The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1)

by Colleen Gleason

  Dammit. He shouldn’t be surprised. He wasn’t surprised. But that didn’t ease his apprehension. Was this her way of putting space between them? Was this how she was going to blow him off? Or was he just making a big deal about nothing?

  Why should it bother him that she’d made other plans? It didn’t…except that she’d waited until he called to tell him. Almost as though she’d wanted to catch him off-guard. Gideon felt his mouth tighten and his shoulders tense.

  Then, practicality swept over him and he forced the tension away. Fiona was the most guileless person he knew. She probably didn’t know the meaning of the word manipulation. And, besides, it was only one night. The first night they hadn’t seen each other since the attack on Fiona two weeks ago.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He did. It was just that he’d been looking forward—expecting—to see her all day…and now he was just disappointed. With a frown, he gamely returned his attention to the latest barrage of emails from Gordon Borowy.

  ~*~

  Fiona slid the phone onto its cradle with a flourish of satisfaction. That had been easier than she’d expected. Perhaps it had been too easy. Perhaps she was making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps—

  “Fiona,” she exclaimed aloud, forcing her mind to stop its runaway path. “Don’t be an idiot!”

  She knew darn well that Gideon had expected her to be available tonight…as he had for the last two weeks. It gave her a sense of control—control which she’d felt slipping in the last two weeks, especially since she’d been attacked in her own shop—to decline to see him.

  “Did you say something?” Dylan poked his head around the corner from the back room.

  “I was just talking to myself,” she told him without a hint of shame.

  “So what time is the man coming by?” he asked, sauntering about with his lambs wool duster. She wondered if he just carried it around to make him look useful—for he truly hadn’t a clue how to use it—or if it was a ploy to make unsuspecting female clients think he’d be a good partner.

  “He’s not.” Her reply reverberated with satisfaction.

  Dylan’s bushy brows rose as he looked at her. “Wasn’t that him on the phone?”

  Fiona glowered at him, wondering how he’d known. “Yes. But I told him I had plans tonight.”

  Dylan looked at her with pity in his eyes. “Getting cold feet, huh? Better be careful—I don’t think he’s the type that plays hard to get.”

  “What are you talking about?” she flared, her heart bumping nervously. “I don’t have cold feet about anything—and I’m not playing hard to get. I just…needed a break.”

  He leaned against the desk and looked down at her. “So you lied to him. You don’t have any plans, do you?”

  Misery flowed through her. “No. I just needed to…make sure I could still do it.” That she wasn’t relying on Gideon to make herself feel safe, and whole, and happy.

  “Still do what?”

  Fiona shifted uncomfortably. “Still spend time without him. Not count on him or need to see him….” She pushed her hair out of her eyes, tamping down the anxiety that welled inside her when she thought about being dependent upon someone, especially someone as strong and overwhelming as Gideon. It would be so easy to relinquish control, to let such a capable man take care of everything. Of her.

  Dylan reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. “Well, I think you’re playing a little dangerously…but let’s not make a liar out of you. I’ll take you out to dinner and to a movie so at least you can have a clear conscience about that.”

  She smiled, a bit shakily, and said, “That would be great. And let’s make it a comedy, all right?”

  ~*~

  “What are you still doing here on a Friday night?”

  Gideon lurched in his seat, dropping his feet from the credenza on which they’d been resting as he stared out the window over Locust Street. Spinning in his chair, he turned to face his grandfather.

  “I should ask what you’re doing here so late. Aren’t you still considered a newlywed?”

  Gideon Senior strode into the room, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “Ah, Iva had some psychic party she was going to tonight—said she wouldn’t be home until later. Thought I’d catch up on some work I’ve been putting off.”

  “Psychic party? You mean you actually let her go to those things?” Gideon rolled his eyes and opened the drawer of his desk to retrieve a cigar.

  His grandfather chuckled as he handed the younger man his cigar guillotine. “There’s no ‘letting her go’ about it. Iva does what she wants to do—and I let her. What do I care?”

  “Doesn’t she come home spouting all kinds of nonsense about what the future holds, and tall, dark strangers and lots of money, et cetera, et cetera?” Gideon snipped the end of his cigar with vehemence and leaned forward to light it from his grandfather’s proffered lighter.

  “Nothing more unusual than hearing that you’re to get married and have a baby.” Gideon Senior spewed a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Hope the damn smoke detector doesn’t go off in here.”

  Gideon didn’t have the energy to deny the path his grandfather’s thoughts were obviously taking. The truth was, the thought of getting married—someday in the future—had occurred to him once or twice in the last week. And the possibility didn’t unsettle him the way it would have only a few months ago. He wondered, with a start, whether Fiona’s palm-reading that portended his future actually put the possibility in his mind.

  “I take it you’re not going to see your young lady tonight,” his grandfather asked casually.

  “No.” Gideon couldn’t help his voice sounding clipped.

  “She’s a lovely young woman.”

  “Yes. Yes, she is.” For a moment, warmth surged through him…then ebbed back to be replaced by the faint chill that had descended upon him since their phone conversation.

