Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  He smiled at that thought. No, actually he hadn’t. Or anything even close to it. All the other times he’d been unable to work because of Scout it had been a bad thing. This was very, very different. Wonderfully different. But all the same, just as distracting.

  He picked up the files he’d been looking at earlier. What were the odds, he wondered idly, of two young women walking out of the same house – twenty years apart – and just disappearing? It was strange. And he didn’t like strange.

  Even before the body this morning, he’d thought the chances were pretty good that Scout’s roommate had been killed. And given the fact that Lisa had been missing for twenty years, the chances were even better that her stepsister had met with a similar fate. But what evidence had there ever really been to support the theory that Lisa had run away in the first place?

  As far as he could tell from the reports he’d been reading, she hadn’t taken anything much with her. Okay, there was the letter. Apparently no one had thought to question the handwriting. The paper was hers... But did that make any sense? She ran out in a huff, too rushed to pack any clothes, but she grabbed a piece of stationery on the way?

  But if Lisa had not run away, he was left with two women who had simply disappeared, under mysterious but oddly similar circumstances, from the same house. Twenty years apart. If he assumed foul play, what would account for the gap?

  His blood ran cold, but he had to consider the most obvious connection. Scout’s absence coincided a little too well with the pattern he was positing. And reportedly, both women had been very upset with her shortly before they disappeared.

  Okay, that’s enough, he pushed the though away. Let’s just get a grip here. He pulled out a notepad and began to make a list of any extraneous events that could be connected to these two disappearances. What events had surrounded Lisa Larson’s disappearance? She had a fight with her sister, her math teacher was strangled, several of the woman’s students – including Lisa and two of her friends – had been accused of cheating, her stepfather was killed in a car accident, and her stepsister left town.

  Twenty years later, Caroline Larson dies, apparently of natural causes, the stepsister comes back to town and another young woman disappears. He was conscious of an intense feeling of frustration. He couldn’t see it. He was sure he was onto something, but he just... couldn’t... see it yet.

  Gil Patterson and Caroline Larson. Could their deaths be connected? A stroke and a car accident? Nothing there. Except, of course, one death precipitated Scout’s departure and the other her return..

  He remembered the last time he’d seen Caroline, standing at the door of her house, facing him down, wary and defiant.

  But why?

  You’ll never find her, she had insisted. Why had that been so important? Why had she felt she’d needed to send Scout someplace safe?

  Just whose safety had she been thinking about, anyway?

  * * *

  Scout sat on the terrace and soaked up the sun. It felt good just to sit. The water tinkled pleasantly in the fountain. The gentle murmur of conversation blended nicely with the music wafting from speakers hidden throughout the garden. And she thought she had gotten a nice little buzz from the herbs in the tea Marsha had served her.

  “How are you feeling?” Marsha asked, sitting down across from her. “Things settling down a bit?”

  “How am I feeling?” Scout shook her head. “Right now I’ve got so many feelings I don’t know how to answer that. But it’s good, you know? At least, I think it’s good.”

  “Do you mind telling me what happened?” Marsha peered at her curiously. “I’m not just being nosy. But I can tell something is different about you this morning.”

  “Can you?” Scout smiled, but there were tears glimmering in her eyes. “Gee Marsha, maybe you are psychic, after all. I don’t know what to tell you, though. I was with Nick yesterday and we finally – Oh, but it was more than that, really.”

  “More than what?”

  “I don’t know if I can even explain it, Marsha,” she said, looking bemused. “We made love and it was everything I knew it would be. But there was more to it than just sex. I know it sounds stupid... but I feel kind of like, like I just got my soul back. Or something.”

  “Yes! Yes. I knew it!” Marsha crowed.

  Scout paled. Without warning, her emotions shifted from elation to fear, from surprise to horror. Her pleasant buzz morphing into panic. “Marsha, what do you know?”

