by Gwen Hunter
The collection revealed finished amethysts and sapphires, an uncut emerald the size of my fist and carvings of charoite and jade, some that looked ancient. There were both uncut, unpolished stone and shaped specimens of moonstone and wonderstone, lapis and hauynite, chalcedony, quartz in all the colors of the rainbow, jasper and agate and beautiful specimens of opals. It took my breath away. But it was the gold that drew my attention.
They had raw gold in wonderful varieties, from nuggets the size of my thumb to an artist’s three-dimensional rendition of gold dust caught in creek-bottom sand. There was one specimen that looked like a fountain of gold spouting up from a quartz base. There were several samples of gold wire, similar to those Davie had sent us, but with cards for each indicating where and when they had been discovered. If the company wanted to impress and intimidate a visitor with the exhibit, they were successful. I was properly cowed.
After a fifteen-minute wait, and only ten minutes after our scheduled meeting time, I was escorted by the underling through three hallways into a subdued and tasteful office. Eloise Carter rose and came around her desk to meet me, right hand outstretched. On her left ring finger was the gold-and-ruby ring Jubal had created.
“Tyler St. Claire. So good to see you again,” she said with a professional smile. “You may not remember me, but I once dated your brother.”
“Eloise.” I smiled back, thinking about pulling her hair out but instead opening myself for a really good read. If I got lucky, I might pluck Davie’s whereabouts from her. I took her hand. It was cool, the grip firm and practiced. From her thoughts I got a sense of frustration beneath a swirl of images—her computer keyboard, a clipboard, the phone and the scent of jasmine that collided unpleasantly with her perfume. “I remember. You must be the reason I was able to get an appointment so quickly.” As I released her hand, a wisp of something brushed across the wall in my mind. It was familiar, this feeling, with a trace of darkness at its core. I set the notion aside to be considered at a later time.
“Actually, you’re lucky to have called today. Mr. Rakes, the CEO, just happens to be in town for a series of meetings before taking the company jet to Colorado. He was delighted when I brought your name to him, as he’s been interested in acquiring rights to land your brother owned. He and Davie had spoken several times. I was the one who introduced them,” she said modestly.
The admission threw me. I suddenly knew that Davie had asked Eloise to arrange the meeting. Davie had pursued Eloise for just that purpose.
“Mr. Rakes is with someone but it should only be a moment. Have a seat.” She indicated one of two upholstered chairs in front of her desk and I took one. Though she was smiling as she sat beside me, there was a shadow beneath her words, and when she spoke, her eyes slid away, not meeting mine. Hiding something. Hiding Davie?
I took a shot. “I remember you dating Davie. You made a good-looking couple.” It was an inane comment, but it had the desired results. That shadow cracked a bit and the emotion beneath crawled out. Her hatred clambered along my skin and I had to resist the urge to shake it off my flesh.
“I had hopes we were going somewhere, until my sister got her claws into him.”
That threw me. “Sister?”
“Gail.” The hate twisted her face for an instant before it smoothed out. “Davie and I were getting on so great until she stepped into the picture. But then, Gail always did go after any man I wanted.” She laughed, attempting to sound airy but succeeding only in sounding wounded.
My mind reeled. “Gail Speeler? She’s your sister?”
“Can you believe it?” she said, stilted. “Different as night and day. Same mother, different fathers. Typical dysfunctional family. She was really peeved that I was seeing you today.”
From a door behind me, several men and a woman filed out, talking about lunch. I didn’t even turn around. Gail Speeler and Eloise Carter?
“If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll get the lunches.” She stood and smoothed her dress as she went to the far side of her desk and bent out of sight. I heard a swish of escaping air that I identified as the sound a small refrigerator made when opened. When Eloise stood, she was holding four plastic delivery boxes. “I hope chicken salad from Diamonte’s is okay.” I nodded. “You’ll be dining with Mr. Rakes, a visitor from Washington, and a local businessman in the small conference room.”
The intercom buzzed softly and she bent away, balancing the plastic containers with one hand as she punched a button. The voice on the intercom said, “I’ll be a moment, Eloise. Please see that our visitors are comfortable and allow them to start lunch if they wish.”
