St Helens 01 Amaryllis

by Jayne Castle

  "Not as excited as they're going to be when I tell them that I'm getting married," Amaryllis murmured.

  Byron's head snapped up abruptly. "You've been matched already?"

  Clementine looked thoughtful. "Not likely. There hasn't been enough time for the agency to find a good selection of candidates for you. What are you up to, Amaryllis?"

  Amaryllis braced herself. This was only the beginning, she thought. It would get worse before it got better. No one approved of runaway marriages. "I'm going to marry Lucas."

  "Trent?" Clementine's jaw dropped. "Are you crazy? He's a class nine."

  Byron's eyes widened. "Holy synergy. What will your family say?"

  "I'll find out tomorrow," Amaryllis said.

  Clementine propped one hip on Byron's desk and crossed her arms. She regarded Amaryllis with troubled eyes. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

  "Yes."

  Clementine cleared her throat. "Passion is a tricky thing. I hope you're not making the mistake of thinking that it's always linked to love. Marriage is forever, you know. You don't want to take any risks—"

  The office door opened before Clementine could finish her lecture. Grateful for the interruption, Amaryllis turned to see who had entered. She stifled a small sigh when she saw Gifford.

  "Good morning." Gifford was dressed in his customary silver gray suit, but his red bow tie appeared a little wilted. He nodded stiffly to Clementine, ignored Byron, and turned immediately to Amaryllis. "I've got to talk to you."

  Amaryllis took a sip of coff-tea. "The last time you said that, you stuck me in the back of a limousine with a murderer."

  "What's this?" Clementine gave Gifford a sharp look.

  "Never mind," Amaryllis said. "It's a long story. Come into my office, Gifford."

  Clementine glowered ferociously at Gifford. "Touch her and you're a dead man."

  Gifford tugged slightly at his drooping bow tie. "I just want to talk to her, Clementine. It's personal. Not business. Don't worry, I won't steal her away from you."

  "He knows I would never go to work for Unique Prisms," Amaryllis said.

  Clementine favored Gifford with a steely smile. "Damn right, she wouldn't. Amaryllis has standards, unlike some people we could mention. She prefers to be employed by a reputable agency."

  Gifford flushed and hurried past the reception desk. He followed Amaryllis into her office and closed the door with a groan of relief.

  "Synergistic hell, Amaryllis, how can you stand working for an eccentric character like Clementine Malone? I can see you at Proud Focus, maybe, or even True Focus, but not this place. Malone has all the social graces of an alley cat-dog. And her taste in clothes is abominable. Worse than yours."

  "I'm quite content here, Gifford. As Clementine said, I prefer a reputable agency."

  "Reputable. Give me a break." Gifford rolled his eyes as he sat down in the nearest chair. "Clementine Malone can be difficult, but she is a businesswoman, I'll say that much for her. If Madison Sheffield had walked into this office looking for a prism, I have a strong hunch Malone would have found one for him."

  "I disagree," Amaryllis said firmly. "Clementine runs an ethical business." She went behind her desk, sat down, and folded her hands on the neat, polished surface in front of her. "Now, what was it you wanted, Gifford?"

  "The cops were waiting for me when I got to my office this morning."

  "I'm not surprised. They probably wanted to ask you a few questions about your association with Sheffield."

  "That's putting it mildly. They grilled me." Gifford's mouth tightened. "I had to do a lot of explaining. I hope you realize that this mess could really hurt me. I've got my reputation to consider. Unique Prisms has found a very special market niche. We guarantee discretion. This kind of publicity is not good for business."

  Amaryllis felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry you got dragged into it."

  "So am I," Gifford said with great depth of feeling. "Why the hell did you have to get involved in an investigation of Landreth's death?"

  "I did what I felt I had to do. Questions arose and had to be answered."

  "Only you would give a damn about the answers. Landreth was an obnoxious old busybody. Nobody liked him."

  "I liked him. And so did his secretary, Irene Dunley."

