“You said your uncle died a couple of years ago?”
Doug nodded. “Lost at sea. The old man had no business sailing on the Sound alone at his age. But old Digby always was independent. He’d had a bad heart for years. The authorities concluded he probably had a heart attack and fell overboard. They never recovered the body, although the boat eventually washed ashore on a neighboring island.”
“And you’re left with the diary, the reconstructed villa, and a missing piece of crystal,” Jonas concluded.
Elyssa laughed and her earrings tinkled. “Doug’s right. We really do have to sell the villa, there’s no way we can afford to keep it. But I can’t bear not to try to find the treasure before we do. It should be fun, if nothing else. I’m inviting a few friends to help in the hunt.”
Jonas narrowed his eyes. “What kind of friends?”
“Don’t worry, they won’t get in your way,” she assured him hastily. “There’s plenty of room. Digby’s housekeeper, a Miss Frampton, is still at the villa. She’ll see to all the cooking and cleaning for us.”
“Jonas, it sounds like fun,” Verity said brightly.
He arched his brows and gave her a wry glance. “When it comes to business,” he said to the Warwicks, “I leave everything to my business manager. Looks like we’ll be seeing you in Seattle in a day or two.”
“Great.” Doug took a small, leatherbound volume out of his pocket. “I might as well let you have a look at the diary.” He paused. “I don’t suppose you happen to know Latin?”
“It’s been a while, but I can manage,” Jonas said with an air of dignified modesty. “Italian humanist scholars made a big deal out of learning Latin. It was considered the only suitable language for recording really important work. Looks like Digby felt the same way.”
“In this day and age, it makes for an excellent secret code,” Doug observed. “No one reads Latin anymore. There are a few pages missing from the back of the diary. You can see where they’ve been torn out. I don’t know what happened to them.”
Elyssa leaned toward Jonas as he reached for the book. Her jeweled fingers flashed light. “Mr. Quarrel, I have a personal question…”
“Jonas,” he corrected absently, examining the small volume.
“Jonas, then.” She smiled with obvious delight. “Forgive me for prying, but I’m dying of curiosity. Is it true that you have a talent for psychometry?”
Verity saw the anger flare in Jonas’s eyes and was suddenly afraid that the whole deal was going to end right then and there. She could have kicked Elyssa.
“The editor of the journal that published your article mentioned that you once had a reputation for authenticating items for museums and collectors,” Elyssa explained, apparently unaware of the narrow line she was walking. “From his description of your work, my friend Preston Yarwood speculated that you might have a psychic ability called psychometry. Is that true?”
“Pure bullshit,” Jonas said with clenched teeth.
“Preston said that you might not even be aware of how and why you can identify objects from the past,” Elyssa went on innocently. “He said the talent might be very elusive, something you just take for granted, and don’t even understand yourself.”
“Who’s Preston Yarwood?” Jonas demanded grimly.
“Mr. Yarwood is a friend of hers, Jonas,” Verity cut in. “He’s the one who contacted the journal editor who published your piece on Renaissance fencing techniques. The editor recommended you for this assignment.” She gave Jonas her most brilliant smile. “Funny how things work out, isn’t it? If you hadn’t published that piece, the Warwicks would never have learned about you, and we wouldn’t be on our way to Washington.”
Jonas tapped the Hazelhurst diary thoughtfully. “Funny isn’t exactly the word for it.”
Chapter Four
“What an ugly pile of rock. No wonder Doug said it was called Hazelhurst’s Honor.” Verity’s disappointment was obvious. She stood in the stern of the small launch Doug Warwick was piloting and studied the grim island fortress ahead.
Jonas grinned. “Well, it sure as hell doesn’t approach the architectural genius of Bramante or Brunelleschi.”
“What style is it, then?”
Jonas shrugged and surveyed the rugged structure dominating the cliff that rose from the cold waters of Puget Sound. It was a plain, solid-looking stone mass, two stories high. The rough, unattractive facade was studded with tiny windows and capped by a thick, bulky cornice that outlined the roof. “I’d say it’s late fifteenth century, probably Milanese, judging by the overall style. The architect will most likely remain anonymous forever.”