  “Here,” Marsha thrust a cup of tea in her hands. “Drink. Take deep breaths. It’ll be okay. Better now?”

  “I’ll be better when you tell me what you’re talking about,” Scout said tightly.

  “Well, it’s only a theory, you understand. But there are times when we disassociate from parts of our self, from our memories. Usually it’s the result of trauma; events that are too painful to face. It’s like our soul shatters, almost. And it doesn’t have to be an instantaneous thing, either. It could be something that happens slowly, over time. But the results are the same. We become crippled emotionally.” Marsha shrugged. “Of course, there are various ways of dealing with it. There’s a very specific Shamanic method, for example, involving trance journeys and special soul-catching crystals, known as Soul Retrieval.”

  Oh, God. “Marsha, you didn’t.”

  “No! No, I didn’t do anything. I don’t think anyone did. I think it was spontaneous. Not that I’ve ever heard of that sort of thing happening before but – Well, here you are. And whatever it was, I certainly didn’t have anything to do with it. I swear!”

  Scout slumped back in her chair. “Okay. So? What do I do now?”

  Marsha smiled. “How the hell should I know? It seems to me you already did everything you needed to do. Don’t be scared, Scout. This is a good thing. Just give yourself some time to get used to it, is all. A couple of weeks, maybe a month at the most, and you’ll be fine. Why don’t you relax here a little while longer and let me I finish up inside? Then we’ll go see about your dog. But before we do that – let’s take a look at those tea leaves.”

  Back to Top

  * * * *

  Chapter Twenty Six

  * * * *

  Nick tossed the file he’d been reading onto his desk. He was too close to this, damn it. That was the problem. Either he was imagining a connection where none existed or else there was some variable he was still missing. And there had to be something missing, because otherwise—

  Once more, he fought down the urge to pick up the phone. He was not going to call her.

  Because you know she wasn’t involved, a voice inside his head insisted. To which another voice replied, because you know you’ll believe whatever lie she decides to tell you.

  He was still staring moodily at the phone when he heard the knock on his office door.

  “Hey there, Nick. Long time no see.” Paige Delaney lounged in the doorway, a winning smile on her face. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “I’ve never known you to wait around for an invitation before, Paige,” he answered, aware of the undercurrent of tension that moved into the room along with her. She was after something. But when it came to Paige, that was a given.

  He and Paige had dated for several months. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that she never did anything without there being a good reason for it. It had been obvious, right from the start, that she was only involved with him because she wanted an inside track when it came to police information, but that was fine by him. His own involvement had been equally predatory and shallow and he had no objection to a little quid pro quo. Besides, after what he’d just gone through with Lauren, it had been a relief to be with someone he didn’t have to pretend to care about.

  “Are you busy? I had some questions I wanted to ask you.” Paige had taken the chair on the other side of his desk. As she sat forward eagerly, he had to fight the absurd impulse to cover the notes he’d been making.

  He smiled at her wryly. “I’m always bus
y, Paige. Remember?” His preoccupation with his job was a popular refrain with the women in his life. And in the end, even Paige – every bit as hopeless a workaholic as he – had not been able to resist the urge to sing it. “What is it you want to know?”

  “Missing person. Name of Robyn Smith. What d’you know about her?”

  Direct and to the point. Classic Paige. “Well, I know she’s missing.” Nick leaned back in his chair and watched her through narrowed eyes. Must be a slow news day, if she couldn’t dig up anything more interesting than this to grill him about.

  “Yeah, thanks. That’s real helpful. C’mon, Nick, level with me. I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time out there all week, investigating the scene. Rumor has it you even canceled your vacation. We both know you don’t handle routine disappearances. I figure you must be onto something a whole lot bigger. So what is it?”

  Alarms began ringing all up and down Nick’s mind as he realized how his actions could have been misconstrued. Shit. He’d pretty much been staking out Scout’s house since Monday. As luck would have it, the same day Robyn decided to disappear. He must have been crazy thinking that would go unnoticed. The question was – who had done the noticing?