  "Well, let me tell you, the two of you are probably the only people on St. Helens who cared about the old bastard."

  "Gifford, the man died under mysterious circumstances. Last night a woman was murdered. You can't just ignore these things because the publicity might be bad for business."

  "We pay the police to look into this kind of stuff, not nosy little prisms who think they have to personally see to matters of truth, justice, and the St. Helens way."

  Amaryllis sighed. "If you came here to argue synergistic ethics with me, I'm afraid you've wasted your time."

  "That's not why I came here." Gifford got to his feet and began to move restlessly around the small office. "I want to ask a favor."

  "What sort of favor?"

  "I told the cops the basic truth about my connection with Sheffield. I said I provided him with prisms. I told them that Sheffield had not provided a certification of talent, but that I only hired full-spectrum prisms, so I assumed there would be no risk to any of my employees. How was I to know that he would start burning them out?"

  "Indeed."

  "Hell, that's not the point. The police aren't particularly interested in whether or not Sheffield was properly matched with the prisms he hired. It's not a crime to burn out a prism."

  "True. But it's not very pleasant for the prism."

  "But no permanent damage is done," Gifford insisted. "And no one is sure just what Sheffield was focusing, anyway. Even the prisms he worked with have a hard time describing his talent. Personality traits aren't psychic powers."

  "I don't know about that," Amaryllis mused. "Do you recall how Professor Landreth once theorized that strong personality traits might be manifestations of psychic energy?"

  "Please." Gifford held up a palm. "Don't mention Landreth's name to me. The point is, I'm an innocent victim in this situation."

  "Innocent?"

  "Not only innocent but a damn good citizen. I was trying to help the Founders' Values candidate. The man who would have been the people's choice for governor. Sheffield was a city-state senator who had refused testing on principle. Why should I doubt his word when he told me that he estimated his own strength at around a class nine?"

  "Gifford, I don't think there's much point in this conversation. Perhaps you had better leave. I've got work to do and I'm sure you do, too."

  "No, wait, I'm not finished." Gifford jerked at the knot of the red bow tie. "Look, Amaryllis, I'll level with you. I told the cops the truth this morning, I swear it. I provided Sheffield with qualified prisms. That was my only connection to him. I'm asking you as my friend and former professional colleague not to drag me any deeper into this thing."

  For some reason, perhaps because she truly did bear some responsibility for involving him in the situation, Amaryllis felt another twinge of guilt. "I have no intention of doing that."

  Gifford spun around, hope in his eyes. "What about Landreth's calendar? You said that the last entry indicated he had made an appointment with me. Remember? That was how you got me into this mess in the first place."

  "Oh, yes, the calendar entry." Amaryllis frowned. "Well, I think that's neither here nor there now."

  "The police said it looks like Sheffield murdered the stripper because she tried to blackmail him using the information in Landreth's file," Gifford said impatiently. "But they're also going to look into the report on Landreth's accident. I'd just as soon not have the cops find out that my name was the last entry in the old coot's calendar."

  "Why are you so worried?"

  "I'm just asking you not to bring up the subject, okay? I'd like to keep my name out of the investigation as much as possible. Damn it, is that too much to ask?"

 
; "Stop whining, Gifford. If it makes you feel any better, I have no intention of mentioning Professor Landreth's calendar to the police." There was no reason to do so. Gifford was not the murderer.

  "Thanks." Gifford's relief transformed his features. Even his red bow tie appeared a little perkier. He crossed the office in three strides, came around behind the desk, and hoisted Amaryllis to her feet. "I'll owe you for this. If you ever need a job, come see me. Got that?"

  "I don't expect that will be necessary."

  "And I'm sorry about the way you found me with that little blond talent that day in the lab. She meant nothing. Absolutely nothing."

  "Yes, well, that's in the past now, Gifford. I don't—"

  "You were too good for me, darling. Don't you understand? That's why our relationship fell apart. I felt I couldn't live up to your high standards. The pressure was just too much."