“Yes, sir.” She removed her hand and offered me the practiced smile from earlier. “Let me get the luncheon set up and I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” I said, not really thinking. Alone, I struggled to put it together. Gail and Eloise were sisters. Rivals. Both dating Davie. Gold. Tree huggers. Land and developing. Davie wanting to see the CEO of a mining company. The Roman Trio and money laundering. It was all coming together, but it left odd patches of reasoning where nothing seemed to fit. Something still wasn’t right. “Gail Speeler and Eloise are sisters. Can you believe that?” I asked the mike softly, knowing there wouldn’t be an answer. There hadn’t been time to rig two-way communication with Evan and Lopez.
I heard a muted thump from outside the room, followed by a soft clatter that I felt through the soles of my feet rather than heard. Phones were ringing. Several doors opened and closed, all sounds that had been there, just below my conscious awareness, for several minutes.
I was alone long enough to get fidgety. When I checked my watch, I saw I had been inside for nearly forty-five minutes. I stood and wandered the office, going behind the desk to spy a credenza with the doors ajar. It was like an invitation to peek, so I nudged the doors open, exposing a microwave, a small fridge, a wet bar and a computer printer. The doors above were closed and I didn’t dare. In the trash can under her desk was a plastic container with the remains of salad and a smudge of dressing smeared on the top.
I moved back to the guest side of the desk and looked out the door Eloise had taken to the hall. It was empty and I was about to turn away when I saw Eloise, her face covered with her hands, rush out of a room, cross the hallway in a flash and enter another door. From her mind I caught a hint of panic, falling colors in melting sunset hues, hysteria. Surprised, not quite sure what I had seen or felt, uncertain why I was getting colors and scents from Eloise instead of images, I almost followed.
“Ms. St. Claire. What a pleasure.”
I whirled to see a man coming from the doorway behind Eloise’s desk. He was trim, tanned, with Donald Trump style and smile, a far better haircut, and a suit that screamed Italy.
“Julian Rakes,” he said, as he took my hand in a two-handed grip meant to charm and establish control all at once. “I was working a deal with your brother. Pity about his disappearance. Eloise had been so certain he would be found right away. It’s been hard on her, so I know it must be devastating for you and his daughter.”
His thoughts didn’t swarm around me like most people’s, overlapping with other thoughts, observations or needs. They body-slammed me, hard and forceful and utterly directed. He had a game plan for today, and he didn’t intend to allow me to get away without seeing it to fruition. For him, nothing else in the world mattered except his current goal.
I pulled my hand away, wanting to wipe it on my skirt. This was a man totally without conscience, a man who would destroy a competitor in an instant with no hint of compassion or remorse and had done so repeatedly, with no shame or guilt. He was looking at me oddly, the flashy smile shrinking.
“I’m sorry,” I said, struggling to remember what he had said, trying to cover. “Yes. It’s been hard. Eloise has been kind. And I…” My mind grappled for polite phrases drilled into me as child. “I thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
It must have been the right line because the smile was insta
ntly cured. Mr. Friendly, Mr. Just-Want-You-To-Be-Happy had completely hidden Mr. Stab-You-In-The-Back-Without-A-Second-Thought. “My pleasure. Let’s go to lunch, shall we?”
I managed a nod and he guided me down the hall Eloise had taken, his hand at the small of my back. With a mental crash, I shut my wall against his touch and mind.
Sociopath. The word rose in my mind. He’s a sociopath. Use great care.
It was Aunt Matilda, whispering admonitions. For once, I didn’t order her to get away. It did occur to me to wonder how I was hearing her and not the thoughts of the man beside me, but there wasn’t time for that now.
I nodded and let Rakes guide me down the hall. Two thoughts leaked past my barriers. To Julian Rakes I was an easy mark, an emotional little woman with big issues he could use against me. And he was concealing a strong sense of expectation. I straightened my back and stood aside as he opened the door to the conference room. I had an instant to wonder if it was Davie behind door number one, but knew that was too much to ask. I wouldn’t get that lucky. The door swung open and Rakes stepped back, gesturing me ahead without glancing at the room.