  “Well, why don’t we go grab something to eat—your place is closer. Let’s go over there and order a pizza. Or ribs. Or Chinese.” His eyes danced in their crinkled pockets.

  Gideon raised his eyebrow. Pizza did sound good. “I’ll meet you there—why don’t you stop and get a couple of six packs?”

  “Deal.”

  Several hours later, Gideon Senior’s cell phone buzzed. Iva’s name came up on it and he reached across the coffee table littered with empty pizza boxes to grab the sleek black instrument.

  His grandson watched in amusement, noticing that apparently Gideon Senior knew how to work his phone when his wife was calling.

  From his casual position on the leather sofa, Gideon watched his grandfather’s face relax. “Hello, darling…. No, I’m at Gideon’s.” There was silence, then his attention flickered to Gideon and away. “No, no—they didn’t have any plans. I’m not imposing . . .What did I do for dinner? Uh…oh, nothing much—just some pasta and a big salad. Light dressing.”

  Gideon raised his eyebrows and gave a short laugh, which he smothered into his beer. He was feeling pleasantly warm and buzzed, even relaxed—though his mind continued to wander to Fiona.

  “On your way home? You’re taking a cab, I hope.” Gideon Senior was saying into his sleek black phone. “Well, I’m sure Gideon won’t mind.” He raised his eyebrows and his grandson nodded in affirmation. “How long…about ten minutes? That close? Well, all right—see you then.” He pushed the button to end the call, dropped the phone on the table, and leaped to his feet. “We’ve got ten minutes—really only five, considering how my wife will be egging on the cab driver. Come on!”

  He scrabbled about, shuffling the pizza boxes together as his grandson watched in amusement. “Get those bottles out of here, will you?” he snapped at the younger man.

  “It’s no use, Grandfather. She’ll smell the beer and cigars, and, besides, she knows you better than that.” He remained lounging on the sofa, tilting the beer bottle gently to his lips.

  “You’re a whole lot of help,” Gideon Senior growled as
he carried a tilted stack of pizza and garlic-bread boxes from the room.

  He returned nary a moment too soon, for the doorbell pealed and the door swung open. “Hello in there!” came Iva’s cheery voice as she flowed into the room, carrying two large shopping bags.

  ‘Flowed’ was the right word, too, for she wore a brilliant blue caftan-like garment embroidered with silver and sapphire designs. A matching blue scarf that was tied around her face and over her ears embraced her silvery hair. Bracelets, earrings, and necklaces clanked and clinked as she bent to embrace her guilty-looking husband.

  Gideon looked at her in askance. “I thought you were going to a psychic party—not being the psychic, Iva. You look like a fortune-teller yourself.” Much as he loved her—truly he did—he sometimes couldn’t understand how his staid, conservative grandfather had married her. She was just so…odd.

  She came over to him, brushing her sweet, powdered cheek against his as they hugged, then kissing him just next to his lips. “Thank you my dear,” she said merrily.

  He could smell the faintness of alcohol on her breath, and by the look in her starry eyes, surmised that she’d been having as good a time as he and Gideon Senior had. “I’ll take that as a compliment! Although there is no way I could even think to match Salton’s talents. She is absolutely wonderful.”

  “What’s all that stuff?” her husband asked, eyeing the two large bags she’d dropped on the floor next to him. “And where did you get that outfit? Christ, Iva, you look like a gypsy!”

  Instead of being offended by his comments, she giggled at him and twirled around so that the gown spun in a whirlpool of rayon. “What, you don’t like it? Gideon, dear, do you have any more of that lovely white wine you always have on hand? I’d like a glass while I show you two the wonderful things I got tonight.”

  Grinning broadly, the younger Gideon pulled himself from the sofa and sauntered into the kitchen to do her bidding. His grandfather’s words followed him out of the room: “I thought you were going to a party—not to the mall, Iva.”

  When he returned, he found his apple-cheeked step-grandmother cozied up to her husband on the loveseat, and they both looked up guiltily as he came in the room.

  “Did I interrupt something?” he asked innocently. “I can go find something to do in the kitchen if you two would like to be alone.”

  “Nonsense,” his grandfather blustered. “Iva, let’s get this over with.”

  “Now, dear, don’t be so impatient. You know, Salton said that impatience is one of your greatest weaknesses…but then again, she said it was also one of your greatest strengths.” She gave him a huge smile and he settled back in his seat, abashed.

  Gideon couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “So do you really believe all the stuff this Salton tells you?”

  Iva turned to look at him, and the humor eased from her face, replaced by earnestness. “Ah, Gideon, darling.” She pursed her lips and reached over to touch his hand, patting it where it rested on the sofa next to him. “Salton says you’re trapped in the past, and afraid to—”

  “What?” Gideon interrupted, sitting upright. She’d been talking to a fortune-teller about him? “That’s nonsense, Iva. I’m sorry, I don’t—”

  “She says,” Iva continued, as though he’d never interrupted, “that you’ve been smothering your talents and that they’ll waste away if you don’t allow them to come forth.”