  Amaryllis reflected briefly on all that had happened during the past couple of weeks. She had broken into the offices of her former employer, gone to a syn-sex nightclub, visited a stripper, begun an affair with an unsuitable talent, nearly gotten herself killed, and now she was preparing for a runaway marriage. Life had certainly changed recently.

  "Actually, my standards aren't quite what they used to be," Amaryllis said.

  Lucas spoke from the doorway. "They're still way too high for you, Osterley, so don't get any ideas."

  Gifford released Amaryllis as if she had suddenly turned red hot under his hands. "Trent. What are you doing here?"

  "I came to see my fiancée."

  "Fiancée?" Gifford looked thunderstruck.

  "Yeah. I know you can't wait to congratulate us."

  "But you're a talent. A big one. She's a full-spectrum prism. There's no way any marriage agency would match the two of you."

  "Who said anything about going through an agency?" Lucas asked.

  Gifford's mouth opened and closed several times. He stared at Amaryllis. "I don't believe it. A nonagency marriage? You?"

  Amaryllis smiled very sweetly. "Sort of makes synergistic hash out of everything you've ever taken for granted about me, doesn't it, Gifford? I'm afraid I'm not the woman I used to be."

  "Comes from hanging out with bad company," Lucas explained. "I on the other hand, have become extremely narrow-minded in recent days. One might even call me a straitlaced prude. For example, I don't like finding my fiancée in another man's arms."

  "I was just having a little chat."

  "Get out of here, Osterley, before I get really annoyed."

  Gifford did not hesitate. He walked quickly toward the door. "Amaryllis and I were simply discussing some private business," he muttered as he went past Lucas. "Nothing of an intimate nature occurred, I assure you."

  Lucas did not bother to respond. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded Amaryllis with grave interest. "I wonder if you'd care to demonstrate a few of your newly lowered standards."

  "What did you have in mind?"

  Lucas straightened, closed the door, and locked it. "We once discussed the propriety of making love on a desk."

  Amaryllis's mouth went dry. "Did we?"

  "Yeah. My memory is real clear on the subject." Lucas walked toward her.

  "Clementine will wonder what's happening in here."

  "Your boss and I had a short conversation a few minutes ago. She said you had the day off in order to recover from your traumatic experiences last night."

  "Yes, I do." Amaryllis watched, fascinated, as Lucas's hands went to the buckle of his belt. "What about your newfound streak of prudery?"

  "It only applies to some things." Lucas came around the desk and gently pinned Amaryllis against it. He reached down and eased her legs apart.

  "That's odd." Amaryllis put her arms around his neck. "My standards have only been lowered in some areas."

  "There you are." Lucas's smile held the devil's own satisfaction. "Our relationship has made interesting changes in both of us. A perfect example of synergy in action."

  Amaryllis pulled his mouth down to hers before he could get carried away with a boring lecture on synergistic principles.

  Much later, after Lucas had gone back to his own office, Amaryllis tidied her desk and picked up several items that had fallen to the floor. Then she reached for the phone and dialed the Department of Focus Studies. Irene Dunley answered on the second ring.

  "Miss Lark." Irene sounded anxious. "Are you all right? I saw the morning papers. I could hardly believe what I read. Imagine, Senator Sheffield a murderer."

  "I know. What's more, it's likely that he killed Professor Landreth, too. The police are going to reopen the investigation."

  "Is that a fact? Perhaps justice will be done at last."

  "I think so, although, as my boss pointed out, Sheffield is a city-state senator and he's denying everything. He may walk."

  "At the very least, his career in politics will be ruined,"

  Irene said. "He probably won't be able to recover from this scandal."

  "I shouldn't think so, but I wouldn't count on it."

  "This is not a happy day. I wish the criminal had been anyone other than Senator Sheffield. This city-state needed his vision and leadership."

  "I expect we'll all get along just fine without him," Amaryllis assured her. "Irene, I have to go away for a couple of days. Family stuff. But I'll be back the day after tomorrow. Probably quite late. Would you like to get together for coff-tea the day after that? I think we should talk. After all, you and I sort of solved this case together."