Bracing myself, I walked in. A man sat at the far end of a long, oval table set with lunch for four. It took a moment for me to assemble a coherent picture of what was really before me. I gasped, a shadow gasp in my mind echoed the reaction.
He was leaning back in his chair, mouth open. Blood covered the right side of his face. A round neat hole marked the other side. He’d been shot.
Steady, Aunt Matilda whispered, sending strength through me.
Without a single thought, I turned and gripped Rake’s arm, opening my mind to him. He was smiling, looking down at me expectantly. He had thought to surprise me with this man as part of a ploy to unnerve me, to make me feel off balance. I knew instantly he hadn’t shot him. He expected Colin Hornsburn to be alive.
Yanking on his suit coat, I pulled him into the doorway and watched his expression as it fell. Dismay clouded his mind, followed by several odd thoughts at once. I’ll have to postpone the trip to Colorado—what a hassle. There will be police involved. Where the hell is Eloise? Lunch is ruined. There’s blood on my conference chair. Shame about Colin.
“Yeah. Not his lucky day, is it,” I said. And then the shock set in and I sat down fast.
Evan was in the room more quickly than I thought possible, or time had done one of those weird dilation things again. Einstein, beware. A crazy-woman laugh tittered at the back of my throat. Evan had his gun out, his ID and badge in the other hand. Lopez appeared right behind him. Feeling light-headed, I remained in the chair closest to the door and swiveled away from the gruesome sight at the far end of the room. I put my head between my knees and concentrated on not passing out. Bits of dialogue swirled around me.
“—don’t know. We just opened the door and found him.”
“How many exits to the room? Whose—”
“Three. The larger conference—”
“Who was joining you for lunch?”
“Hornsburn, myself, Eloise, my secretary—”
“Where—”
“I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her in—”
I raised my head, feeling sick to my stomach. Using both hands to lever myself upright, I stood on wobbly knees and made my way to the doorway where I leaned, trying to find my balance.
Evan took my hand in his and moved it away from the doorjamb. “Don’t touch. Crime Scene is on the way.”
“Oh, goody. More red fingerprint dust over everything.” I giggled, the sound high-pitched, half-mad. Below my cackles, I could hear the sound of sirens growing closer. Someone had killed Colin Hornsburn. Which pretty much eliminated him as a suspect, didn’t it? And I still didn’t have Davie. I still didn’t have my brother. “I’m going to be sick,” I said, feeling my gorge rise.
“Across the hall,” Rakes said.
Evan half carried me, pushing open the door to expose a room done in pale pink marble, a color calculated to make any grown woman hurl on sight.
A soft moan sounded, bright and sharp against the stone walls. Sunset colors, with a darker, deeper center, caught my attention. Anguish. “Eloise?”
Evan, about to let me go, drew his weapon and pushed me aside. “Where?”
I pointed to the stalls at the end of the wall to my right. “The middle one, I think.”
Evan moved cautiously down the room passing a backless chaise in shades of gold and rose, a velvet throw at its foot. A long, framed mirror above gave back his reflection. He holstered his gun and tapped on the stall door. “Ms. Carter? Open the door. We’ll get you some help.”
“I didn’t do it. I just found him like that.” Her words were slurred.
I followed down the row of stalls and sat on the chaise. I was feeling better, which was odd. But the colors I now associated with Eloise were changing rapidly, growing duller at the center, paler at the edges. Her breathing was fast and uneven, an echoing rasp in the room. I could see her crumpled form on the floor of the stall. She appeared to be draped over the toilet.
“I didn’t…do it. I can’t take it anymore.” Her voice was rough with tears. “I can’t.”
“Do you know who shot him?” Evan asked, his voice suddenly gentle. When she didn’t answer, he said, “If you think you know who shot him, you have to tell me, Ms. Carter. I can help.”
“I can’t.” She crumpled farther, now lying on the floor.
“But—”
“Evan!” I interrupted and pointed. A thin spray of red, like the colors in Eloise’s mind splattered across the floor. An instant later another followed. Blood.
