St Helens 01 Amaryllis

by Jayne Castle

  The first long-distance voyages through St. Helens's uncharted seas had been undertaken during that era. Enthusiasm, optimism, and expectations had run high, and the mood of the times had been reflected in the soaring architectural styles.

  Amaryllis eyed the elaborate waterfall of steps that led to the heavily carved front doors. This was Lucas's home. She had never envisioned him living in such a fantastical creation. And yet, in some strange manner, it suited him. He was a man apart, and his residence was definitely apart from the ordinary, too.

  "How do you find the time to take care of this place?" Amaryllis asked.

  He smiled fleetingly. "I don't. I pay people to do it. A team of gardeners handles the outside, and I have a staff of housekeepers who come in during the day."

  Amaryllis blushed at her naiveté. "I keep forgetting you're rich." She cleared her throat. "I'm surprised someone hasn't tried to get you to open the house and grounds for guided tours."

  "The Preservation Society made a stab at it. You know what those folks are like. Anything over fifty years old is an historical monument to them. I told them that if the bottom ever fell out of the jelly-ice business, I'd contact them and we'd talk about paid tours then."

  Silence fell.

  "I should go home," Amaryllis finally said. "I have to do some thinking."

  "About Gifford Osterley?"

  She froze. "You saw his name on the calendar?"

  "I grew up in a jungle, remember?" His smile held little humor. In the shadows his eyes gleamed with watchful speculation. "I was trained to be observant at an early age."

  "Naturally." She couldn't think of anything to say.

  Lucas opened the Icer's door. "Come inside, Amaryllis. I think we'd better talk."

  "I don't know why his name was on Professor Landreth's calendar." Amaryllis paced back and forth across the high-ceilinged, old-fashioned living room. "I can't even come up with a likely explanation. According to my friends in the department, Gifford and Landreth had a major confrontation a couple of months ago. Gifford handed in his resignation because of it. Lucas, there are so many questions."

  "Here." Lucas thrust a small glass into her hand. "Drink this."

  Amaryllis frowned at the dark, intensely aromatic liqueur. "What is it?"

  "Moontree brandy."

  She hastily clutched the glass with both hands. "Good heavens, that must have cost a fortune."

  Lucas's mouth curved faintly. "Don't worry, I save it for special occasions."

  "Oh." She sniffed cautiously at the exotic brandy. "Well, thank you. You really shouldn't have."

  Moontree brandy was a near-legendary liqueur, so far as Amaryllis was concerned. Certainly no one back home in Lower Bellevue ever had a bottle of it stashed in a cupboard. The production of the brandy was extremely limited because the tree produced fruit only on the rare occasions when both Chelan and Yakima were in total eclipse.

  The botanists had not yet been able to explain the exact nature of the synergistic reaction between the eclipsed moons and the tree. All attempts to grow the moontree under controlled conditions had failed.

  "Sip slowly," Lucas advised. "The stuff has a kick."

  "So I've heard." Amaryllis took a tiny taste—and promptly gasped for breath as a fierce rush of heat filled her mouth. The heady warmth was immediately followed by an equally luscious sweetness.

  Lucas leaned back against a table and crossed one ankle over the other. "Like it?"

  "It's . .. interesting." Amaryllis resumed her pacing.

  "You're going to talk to Osterley, aren't you?"

  Amaryllis stopped in front of the window. She looked out into the eerie garden. "Yes."

  "I don't suppose it will do any good to tell you that I don't think that's a real bright idea."

  "I have to talk to him, Lucas."

  "Why?"

  "Because he may have been the last person Professor Landreth spoke with before he died."

  There was a clink as Lucas set his brandy glass down on the table. He crossed the room and came to stand behind Amaryllis. "This has gone far enough. Stay out of it. It's not your job to investigate Landreth's death."

  "I can't stop now," she whispered. "Ever since I sensed that prism working with Sheffield, I've had a nasty feeling about this whole situation. Call it prism intuition."