  "I would enjoy seeing you again, Miss Lark."

  "Great. Irene, I want to thank you for supporting me during this whole thing. "You were the only one who believed in me and who tried to be helpful."

  "Professor Landreth was very special," Irene said softly. "In spite of that unfortunate relationship with the syn-sex stripper. There will never be anyone else quite like him here at the Department of Focus Studies."

  "He was one of a kind," Amaryllis agreed. "It's people such as Professor Landreth who truly embody the best virtues of the founders."

  "Well said, Miss Lark. Well said. Good-bye. I'll look forward to having coff-tea with you when you return."

  "Good-bye, Irene."

  After she hung up the phone, Amaryllis sat gazing at the instrument for a long time. Not every question had been answered with Sheffield's arrest, she thought. One small one remained. She wondered if she would ever learn the answer to it.

  Chapter 18

  "What do you mean, how did Madison Sheffield discover that Landreth had put together a file that could embarrass him and hurt his election chances?" Lucas took his eyes off the highway long enough to give Amaryllis a wry glance. "If you're looking for the person who leaked the information to him, you've got a long list of candidates. I'd say that there are as many possibilities as there are people in the Department of Focus Studies."

  Although she had been thinking the same thing, it jolted Amaryllis to hear her fears put into words. "I don't want to believe that someone in the department, someone Professor Landreth trusted, did such a thing."

  Lucas lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. "Hell, it could have been a janitor or a guard or one of the lab techs who stumbled onto some of Landreth's notes. Who knows?"

  "It must have been someone who felt strongly about supporting Sheffield's candidacy. Whoever did it must have thought that he or she was doing the right thing by warning Sheffield about the existence of the file."

  "Amaryllis, I know that this will come as a great shock to you, but not everyone is motivated by a driving need to do the right thing. Lots of people are motivated by other stuff."

  "Such as?"

  "Money."

  She stared at him. "You think someone sold that information to Sheffield?"

  "Why not? Someone tried to blackmail him with it later. The world is full of people who do things for cold, hard cash. Come on, you're not that innocent."

  "Someone leaked the information abo
ut the file to Sheffield. Sheffield opted for a direct method of dealing with the threat. He murdered poor Professor Landreth, not realizing until too late that the professor had taken the precaution of giving the file to Vivien of the Veils."

  "Yeah," Lucas said softly. "Simple. Most things are at the core."

  Just like her feelings about Lower Bellevue, Amaryllis thought. She hated the place. Pure and simple.

  She lapsed into silence and gazed at the cultivated farmland slipping past the car window. By any measure, it was a beautiful sight. The carpets of verdant green fields stretched into the distance, prosperous, rich, and full of new promise. The founders would have been proud. The knowledge did nothing to lessen Amaryllis's dislike of Lower Bellevue and the surrounding environs.

  "You okay?" Lucas asked after a while.

  Amaryllis crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Yes."

  Lucas slanted her another sidelong glance. "You sure?"

  "Yes."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  Lucas's hands tightened on the steering bar. "Don't lie to me. Please, don't do that."

  "Lucas, for heavens' sake." Stunned by the harshness of his voice, Amaryllis turned abruptly in her seat. "I never meant—"

  "Look, we've established that I'm not real good at second-guessing other people. Just give me the truth, that's all I ask. If you've changed your mind about marrying me, tell me now. Get it over with."

  "But I wasn't even thinking about our marriage," she said gently. "I was thinking about how much I detest Lower Bellevue."

  He looked disconcerted by her response. "The town?"

  "I love my family, but I hate the place where I grew up. Do you think that's so strange, under the circumstances?"

  "No." Lucas's hand relaxed slightly. "No, I guess not. Your uncle said you had it rough here when you were a kid."

  "My family tried, but they couldn't always protect me from the other kids. Or from the Baileys. Funny how you can't shake old memories of your childhood. You'd think that once you're an adult, you could just close the door on the past. But it doesn't work like that, does it?"