“Get an ambulance!” he shouted. I raced to the door and yelled for help, then rushed back. Evan was on his knees, trying to get his shoulders under the door to Eloise.
I shoved him out of the way and lay down on the pink marble, slid my much smaller body under the door. She hadn’t cut the wrist, but across the middle of the elbow. I gripped her upper arm to stop the pumping. Even in the pink light, she was whiter than death. A knife, bloody and wicked sharp, was on her dress.
“She did both arms,” Evan said from over my head in the next stall. “I’m coming in.”
I looked at her other arm, and it was cut as well, but not as deeply. Evan’s new hiking shoes landed on the toilet seat, and he leaned over and unlatched the stall door. Jumping over me, he pulled us both into the center of the ladies’ room, leaving a swash of blood across the slick marble. He took her other arm and applied pressure. Blood was everywhere.
In the stall, the water in the toilet was stained red, and the back wall over it was sprayed with crimson, as if she had waved her cut arms in the air. I saw an image of Eloise trying to cut the second arm while the first pumped wildly. I looked at her, her face and hair splattered with sticky gore. Evan reached behind him and grabbed the velvet throw, covering her with it.
Could I have stopped it? Should I have known? I recalled the sunset colors, the stunning dark red of a dying sun. Or the color of blood. How did one know the difference? Shouldn’t I have seen darkness, instead of blood? The darkness of depression, of self-immolation?
The outer door burst open and emergency workers entered, carrying a huge tool kit and a stretcher folded on its side. Chaos ensued and I was pushed to the wall, out of the way. I looked down at my hands. Blood was caked in the ridges and nails. I wondered if this whole awful scene had been taped in the van outside.
I watched in a state of suspended animation as the two workers in dark blue emergency uniforms stabilized Eloise, binding her elbows, taking her blood pressure, starting IVs, sticking wires to her chest to check her heartbeat, putting her on the stretcher. Once again, the conversation flowed around me, speculation, questions, answers, bits and pieces of the truth. I let them pass by like water around a boulder in a stream. Only one comment made me react.
Lopez and Evan were talking in undertones as Eloise was taken out the door on the stretcher. The room emptied, leaving us
three inside alone. Evan said, “The four were going to eat lunch, a business meeting.”
Four? I remembered the lunch container in the trash at Eloise’s desk, and something Rakes had said. “We’re being joined at luncheon by a local businessman and a visitor from Washington.”
“Which four?” I asked as I roused myself from a slump. “Who was going to eat lunch?” They turned and looked at me, propped against the wall, smeared with blood. I spared a glance at my reflection in the mirror. Yep. Pretty yucky. The crazy laugh tickled again, but I forced it away. “Who did Rakes say was eating lunch?” I repeated when neither responded.
Evan said, “You, the secretary, the victim and Rakes.”
“Eloise had already eaten. Her lunch container was in the trash. You probably have it on tape from when I went behind her desk. Rakes told me we were eating with a businessman, who I can presume to be Hornsburn, and a person from Washington.”
The two cops looked at one another and grinned. One said, “Oh, yeah.” The other said, “Gotcha,” a harmony of meaning. They disappeared from the room at a run. I looked at myself in the mirror again. My green silk suit was ruined. Instantly, I repented the thought. Colin Hornsburn had lost his life today. Eloise had nearly lost hers. The last thing I should be worried about was my clothes.
I should be worrying about who killed Hornsburn. If it wasn’t an employee, then someone had gotten inside. I hoped JRM’s security cameras were as good as Davie’s.
Tiredly, I pushed away from the wall and went to the sinks to begin the process of getting clean enough to drive myself home. I turned on the gold-plated faucet, the spigot in the shape of a rose, and put my hands under the warm water. Blood swirled into the basin and down the drain, the spiral a brutal shade, darker than the delicate pink marble sink.
A pile of wires and listening devices on the car seat beside me, I was maneuvering my Tracker over rutted snow around a mountain curve when my cell phone rang. I flipped it open. “Tyler.”
