The Vanishing

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “I get that a lot,” Slater said.

  Catalina surveyed the gloom-filled sales floor. She looked disappointed.

  “Do these things all have a paranormal provenance?” she asked.

  Surprised by the question, Gwendolyn looked at her.

  “What makes you ask?” she said.

  “I don’t know. I guess I just expected more energy or something.”

  Gwendolyn smiled. “You guessed right. Everything up here is a reproduction. The real artifacts are downstairs in the basement.”

  “I see,” Catalina said.

  Gwendolyn turned back to Slater. “All right, we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way. What can I do for you?”

  “I need whatever information you may have heard regarding a very hot artifact from one of the lost labs that surfaced recently and may have found its way into Royston’s vault.”

  “You know as well as I do that lab rumors circulate all the time in my business.”

  “Let me be a little more precise,” Slater said. “I’m looking for an artifact hot enough to have attracted the attention of someone who was willing to commit murder to get it.”

  Gwendolyn went very still. “I heard Royston died of natural causes.”

  “Uncle Victor has his doubts.”

  “Before we go there, you should know that I have recently raised my fees.”

  “I’ll make sure Uncle Victor is aware of that,” Slater said.

  At least she could count on turning a profit today, Gwendolyn thought. Catalina Lark was right—Victor Arganbright always paid his tab.

  She moved out from behind the desk. “We’ll talk downstairs.”

  She led the way through the cluttered back room and opened the stairwell door. At the top of the stairs she flipped a light switch to illuminate the steps. She descended first.

  When she reached the bottom, she turned to watch Catalina and Slater come down the stairs.

  “Welcome to the real sales floor,” she said.

  CHAPTER 14

  Shivery frissons of awareness danced across Catalina’s senses as she went down the stairs into the dimly lit basement. The atmosphere in the room below Gwendolyn Swan’s shop reminded her of the interior of the Fogg Lake caves. The tendrils of energy emanating from the individual artifacts combined into a breathtaking wave of paranormal heat. It was disorienting.

  She looked around, amazed. “This place is really hot.”

  “Gather enough objects with a strong vibe in one room and even people with normal senses can pick up some of the energy,” Gwendolyn said.

  Intrigued, Catalina walked to the nearest case and studied the miniature scene inside. The setting was a glamorous masked ball. The room was draped in crimson velvet. A miniature chandelier was suspended from the ceiling. In one corner a trio of musicians held dainty instruments. Figures dressed in elegant costumes and masks crowded the floor.

  Initially it was the exquisite workmanship of the ballroom tableau that fascinated Catalina. But when she got close to the case, her senses started to flash and flicker in reaction to the scene. The sensations were both ominous and compelling.

  “What in the world?” she whispered.

  The impulse to touch the glass case was irresistible. She reached out one hand.

  “Careful,” Slater said. “Some of these objects are unpredictable.”

  But it was too late. Catalina’s fingers had already made contact with the glass. The strains of an eerie waltz emanated from the corner where the musicians played their tiny instruments. The figures on the dance floor began to move.

  Gwendolyn chuckled. “The Masked Ball is similar to an old-fashioned music box, except that instead of having to wind it up, you just touch the glass. It conducts the energy of a person’s aura and activates the mechanism. Interestingly, most of my clients can’t get it going, even those with a lot of heat in their auras. It only responds to certain wavelengths. That’s why I haven’t been able to sell it. Congratulations, Catalina. Looks like you have the magic touch. I can give you an excellent price on it.”

  “No, thanks,” Catalina said.

  The miniature ballroom scene was fascinating, but as she watched the dancers whirl faster and faster around the floor, she was aware of a growing sensation of dread. It was as if the figures in their elegant costumes were somehow compelled to keep up with the strains of the eerie waltz.

  She tried to take her fingers off the glass and step back. She discovered that she could not move. She watched in gathering horror as the crimson drapes parted, revealing a miniature figure dressed in a long black cloak and a bloodred mask. He gripped a small gold cane in one gloved hand.

  “Catalina?” Slater said sharply. “Are you all right?”

  The master of the ball began to raise the gold cane. The music sent more unpleasant shivers across Catalina’s senses.

  “Oh, shit,” she whispered. “Stop, damn it.”

  A rush of fear-driven energy gave her the willpower she needed to overcome the pull of the miniature ballroom. With a small yelp she yanked her fingers off the glass and scrambled to take a couple of steps back.

  For the second time that day she collided with Slater. Her senses were hot and, she belatedly discovered, so were his. There was an electric moment of contact, and then Slater gripped her arms and set her firmly to one side.

  “What the hell?” he asked. He spoke very softly, as though curious and intrigued but not alarmed.

  He released her and went toward the glass case. Catalina pulled herself together and saw that the miniature scene had gone still. None of the figures moved. The unpleasant music had ceased. The figure in the black cloak had disappeared behind the velvet drapes.

  “Well, that was certainly interesting,” Gwendolyn said. She joined Slater at the display case. Together they examined the tableau. “I’ve never had a client who could do anything more than activate a few of the dancers.”