  “You figured wrong this time, Paige. I haven’t been investigating anything there. Just visiting an old friend.”

  “Oh, really?” Paige’s dark gray eyes lit up with an even more proprietary interest. “Who would that be, I wonder?” She paused expectantly, and when he didn’t respond, she continued thoughtfully, “I don’t know, Nick, this isn’t like you. There’s something you’re not telling me. It certainly is an interesting set-up over there though, huh? A missing person, an unexpected death, lots of money changing hands. There’s gotta be some story in it. The old lady who was living there—”

  “Was an old lady, Paige. She died. It happens. Natural causes.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But she wasn’t all that old, and she left an awful lot of money behind. It’d sure be interesting to know if that has anything to do with the missing girl?”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what any of it is about right now, Paige.” He sighed as he reached for his cigarettes. “But somehow, I kinda doubt that it’s got anything to do with the money.” He searched in his desk drawer for a lighter, and then took his time lighting up.

  “I got nothing for you on this, Paige. It’s early yet. I tell you what, though – you got any friends over on the Bartolo force? I hear they just pulled a body off the beach last night. It may turn out to be our missing person, or it may not. Either way, it’s more of a story than anything I can give you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, thanks, Nick. I’ll check it out.” Paige leaned across his desk so that he could light her cigarette as well. Then she sat back again and studied him carefully for a moment in silence. “So, uh, what gives? I thought you’d quit smoking?”

  “Yeah, I did.” He closed his eyes, using the hand that held his cigarette to massage the bridge of his nose. Smoke drifted lazily across his face. “Several times now. But you know what they say; old habits die hard.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Paige said as she stood up to leave. “And old sins cast long shadows, and old dogs can’t learn new tricks. And much as I’d like to sit here ‘til we’re both old and gray, trading clichés with you, I’ve got a story to track down. I’ll see you around, Nick.”

  “See ya, Paige.”

  As he watched her go, Nick couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take her to make some of the same connections he had made. Knowing Paige as well as he did, not too long at all.

  * * *

  “What’s wrong with her?” Scout stared through the mirrored glass window of the kennel where her dog lay in a miserable, crumpled heap. She could tell she was hurt just by the way she lay there. She tried to picture how she should be lying. How healthy dogs – normal dogs – looked, but she couldn’t. She looked at her and saw the wrongness, but she didn’t know what it was.

  “Well, as far as I can tell, she was hit by a car, and then dragged for some distance.” The veterinarian told them. “And that’s what did most of the damage. But the head injury, that’s a little different... apparently someone took a shot at her.”

  The room spun. She was going to be sick. “Oh, my God. What kind of person would do something like that? Who’d want to shoot my dog?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, it’s possible, I suppose, that the person who hit her was just trying to put her out of her misery. Luckily, he botched that, too.”

  “Is she—”

  “Her pelvis was broken, and one of her legs... there’s been some tissue damage and she lost a lot of blood, of course. But she’ll recover. I’d like to keep her here for another week or so.”

  “Can I see her? I mean, can I go in there with her?” Can I hold her? Can I tell her I’m sorry?

  “It would be better if you didn’t,” she said gently. “If she saw you, she’d probably try to get up and it’s much better if she stays quiet now. I’m sorry.”

  “Come on, Scout,” Marsha said, sounding miserable. “There’s nothing else we can do for her right now. Let’s go. We’ll check on Celeste and then maybe get some lunch. It’ll be okay.”

  “All right.” Scout nodded. Someone hurt my dog. Someone shot my dog. Someone hit her with a car!

  My dog. She’d never wanted a dog, but it seemed she had one after all. And she had been hurt. Someone had hurt her dog.

  And what about Robyn? How did she fit in with this? “Did he... did the man who brought her in say anything about... was there any sign of—” She stopped, unsure how to go on.

