Man" carved in Celtic-style lettering. The sign looked handmade, artsy, and expensive. Apparently Kyle took his wife's hobbies seriously.

The setup was bigger than it looked at first glance. The storefront was narrow, but the main room was surprisingly long. The ceiling was opened to the rafters, giving the shop a lofty, s.p.a.cious feel.

The Green Man looked and smelled like a cross between a health supplement shop, an old-fashioned country store, an herbalist's warehouse, and an English tearoom. In the main room, pretty oak shelves lined with rows of small boxes and pill bottles filled most of one wall. A long table held a couple of dozen small wooden barrels of dried herbs, each with its own scoop and small stack of prelabeled bags.

Toward the back of the room, two newer wings jutted off to each side. On the left was cozy tearoom, on the right, a greenhouse.

A smiling, ash-blond woman wearing a small fortune in beige linen separates bustled over to greet them.

Gwen figured her for another hobbyist, a woman who enjoyed playing at running a business but didn't need to depend on it for a living.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked, glancing from Gwen to Jason.

"Actually, I'm looking for someone. This is Erin Westland's shop?"

"That's right. I'm her partner, Alice Powers. Is there something I could help you with? Or are you a friend of hers?"

"I've never met her. My name is Gwen Gellman, and I'm a private investigator. I'm working for her husband, Kyle Radcliff. Erin hasn't been home since Sunday, and he hired me to find her."

The woman's eyes widened, and the hand she lifted to her throat was more than a little unsteady.

"Dear G.o.d. She's missing? Erin is missing?"

"I don't mean to be rude, but it seems like you would have noticed by now."

She gave a nervous t.i.tter. "You would think so, wouldn't you? But the shop doesn't really need more than one person here at a time. We take turns, so I didn't know-" Her voice trailed off, and she swayed on her low-heeled Italian shoes.

Jason took the woman's elbow and steered her toward the tearoom. "Let's all sit down."

She let him lead her to a chair, and sank gratefully into it. "Give me a minute to absorb this. I was just about to make a fresh pot before you came in. We have our own herbal blend here. It's very soothing, and I don't mind telling you that I could use a cup."Gwen took the seat across from the woman. "Since you're here today, I'm guessing Tuesday is Erin's day."

"That's right. She works Tuesday and Thursday, from ten to five, as well as an occasional half day on Sat.u.r.day."

"Would you have any way of knowing whether or not Erin came in yesterday?"

"Oh, I'm sure she didn't. We're not open Sunday and Monday, so there are usually quite a few messages on Tuesday morning. The messages were still there when I came in this morning, so clearly Erin didn't pick them up yesterday. Come to think of it, there were several calls from Kyle."

Either the woman was a complete flake, or Erin wasn't exactly the most reliable partner. "Is skipping work a pattern for her?"

"Not really, no. She takes a day off from time to time, but she calls to let me know, so I have the option of coming in or not. Our regular customers know that our hours are flexible, and they call before making the drive."

"When was the last time you heard from Erin?"

"Let's see," she mused. "Thursday? Yes, that sounds right. She called me about an order. We're running low on the chamomile citrus tea. And speaking of which, let me get that tea going. Would you like some lavender shortbread with it?"

"I'm sure she would," Jason told her, sending a small smile at Gwen. "Thank you, Mrs. Powers."

"Alice, please." She lifted one hand to smooth her hair, a movement contrived to show off a perfect pale-rose manicure and a couple of snazzy rings.

"Jason," he said, offering his hand.

An expression of mock exasperation crossed her face when she touched his hand. "Another man who thinks skin cream is only for women! We have a very nice lotion, all natural of course, with a lovely, woodsy scent. A very popular gift for men."

"I'll take a look at it afterwards," he a.s.sured her.

She beamed at him. Her smile broadened when he stood up with her. "How nice. You don't encounter many gentlemen these days." She gave Gwen an aren't-you-a-lucky-girl wink and headed to the little morning kitchen at the end of the tearoom.

"Suck up," Gwen murmured.

He smiled complacently. "What can I say? My momma raised me right."

Alice turned on the electric kettle and measured dried herbs into a plump white teapot, then piled a small silver tray with lightly golden wedges necked with dried lavender. She brought the cookies to the table and returned for the tea things.

Gwen took an experimental nibble. The shortbread was rich and b.u.t.tery, the lavender more ornamental than anything else. That was a relief. She'd expected it to taste more... purple. Maybe she'd try the tea after all.

After Alice finished the pouring, Gwen asked, "Would you object to me looking at the store's books?""Of course not! Anything I can do to help."

She got up and bustled off, returning in a few moments with a binder holding a computer printout.

"We have a very simple system. Neither of us are financial wizards, so this should be easy for anyone to follow. This is a copy. You can take it with you if you like."

After Alice settled back down, Gwen handed her a business card and a copy of the release form Kyle Radcliff had signed.

Alice flushed. "Oh my goodness. I didn't think to ask for your ID, or credentials, or anything. And here I am, just handing over the books.".

"You're worried about your partner," Jason said soothingly. He lifted the small cup. "This is very good."

"It is, isn't it? That's our biggest seller. People come from all over southern New England for it, and you know how Rhode Islanders hate to drive any distance."

"I'm finding that out," he said with a grin. "If someone has to drive more than fifteen minutes to get to work, they start wondering whether they should move closer to the office or start looking for a new job.

Around here, anything more than an hour away is a day trip."

She chuckled. "That's certainly true. And it's insidious! We moved here from Connecticut. My husband used to take the train into Manhattan every morning, but now he complains about driving from here to Providence."

The door chimes tinkled, and a trio of matrons walked into the store. Alice glanced over. "I've got to see to the customers. Please help yourself to more tea."

Gwen sipped hers while she looked through the records. "This is interesting. Erin takes a lot of days off.

And even when she's here, the receipts on Tuesdays and Thursdays are significantly lower than on other days."

Jason poured himself a second cup. "Skimming, maybe?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Hubby keeps a tight hold on the purse strings. This business is technically his.

Well, more than technically, I guess. His name is on the lease, and he wasn't kidding when he said Erin didn't have an income. This place isn't exactly turning a profit."

She glanced up at Jason and grinned. "I like it. Kyle pays the bills, Erin pockets the cash."

"You don't care much for the husband, I take it."

"h.e.l.l, no. He was married to a friend of mine." Gwen closed the book and pushed it aside. "I'm finished here. Is there anything you need to do around town? Want to stop at that kayak place by the bridge?"

He glanced out of the window. The sky was clouding over in one of those abrupt mood changes for which New England weather was famed.