  “Where did you get this piece?” Slater asked.

  Gwendolyn sighed. “The usual source—the estate of a dead collector. As I told you, I haven’t been able to sell it. Those who lack whatever the vibe is that activates it aren’t interested in it. Those who can activate a few of the figures have the same reaction Catalina did just now. No one wants it in their collection.”

  Catalina shuddered. “I think I know why. There’s something very disturbing about that miniature scene.”

  “Evidently,” Gwendolyn said.

  “What happens when the figure in the black cloak raises the gold cane?” Catalina asked.

  “I have no idea,” Gwendolyn said.

  “I’m no expert on paranormal antiques,” Catalina said, “but for what it’s worth, I think that thing may be dangerous.”

  Gwendolyn gave her a thoughtful look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “That miniature didn’t come from any of the lost labs,” Catalina said. “It looks old.”

  “Nineteenth century, to be precise,” Gwendolyn said. “There’s nothing new about the paranormal, Catalina. People have been messing around with it since humans discovered fire.” She turned back to Slater. “What, exactly, are you looking for?”

  “I think something from the Fogg Lake lab ended up in Royston’s vault,” Slater said. “Someone murdered him for the artifact. Three days later, Catalina’s friend Olivia LeClair was kidnapped. We’re looking for her.”

  “You think the killer found whatever he was looking for in Royston’s gallery and then concluded that he needed Olivia LeClair?” Gwendolyn asked.

  “Yes.”

  Gwendolyn snapped a quick, searching look at Catalina. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend. Have you contacted the police?”

  “No,” Catalina said. “At this point we don’t have much to go on. I didn’t want to waste any time filling out the paperwork. To be honest, I
don’t think they would take Olivia’s disappearance seriously. And even if they did, this seems to be connected to something that happened in Fogg Lake years ago. I hate to admit it, but I have a feeling someone from the Foundation has a better chance of finding her.”

  Gwendolyn gave that some thought. “Has there been a ransom demand?”

  “No,” Catalina said.

  “And we’re not expecting one,” Slater added. “We think this is about locating one of the lost labs, probably the facility believed to have been established in the Fogg Lake caves.”

  Gwendolyn frowned. “Are you saying that for some reason the kidnappers think Olivia LeClair can help them?”

  “That’s the only theory we’ve got at the moment,” Catalina said.

  Slater looked at Gwendolyn. “What was in Royston’s vault that might have convinced his killer he needed Olivia LeClair?”

  Gwendolyn shook her head. “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that a month ago there were rumors that a cache of goods with a Fogg Lake provenance had come on the market. But none of the items passed through my shop. It was a private auction. Invitation only. There was no description of the goods. I heard Royston got a few valuable items. So, yes, he probably had some Fogg Lake artifacts in his vault, but I can’t tell you what they were.”

  “By now the raiders will have cleaned out Royston’s vault,” Slater said. “You know how fast they move.”

  “Somehow they are always the first to know when a collector dies,” Gwendolyn said.

  “Have any of the usual suspects shown up at your back door offering you objects that may have come from his gallery?” Slater asked.

  Gwendolyn raised her chin. “I do not deal in stolen goods. My reputation is spotless and you damn well know it, Slater Arganbright.”

  “I’m not accusing you of illegal sales,” Slater said, impatient now. “In fact, I don’t really give a damn if some of the items in this basement have a murky provenance. I just need to know if you’ve heard of anything from Royston’s collection.”

  Gwendolyn’s mouth tightened. Then she sighed.

  “All right,” she said. “A couple of lowlife raiders came around offering some objects they claimed were from Royston’s gallery. Nothing special, though—a few desk accessories, an old-fashioned calculator and a coffeepot. It was all the right vintage, and there was the residual heat that items pick up when they are in a room full of hot energy for a long period of time. I took the calculator. It’s still here if you want to see it.”

  “Yes,” Slater said. “I’d like to take a look.”

  Gwendolyn crossed the room to a table that was covered with antique office equipment. She gestured toward an old calculating machine.

  “Help yourself,” she said. “Late nineteen fifties, I believe. Definitely warm, but not hot enough to be interesting to a serious collector.”

  Slater examined the big, clunky-looking machine with a thoughtful expression. “I agree.”

  He moved on to another item in the display, an antique typewriter. He touched it lightly with his fingertips and then lost interest. He moved on to another object.

  Catalina noticed a large clockwork figure dressed in a vintage nurse’s costume: a crisp white dress, white shoes, white stockings and a white starched cap. The doll was about four feet tall. It gripped a syringe in one mechanical hand.

  Curious, Catalina started to cross the crowded space to get a better look. She stopped abruptly when she realized she had just stepped into a pool of all-too-familiar energy.

  Death.

  A ghostly vision started to take shape. It was too vague to make out any details, but she thought she saw a man fold up and collapse on the floor.

  “Something wrong, Catalina?” Gwendolyn asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” Catalina rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s just really, really hot in here.”