  “A friend of ours had taken the dog for a walk; apparently that’s when she was injured,” Marsha explained. “We haven’t seen either of them since then. I guess we’re wondering if there was any sign that maybe she, our friend ... I mean, had been hurt, as well?”

  “Oh my goodness.” The doctor stared, looking alarmed. “I had no idea. I can give you Mr. Rachett’s phone number, but I presume the police have already been notified?”

  “Oh, yeah. They know,” Scout said quietly.

  “Oh. Well, then. I guess... Give me a call in a couple of days and I’ll give you an update.” As they passed back into the waiting room, she asked, “Oh, by the way, you never mentioned. What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Sara,” Scout replied, without stopping to think. “Her name is Sara.”

  * * *

  “Sara, huh?” Marsha echoed curiously as they crossed the parking lot toward her van. “Interesting. Where did that come from? When did you decide to name her?”

  “I didn’t decide anything.” Scout answered, not knowing how it could be so, but knowing it to be true. “That’s just her name.”

  “Well, good then. Cool.” Marsha smiled as she pulled the car door open. “I’m glad you finally got that settled. Now, let’s go see about Celeste.”

  As they headed out toward Celeste’s cabin in Hidden Canyon, Marsha cast a quick glance at Scout’s face. She seemed to be handling the news about Sara pretty well. But shit. Who could have guessed the dog had been shot? This was one of those times when her wonderful intuition had really let her down. It would’ve been nice to have had a little advance warning. At least Sara was still alive.

  She considered the dog for a few more minutes, wondering again whether there was any connection between it and the dog she’d seen in Scout’s teacup that morning.

  Depending on where it was located in the cup, a dog meant either a faithful friend, or a secret enemy. But the problem with interpreting symbols was that sometimes a dog was just a dog. Which might very well be the case this time around.

  And, of course, the same could be said for the bear she had seen in there as well. It could indicate either healing, or a journey. But then again, it could have a more personal meaning.

  If only Celeste had been there. She was the best tea leaf reader Marsha had ever known. But what sense would Celeste have been able to make of the figure th
at could have been either a knife or a dagger? She was almost certain herself that it was a dagger, which would indicate a friend would shortly do Scout a favor. A knife, on the other hand, suggested that disaster could result from a quarrel.

  However, given Scout’s weird mood and peculiar talents, as well as their shared history, there was a pretty good chance that Scout’s subconscious, which was responsible for the symbols in the cup, had been picking up cues from Marsha’s mind. She certainly had been worried enough, these past few days, about those knives of Celeste’s. Nobody just happened to have spare athames and bollines on hand for no good reason.

  Scout was still staring moodily out the window. “How’re you doing?” Marsha asked her softly.

  “Ohh, okay.” Scout flashed a brief smile and continued. “Really Marsha, I’m fine. I think I’ve even gotten over my insomnia. Looks like I might not be needing to borrow your van again, after all.”

  “Borrow my van?” Marsha asked, perplexed.

  “To sleep in. Didn’t Lucy tell you? I told her to. You really did me a favor Sunday, making me get some sleep. I owe you one.”

  “A favor, huh? Hmph. Well, listen, are you hungry yet? We could stop for lunch on the way, if you wanted.”

  “I don’t know. No, let’s just go see about Celeste, okay? I know you must be worried about her.”

  Worried? Yes, she was worried about Celeste; very worried, indeed. But at this particular moment she was more worried about Scout.

  True to the condition Scout had set, she had given her only the good news she’d seen in her teacup. She’d told her about the chair and the apple tree and the castle – symbolizing an addition to the family, a change for the better and a legacy.

  And she’d made no mention at all of clouds or unicorns. Or coffins.

  * * *

  Nick groaned when he heard the second knock on his office door. He steeled himself for another confrontation.

  “What are you doing here, Luce?” he asked, feeling at once relieved and just a little perplexed by the fact that his cousin was smiling.