  "I prefer to call it a lack of common sense. I've said it once, and I know it probably won't do any good, but I'll say it again. Talk to the cops if you really believe that Landreth's accident needs more investigation."

  "I can't go to the police until I have something substantial to give them."

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. "Are you sure there isn't another reason why you don't want to talk to the authorities?"

  "What are you implying?"

  "I think you want answers. But I'm beginning to wonder if you're afraid of what you'll discover. Are you worried that someone you know might be involved in this?"

  "Do you really think that I'd avoid going to the authorities in order to protect someone?"

  "If you cared about that person, yes." Lucas framed her face with his hands. His thumbs moved along the line of her jaw. "I think your sense of loyalty is even stronger than your sense of professional responsibility."

  "This is not your problem, Lucas."

  "The hell it isn't." He covered her mouth with his own before she could protest.

  The following morning Amaryllis was ushered into Gifford's plush offices. At the sight of her, he rose politely from behind his desk.

  "Hello, Amaryllis. This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you to Unique Prisms? Looking for a job?"

  "No. This is a private matter."

  "Interesting." Gifford motioned toward a chair. "Please, sit down."

  "Thank you." Amaryllis studied him covertly as she took the chair.

  She had always considered Gifford a handsome man, and nothing had changed in his physical appearance during the past six months. But for some reason, he no longer seemed nearly as attractive as he once had. There was an aura of weakness about his well-chiseled features, a languid, self-indulgent quality that she had not been conscious of when she worked at the university.

  Perhaps she had been too much in awe of his research accomplishments in the old days, she reflected. Next to Professor Landreth, Gifford had been the most esteemed scholar in the entire department. No one could dispute his academic abilities.

  His eyes were a riveting shade of blue. He had taken to wearing his light brown hair in the Western Islands style. It was tied at the nape of his neck with a strip of black ribbon. Amaryllis was beginning to think that Lucas was the only man in New Seattle who didn't wear his hair in the new fashion.

  She had to admit that Gifford was in excellent shape, perhaps even leaner than when she had last seen him. She wondered if he still played golf-tennis on a regular basis. She glanced at his well-manicured hands and noticed that they also appeared soft. The only calluses Gifford had ever known were the ones he got from his golf-tennis racket.

  My, she was getting picky these days, she thought wryly. There was a time when she would have found his hands attractive.

  The biggest difference in his appearance was his attire. Gone was the slouchy jacket, the denim trousers, and the running shoes that were de rigueur among faculty members at the university. Today Gifford was a model of executive style in a silver gray suit and a pale gray shirt. A red bow tie added just the right note of whimsical, rakish elegance.

  Amaryllis smiled. "You're dressing better these days, Gifford."

  "I can afford it."

  Amaryllis glanced around at her surroundings. The office complemented the man. A pale gray carpet and sleek black furnishings comprised a suitable backdrop to the power suit. Red flowers in a red vase provided an exclamation point to the room. The dramatic effect was not unlike that of the red bow tie on Gifford's silver gray suit.

  "Congratulations." Amaryllis settled into the expensive o
ffice chair. "I take it business is good?"

  "Very good." Gifford chuckled as he resumed his seat. "I don't miss academia, that's for sure. Should have left the faculty years ago. Don't know why I waited so long. What can I do for you, Amaryllis?"

  "I'll come straight to the point. Did you see Professor Landreth the day of his death?"

  Gifford blinked, clearly startled, then his expression grew thoughtful. "That's an odd question. Why do you want to know?"

  "Last Friday night I got a phone call. Anonymous. The caller implied that there was some mystery surrounding Professor Landreth. I decided to look into the matter."

  "Since when do you do security work? That sounds like a job for the cops."

  "Their investigation turned up no indication of foul play."

  "Most likely because there wasn't any foul play," Gifford muttered. "The only one who might think there was something suspicious about Landreth's death was his secretary. Irene Dunley had a crush on him for years. She's probably having a tough time accepting the fact that he's gone."