  “Yes, it is,” Gwendolyn said. “But it’s not the heat that gets to those of us with a strong psychic vibe, it’s the death factor.”

  Catalina whirled around. “What?”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Gwendolyn said. “It’s just that a lot of the most powerful paranormal artifacts from the past come from crypts and tombs. I do a lot of business in grave goods. Death has a vibe. Even people who are not particularly sensitive get uneasy down here in my basement.”

  “I see,” Catalina said. “That explains it. I’ve experienced something similar at museums but nothing as strong as this. How do you handle it day in and day out?”

  “One gets accustomed to it,” Gwendolyn said. “I hardly notice the energy in here anymore. Are you finished, Slater?”

  He turned away from the display table. “For now. I appreciate the help, Gwendolyn. You’ll let me know if you hear of anything else that might be connected to Olivia’s disappearance.”

  “Yes,” Gwendolyn said. She hesitated. “I can contact some of the other dealers, if you like. Most of them won’t want to talk to someone from the Foundation, but they might answer some questions from me.”

  “Thanks,” Slater said. He appeared surprised by the offer. “I would appreciate it. You’ve got my number. If you get any leads, anything at all, contact me immediately, night or day. We’re dealing with a kidnapping. That means we’re on the clock.”

  “I understand,” Gwendolyn said. She looked at Catalina. “I know you must be very worried. I hope your friend is okay.”

  “Thanks,” Catalina said.

  Gwendolyn turned back to Slater. “I’ll start contacting my associates immediately.”

  She led the way up the staircase. When she reached the landing she turned off the lights. Catalina paused to look down into the darkened basement. The display cases were no longer illuminated, but there was enough energy from the collection of artifacts to make the underground chamber glow with a faint radiance. She could feel the currents seething in the atmosphere.

  Death had a vibe, but there was a difference between old and new. The frissons of dark energy that had tugged at her senses felt very fresh.

  CHAPTER 15

  Pretty sure Gwendolyn Swan was lying,” Catalina said. “I’m almost positive that someone died in her basement recently.”

  Slater had just selected another french fry from the massive pile on his plate. He paused and gave her a searching glance.

  “Someone or something?” he asked. “Seattle is a nice city, but I’m sure it’s got rats like every other big city, especially in the older sections.”

  “Someone. Trust me, I can tell the difference between a dead animal and a dead human.”

  They were sitting in a popular downtown restaurant, drinking strong coffee and eating a lot of protein and carbs in the form of extra-large orders of fish and chips. Catalina had chosen the venue because it was convenient, because it featured booths that allowed for private conversations and because she did not want to spend time or energy trying to decide where to eat.

  She and Slater were not eating the healthiest meal on the planet, but they had both expended a lot of energy in the past few hours. Between the burn and the lack of sleep, they needed fuel that would hit their bloodstreams in a rush.

  “Okay, I’m not doubting you,” Slater said. “Just going for a little clarification. There was a lot of hot energy in that basement, and as Swan said, many of those artifacts were probably grave goods or other items that are associated with death and violence in some way.”

  “Yes, and I know that sort of energy can often mask the kind of heat I sense, but what I picked up in that basement was fresh. Probably within the past twenty-four hours.”

  “Huh.” Slater munched the french fry and picked up another one. “Violent death?”

  “Got news for you, Arganbright—for me, every death feels like an act of violence.”

  “Point taken.” Slater forked up a bite of the fried f
ish while he reflected on that. “So, professionally speaking, how do you figure out the difference between a murder and a death from natural causes?”

  “It’s not always simple or straightforward. Things can get murky. What I look for is the energy of a killer. When that is present, I know I’m looking at a murder scene.”

  “All right, don’t keep me in suspense. Did you pick up that kind of energy in Swan’s basement?”

  “No.” Catalina drank some coffee and put the cup down very carefully. “That’s why I hesitated to mention it. I’ve been telling myself all that radiation confused my senses. But the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that someone did die in that room, and not long ago. A few hours at most.”

  “But you didn’t find any trace of the killer?”

  “I don’t think so. But the atmosphere in that basement is really heavy. Who wants to collect things that come out of crypts and graves, anyway?”

  “Me. For the Foundation’s museum. What’s more, we often compete with museums and collectors around the world for grave goods. Where do you think that old stuff sitting in museum galleries comes from? A lot of those items survived precisely because they were sealed in a tomb or a crypt.”

  “Okay, I get the historical value. I just don’t like to think about that sort of provenance too much, that’s all.”

  Slater ate a few more french fries while he contemplated her words.

  “Would you be able to tell if Gwendolyn Swan murdered someone in her basement?” he asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. The currents in that place are really strong.”

  “Some of those objects are extremely dangerous.”

  Catalina shuddered. “Like that miniature ballroom scene?”

  “It felt ominous, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me run a scenario for you,” Slater said. “What if a couple of freelance raiders broke into the basement and one of them grabbed a particularly dangerous artifact and got zapped? Maybe the accomplice hauled the body away. No would-be burglar would want to leave that kind of evidence behind for the police to find.”