“And deservedly so,” Verity retorted. “When the Warwicks talked about an Italian villa, I imagined something a little grander.” The noise of the launch engine kept her complaints from being overheard by their host, who was busy guiding the boat into a small cove.
Jonas chuckled, amused by her dismay. “Not everything built during the Renaissance was an architectural marvel. Just ask anyone who was born and raised in Rome, or Milan, or Florence. The most important criterion for a Renaissance house was that it be able to withstand an armed assault. This sucker looks like it was built to do the job.”
“I’ll say.” Verity shivered. “It’s going to be dark and gloomy inside.”
“Well, it won’t be cheerful, that’s for sure, but it may not be too dark. It’s built around an enclosed courtyard. The rooms will all have much larger windows on the inside walls.”
“Just as long as it has indoor plumbing.”
“Don’t worry. Doug assured me that his uncle installed modern plumbing and wiring in the south wing. That’s the wing facing us. Hazelhurst didn’t fancy roughing it out here on an isolated island.”
Verity noticed a cheerful note in his voice and smiled. “You’re really getting into this, aren’t you? I can’t believe it. I practically had to threaten you to take this job, and already you’re enjoying yourself. Admit it.”
Jonas glanced at his duffel bag, which contained, among other things, Digby Hazelhurst’s diary. “Might turn out to be interesting after all.”
“I knew it,” Verity said with satisfaction. “Jonas, I have the feeling this is going to be the beginning of a wonderful consulting career.”
“We’ll see.”
But Verity refused to be put off by his cautious attitude. She had seen him poring over Hazelhurst’s diary for the past two days. He had spent every free minute with it before they had left Sequence Springs, and he’d kept his nose buried in it during the flight from San Francisco to Seattle. He had also gone through several texts on Renaissance architecture. Jonas might not admit it yet, Verity thought, but he was fascinated by the project ahead of him.
Doug Warwick had met them at the airport in Seattle. Laura had been right about him—he did own a BMW. They had driven north of the city to the ferry terminal that served the San Juan Islands. The ferry had taken them to one of the larger, more populated islands, and from there Doug had driven them to a marina where he kept a launch.
“The island Uncle Digby built his villa on is too small and isolated to be serviced by the ferry system,” Warwick had explained as he’d helped his guests into the boat. “He came over to this island to do his shopping and pick up supplies.”
“Does anyone else live on Hazelhurst’s island?” Verity had asked as she hobbled carefully into the boat, using Jonas’s arm for support. Her ankle was still sore.
“Just Maggie Frampton, Uncle Digby’s housekeeper. I was sure she’d give her notice after my uncle died. His death really shook her up. I gather the two of them had a thing going. I can’t imagine why she would want to stay all alone in that pile of stone, but she seems content. She’s free to use the launch whenever she wants to shop or visit her sister in Portland.”
The island was tiny, just an oversized piece of rock
covered by a thick forest of pine and fir. The stark, gloomy atmosphere was embellished by the gray skies and chill, damp breeze. Jonas had been right when he’d warned her this wasn’t going to be like Hawaii, Verity thought wryly.
The small cove below the villa had a floating dock. Verity steadied herself as Doug cut the engine. Jonas leaped lightly up onto the dock and grabbed the lines Doug tossed to him. Then he reached down to help Verity out of the boat.
“With any luck, your room will be ready. Maggie’s a good-hearted soul, but she’s sometimes a little disorganized. She’s not used to having a houseful of strangers,” Doug explained as he collected the luggage from the back of the launch. “Uncle Digby rarely entertained, mostly because he only wanted the company of other scholars—and toward the end they all shunned him.”
The villa’s entrance was set deep inside a massive arch. The huge wooden door swung open with a protesting squeak just as Doug reached it. Elyssa Warwick stood inside, covered from throat to toe in a flowing white dress that emphasized her voluptuous curves. Her smile of welcome was, as usual, serenely glowing. Verity wondered how anyone could radiate so much goodness and light without using an electrical outlet.