  It was Amaryllis's turn to blink. "I know Mrs. Dunley was very loyal to Professor Landreth. Fond of him, even. But what makes you think that she was in love with him?"

  Gifford grimaced. "I walked into her office one day right after you left the faculty. She was in tears. She had just learned that Landreth had some kind of standing appointment with a sleazy syn-sex stripper who works in a club in Founders Square. I think she had found a note about one of his appointments and had been curious enough to call the number. You know what they say about curiosity."

  Amaryllis was speechless.

  Gifford was amused. "What's the matter? Can't imagine old Landreth with a syn-sex stripper? Don't you know that the prudish, straitlaced types always turn out to have the most interesting tastes when it comes to sex?" His mouth twisted. "Present company excepted, of course."

  Amaryllis kept her shoulders very straight. She would not allow herself to be embarrassed by Gifford. He was the one who should have been ashamed of himself. "Will you please answer my question? Did you see Professor Landreth that day?"

  "It's none of your business, but the answer is no, I did not see him."

  "According to his calendar, he had an appointment with you for three o'clock."

  "Did Mrs. Dunley tell you that?"

  "No. I saw the calendar entry myself. Your name was written in Professor Landreth's own hand."

  "Was it? I can't imagine why. He and I had absolutely nothing to say to each other. In case you didn't hear about it, the two of us nearly came to blows a couple of months ago. I resigned my position in the department because of that old bastard."

  "Why did you dislike him so much?"

  "Are you kidding?" Gifford raised his eyes toward the ceiling. "Let me count the ways. Landreth may have been a good researcher at one time, but he had been past his prime for years. He refused to move with the times. His methods were antiquated, to say the least. He wouldn't allow even minor changes in the way things were done in the department. And he was obsessed with his damned professional standards."

  "He had every right to be obsessed with standards," Amaryllis retorted. "Professor Landreth virtually wrote the Code of Focus Ethics. He was almost single-handedly responsible for raising our profession to its present high regard. Why, if it hadn't been for him, you probably wouldn't be sitting behind that desk in this plush office."

  Gifford shook his head. "You haven't changed a bit, have you. Pity. I would have thought that six months in the real world would have polished off some of the prissy naiveté."

  Amaryllis clutched her purse tightly and stood. "You're certain you didn't see Professor Landreth the day he died?"

  "Positive. Believe me, I would have gone out of my way to avoid a meeting with the old coot. He was the last man on St. Helens I wanted to see."

  The world seemed to be full of people who had never cared for Jonathan Landreth. Amaryllis turned without a word and strode to the door.

  "Amaryllis?"

  She paused, one hand on the knob. "Yes?"

  "I saw your picture in the paper. You were with Lucas Trent at the museum reception last Thursday night."

  "What about it?"

  Gifford gave her a knowing look. "I'm assuming it wasn't an agency date, although that was the implication. You and Trent aren't a very likely pair. So it must have been business. Were you focusing for him that night?"

  "I don't discuss clients."

  "So it was business." Gifford nodded, apparently satisfied. "I thought as much. Word has it that Trent is a class nine, but the poor guy's just a detector. What was it, some kind of security matter?"

  "I said, I don't discuss business."

  Gifford gave her a goading smile. "Did he suspect that some arch criminal talent was plotting to steal those artifacts he discovered? Or was it closer to home? I hear one of his vice presidents just left the company with no notice. Someone named Miranda Locking."

  No one had ever said that Gifford was stupid, Amaryllis reminded herself. "You're awfully well informed."

  "I make it a point to be informed," Gifford said softly. "It's good for business."

  "Excuse me. I've got another appointment." Amaryllis opened the door.

  "One more thing, Amaryllis. If you ever decide that you want to make some real money in the focus game, you're welcome to apply for a position here at Unique Prisms. I pay top dollar. You can make as much money in six months working for me as you'll make with Clementine Malone in a year."