  “Iva—” Gideon swallowed, feeling his stomach twist. How could a strange woman know these things about him? “She just made broad statements that could be interpreted in many different ways.”

  Iva patted his hand again, still looking at him with something akin to sympathy in her eyes. “She mentioned Fiona.” Her eyebrows rose delicately as Gideon froze and looked at her.

  “What?”

  “She said that a breath of fresh air had come into your life. That she had reddish hair and that she likes hands, and that she was good for you.”

  Gideon stared at her. “And you don’t know this woman?” he asked tentatively, reaching blindly for the beer bottle at his side.

  “Gideon….” Iva took his hand, clasping his long fingers in her small, soft, wrinkled ones, “she said that you would have a very difficult decision to make…that it would turn your life around…and she said that, although it would be very painful, you would do the right thing in the end.”

  He eased his hand away. “I can’t believe I am actually half-believing this,” Gideon said faintly, shaking his head. “Well, Iva, what can I say?”

  She gave him a tender, motherly smile. “Nothing. Just file it away in the back of your mind for when you need it. Now, tell us…is there any news from the police about the break-in at Fiona’s shop?”

  Gideon shook his head, his mouth grim. “None really. If it weren’t for the note he left that said you’ll be next, I think they’d be writing it off as a random robbery.”

  “But there’ve been two incidents,” his grandfather reminded him.

  “Yes, and the police will say that there are valuable items in that shop, and it backs up to a dark alley, so it’s a target. There’s a lamp in there worth more than five thousand dollars.” At least, according to Dylan the shop-smurf. Gideon thrust that thought away and added, “Fiona’s being smart about it. Taking care not to be alone at night, and always having the alarm system on if she’s at the shop by herself during the day. What other choice does she have?”

  “Do they think it’s all related to the skeleton?” Iva asked, her eyes bright with interest—not unlike Fiona’s were, when she talked about the mystery of the skeleton.

  “How can it be?” Gideon Senior asked. “The first incident was long before she found the bones.”

  “Unless the two incidents are unrelated,” Iva reminded him gently. “But, I can’t imagine what urgency an old skeleton would have for someone. Unless it’s a member of the family? Maybe there’s a family secret hidden in the shop. Or maybe the skeleton is a family secret.” She drew back into her seat on the sofa, bringing her wineglass to her lips, eyes sparkling.

  Her husband nudged the shopping bags on the floor. “What in blazes is in here?” he asked, exchanging glances with his grandson.

  Allowing herself to be distracted, Iva leaned forward to pull one of the bags onto her lap, then tilted it so that its contents tumbled onto the ottoman. Tissue paper flew as she unwrapped her treasures. “This is an aromatherapy diffuser, and here are the essential oils that I bought to go with it,” she explained, holding up a device that looked similar to the one Fiona had used at her house.

  “And here are some aromatherapy candles, too—a stress-reliever for you, dearest,” she smiled at Gideon Senior. Then she looked at her grandson and her eyebrows knit. “Hm. I should have gotten one for you too.”

  She opened up a small box and showed them a stack of cards with designs and alchemical symbols on them. “When I learn how, I’ll do a Tarot reading for you, my dear,” she told Gideon the Third, with such sincerity in her voice that he had to look away to keep from grinning.

  “What on God’s earth is this?” her husband bellowed, lifting a rather large, heavy box from the second shopping bag.

  “Oh, yes, that’s my favorite of the bunch,” Iva chirped enthusiastically, relieving him of the box. “It’s a mini waterfall. You can put it on your desk…or we could put it in our bedroom too.” She slanted a look at him that made her grandson raise his eyebrows and grin.

  “A waterfall? On my desk? Iva, what—”

  “Now, dear, remember your blood pressure.” She patted his hand, then returned to the task of pulling the waterfall from its packaging. It was a bowl-like object stacked with rocks of varying sizes and shapes, and a long black electrical cord snaked from the back of it. “Isn’t it cute?”

  Gideon himself could hardly believe what he was seeing, but just as he was about to ask what one actually used a small waterfall for, the doorbell rang.

  Iva looked up. “Oh, and, Gideon, I forgot—th
ere was one more thing Salton mentioned. She said that you’ll have a surprise tonight.”

  Right. Gideon glanced at his grandfather and asked, “You didn’t order any more pizza did you?”

  “No!” he sputtered as Iva turned an accusatory glare on him.

  “Pizza? Any more pizza?” she asked, shaking a finger. “What have you been eating, Hollis Gideon Nath?”

  Gideon didn’t hear his grandfather’s reply as he stepped into the foyer to look out the peephole.

  Fiona.

  His heart stopped. She stood there on the doorstep, her mass of hair illuminated by the porch light, her beautiful face upturned toward the door.

  He opened it, trying to keep his delight to a minimum in case he misunderstood the situation. And as he looked out, he was glad he had—for a shadow moved behind her, stepping onto the porch, and metamorphosing into her shop-smurf Dylan.