“You made it,” Elyssa exclaimed, as if there had been some doubt. Her gaze settled on Jonas. “I was getting worried. Preston had a vision of the plane being late. Was it?”
“A few minutes,” Verity admitted. “There was a slight delay on the runway.”
“I knew it,” Elyssa said triumphantly. “Preston is almost never wrong. His visions are so clear.”
“I hate to break this to you, Elyssa,” Jonas remarked, “but most planes run late these days. It doesn’t take any psychic talent to predict that one particular flight might be delayed.”
“You haven’t met Preston yet. When you do you’ll see that he’s right nearly all the time.” Elyssa did not seem the least bit disturbed by Jones’s disbelief. “Do come in. Everyone else is already here. Maggie’s got your room ready.”
Verity realized that she was beginning to have a few problems with Elyssa Warwick. There was something about the way the other woman watched Jonas that was starting to bother her. Verity had the distinct impression that Elyssa hadn’t believed Jonas when he’d told her he had no psychic ability. In any event, there was no doubt that the woman found Jonas fascinating.
“This is Maggie Frampton.” Elyssa turned to introduce a stout woman with a riot of frazzled gray curls, standing in the hall behind her. “We’re all totally dependent on her. She’s the only one who knows how to keep the electricity and plumbing working in this wing. Doug’s buyers are going to have to spend a fortune bringing the villa up to date. Maggie, would you please show Verity and Jonas to their room upstairs?” Elyssa glanced at Jonas again. “When you’ve had a chance to freshen up, please join us downstairs. I want to introduce you to my friends before dinner.”
Jonas nodded, eyeing the stone staircase in front of him. He picked up his duffel bag and Verity’s small suitcase. Then he gave Maggie Frampton one of his easy grins. “Lead the way, Miss Frampton.”
The older woman nodded once and turned toward the stairs. Maggie had a grandmotherly figure, Verity thought, the sort of shape people used to label “buxom.” Her faded blue eyes held a shrewd, knowing expression. She was wearing a flower-spattered housedress that appeared to date from the 1950s, and a thin metal chain around her neck disappeared beneath the collar.
“Right this way.” Maggie moved heavily up the wide staircase. “Got a nice room for you, it overlooks the garden. Course, that ain’t no big deal. Every room in the whole damn place overlooks the garden. Digby always said those old Renaissance types couldn’t trust anyone but family and that’s why they built their houses the way they did. Lots of stone walls on the outside to keep the neighbors from breaking in, and plenty of room inside to enjoy the gardens and privacy. But I expect a few of ‘em learned you can’t always trust family, either.”
Jonas smiled. “A few of them sure as hell did learn that, Maggie. Family can be treacherous.”
Maggie paused, one hand on the stone banister. She cocked a brow as she glanced back over her plump shoulder. “Is it true what Little Miss Sunshine down there says? You some kinda weirdo psychic?”
“No, ma’am,” Jonas said blandly. “I am definitely not some kinda weirdo psychic.”
“Good. We got enough nuts in this place right now as it is, don’t need another one running around. Taking orders from Little Miss Sunshine is bad enough. Don’t know what Digby woulda thought of all this, just don’t know.”
“Little Miss Sunshine?” Verity repeated curiously.
“The Warwick girl. I call her Little Miss Sunshine ‘cause she’s always smiling and saying how the whole universe is workin’ together just to make her life perfect. That kind of cheerfulness just ain’t natural, if you ask me. Course, I don’t hold much with this hocus-pocus malarkey or the kind of folks who get involved with it. Ain’t nothing new about it anyway. We had the same type of kook around when I was a kid, but at least most of ‘em had the decency to work in a circus or at the county fair.”
“I’m with you, Maggie,” Jonas said. “What did Digby Hazelhurst think about all this psychic stuff?”