  Logic and intuition came together in a flash of understanding. "It was one of your people who was working with Senator Sheffield the night of the reception, wasn't it?"

  "How did you know about Sheffield?" Gifford's eyes narrowed. "Did Trent use his talent to spy on him?"

  "I learned about Senator Sheffield's talent quite by accident." She could be cool and obscure, too, Amaryllis thought. "He's strong, isn't he? A class ten?"

  "Who knows? He refuses to be tested." Gifford's smile came and went. "Claims it's an invasion of privacy. Says the founders would never have tolerated such a blatant intrusion on the rights of the individual."

  "So, it was one of your people holding the focus for him that night. That explains a few things."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I knew I recognized the prism's style and technique," Amaryllis said. "I thought at first that it must have been someone Professor Landreth had trained, but it could just as well have been someone you trained. Your techniques would have a signature very similar to Landreth's because Landreth trained you."

  "You know, Amaryllis, you really should consider my offer of a job. We run a very exclusive service here at Unique Prisms. We're highly selective when it comes to our clients."

  "Selective?" Amaryllis asked coldly. "Or unethical?"

  Gifford gave her an inquiring look. "Are you accusing me of not upholding the code, my dear Amaryllis? I'm deeply wounded."

  "One of your prisms helped Sheffield focus charisma the other night."

  "Everyone knows that charisma is not a psychic talent. Just a personality trait." Gifford spread his hands. "What can I say? Sheffield has terrific voter appeal."

  "You can call it anything you like. All I know is that Sheffield is a powerful talent. He may very well have been using that talent to get campaign contributions."

  "So? That's what politicians do."

  "He burned out his prism, Gifford. Doesn't that bother you at all?"

  "There are risks in every business. Prism burnout is a short-term problem."

  "Focusing a talent with the intent to defraud is not just unethical, it's illegal."

  Gifford's smile did not reach his eyes. "I repeat, charisma is not a talent. It's not listed in any professional directory of talents. It has never been documented as a psychic ability. It's just a personality trait. Rather like your prissy views on sex and prism ethics."

  Amaryllis flushed. "I think I understand why you and Professor Landreth neve
r got along very well, Gifford. Professor Landreth, after all, was a gentleman."

  "Such a gentleman that he kept a weekly standing appointment with a syn-sex stripper?"

  Amaryllis went out the door and closed it quietly behind herself.

  Chapter 10

  "Well, dear," Hannah said on the other end of the phone, "I think that wraps up the personal characteristics section of the questionnaire. I must say, you've become terribly specific about what you want in a husband."

  Amaryllis fiddled with her desk pen and studied the notes she had made on a sheet of paper. "The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had some definite preferences, Aunt Hannah."

  "Let me see if I've got it all right. Dark hair, gray eyes, mid-thirties, successful entrepreneur, small-town or rural background, university degree. You want a man with some knowledge of hand-to-hand fighting skills. Someone who is not afraid to take a few chances." Hannah paused. "Oh, yes, one who is a conservative dresser."

  "I think that about sums it up, Aunt Hannah."

  "Picky, picky, picky," Hannah muttered. "Very well, I've filled out the rest of the questionnaire for you, so we're finished with the initial phase of the process. Your great-aunt Sophy gave me a hand with some of it."

  A small degree of relief went through Amaryllis at that news. "Great-aunt Sophy knows me well."

  "She's the one who told me not to worry too much about how choosy you've suddenly become," Hannah said dryly. "She said it was a positive sign. She thinks it means that you're starting to take a more active interest in this whole process."

  Amaryllis smiled in spite of her mood. Great-aunt Sophy could always be counted upon to throw a different light on the subject. A memory flickered in the back of her mind. It dated from her seventh year.

  It had been a hot summer day. Lower Bellevue had been baking in relentless sunshine for nearly a month. Sophy had taken Amaryllis and a young companion named Linda into town. The girls had gone into the ice cream parlor to purchase cones while Sophy had done some banking next door.