Maggie resumed climbing the staircase. “Old Digby was just fine up until about two years before he died. Then he started turnin’ a mite weird, I’ll grant you that much. But the man was in his eighties. Had a right to be a bit touched, I say. Besides, it didn’t affect us one way or the other.”
“Us?” Verity asked quickly.
“Him and me,” Maggie explained with a wistful chuckle. “Digby and me used to have some good times together. We spent more years than I want to count stuck here on this island with only each other for company, and we weren’t neither one of us bored. I’ll tell you, when it came to certain types of activity, that old man had the energy of a high school senior in the backseat of a car. Had us some rare old times down in the torture chamber. My, my, yes, we did.” Maggie reached the top of the staircase and trudged down a dim corridor.
Verity shot a highly amused glance at Jonas, who leered back comically.
Maggie opened the heavy wooden door of a room halfway down the corridor, revealing a large suite with huge, arched windows. A wide, canopied bed occupied the center of the room. The cold stone walls were hung with a faded tapestry and a couple of grime-encrusted paintings. The stone floor was bare.
“This do for ya?” Maggie asked expectantly. “ ‘Fraid it’s the best I’ve got to offer. Used to have a lot of nice furniture in most of the rooms in this wing, but Digby had to sell the stuff off to keep going. Bathroom’s off to the right there. At least old Digby had the sense to put in plumbing when he inherited the villa. I wouldn’t have stayed with him all those years if I’d had to use a chamber pot, I can tell you.”
“This is fine,” Verity said. The end of her cane rang loudly on the stone floor as she walked to one of the windows. She leaned out, expecting a view of lush gardens.
What she saw was a large courtyard overgrown with weeds. There was a fountain in the center, but no water poured from the jug held by the naked nymph carved on top of the circular monstrosity. Dead pine needles and dirt littered the empty pool.
“See you folks later. Holler if you need anything,” Maggie said, closing the door behind her.
Verity turned from the window to watch Jonas prowl the room. “Everything okay?” she asked softly, although she was almost certain it was. She would know if any strong force in the room was affecting him.
“Yeah.” Jonas paused beside the threadbare tapestry and studied it without touching it. It was just barely possible to make out a scene of Renaissance maidens cavorting in a leafy bower. “Everything’s fine. The bed’s new, incidentally.”
Verity glanced at the big bed. “Just as well. I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in a four-hundred-year-old bed.�
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“The tapestry’s sixteenth-century, though. Can you believe it? It’s just been hanging here, decaying all these years.” Jonas shook his head and wandered over to one of the ornately framed pictures. “Same with the paintings.”
Verity caught her breath. “They’re originals?”
He nodded. “This one is. It would be interesting to see what’s under all that grime. I have a hunch that the artist was just as second-rate as the architect who designed the villa.”
Verity leaned back against the wide window ledge, folded her arms, and eyed Jonas closely. “You’re not going to have any trouble sleeping here?”
“No. I’m fine, Verity. Everything’s under control. I can sense a few faint vibrations, but unless I deliberately open up to them, they won’t bother me. What a relief.”
“That’s one of the reasons you took this job, isn’t it?” Verity asked suddenly. “You wanted to see how much control you’ve really gained over the past few months.”
Jonas glanced at her as he walked across the room to open his duffel bag. “I’m a lot stronger now, Verity. I’m in control. You don’t know how good it feels. And I owe it all to you. Just being around you seems to have strengthened my power to keep from being swept into that time tunnel. I couldn’t have slept inside a genuine Renaissance villa before I met you. The vibrations locked in the walls alone would have overwhelmed me. Christ, it feels good to be able to manage this damn talent of mine.”
“You’re determined not to admit to Little Miss Sunshine and her pals that you’re a genuine grade-A psychic?”
“I am not a psychic,” Jonas stated forcefully. “I have a talent for psychometry, but I’m not clairvoyant. I don’t have visions. I don’t see the future or predict disasters. The only thing I can do is pick up certain scenes from the past.”
Gift of Fire Page 6
