After Dark

by Jayne Castle

  “She’s going to move me up into first place on her list of suspects, isn’t she?”

  “Probably.”

  Lydia thought about that. “I’m not the only person who’s turned up twice at a recent murder scene.”

  “You don’t need to remind me.” He straightened and moved toward a desk littered with papers. “I skated the first time, but something tells me Martinez won’t let me off the hook so easily again.”

  “Especially since you’ve been keeping company with me,” Lydia said glumly.

  “Uh-huh.” He riffled through the papers gingerly with his gloved fingers.

  “There’s no hard evidence to tie either of us to the murders. Surely Martinez will acknowledge that. She’s got nothing solid to use against either of us.”

  Emmett left the desk and walked to the door. Without a word he opened his hand as he came back through the opening.

  Lydia stared at the rez-amber bracelet in his palm. Six good-quality stones, each with her initials inscribed on it, set in inexpensive imitation gold. Another wave of sick dread rose up inside her.

  “That’s one of my bracelets,” she whispered.

  “I was afraid of that.” He dropped the amber into her hand and then took her arm, leading her quickly away from Greeley’s back door. “What do you want to bet the ghost-hunter who tossed your apartment took it?”

  “And planted it at the scene of this murder?”

  “I doubt if it was the same guy. He was just a kid.”

  “Kids can kill.”

  “But usually not as efficiently as that.” Emmett glanced back over his shoulder. “The kid in your apartment was probably working for someone else.”

  “Someone tried to tie me to Greeley’s murder.” She was shivering so hard now that she almost dropped the bracelet. “I can’t believe it. Why would anyone do that?”

  “Probably to make sure you’d be very busy for the next few days. Too busy to pay attention to little things like a priceless dreamstone jar or my cabinet of curiosities.”

  She tried to think logically. It wasn’t easy. “There’s another reason why he might have left my bracelet near Greeley’s body. If Martinez gets called in on this murder, she’s going to find that charred paper on the desk. She’ll suspect a ghost-hunter was involved.”

  “Yes.”

  “And she knows that you and I have been working together lately.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced at him. “Tying me to the murder scene is a good way of implicating you too.”

  “The thought did cross my mind.”

  “Oh, damn.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Emmett said.

  Ten minutes later Lydia sat tensely in the passenger seat of the Slider and watched Emmett hang up the pay phone. He left the booth and walked back to the car, his face hard.

  He glanced at her as he got in behind the wheel and rezzed the ignition. “You sure you’re not going to throw up?”

  “Pretty sure. What did you tell the cops?”

  “I reported an unlocked back door at Greeley’s Antiques. Anonymously.” He eased the Slider away from the curb. “Suggested it looked like a burglary-in-progress. They’ll send a car to take a look.”

  She forced herself to think. “Maybe that’s what it was, Emmett. Maybe Greeley surprised the killer when he opened early to get ready for us. If I hadn’t agreed to meet with him this morning—”

  “Stop right here. You had nothing to do with this. It was Greeley’s idea to do the deal for the cabinet before he opened the shop, remember?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “But nothing. He set up the schedule.” Emmett slowed for a corner. “And he may have invited the killer inside.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said in disbelief.

  “Let’s go someplace where we can get coffee. I need to think.”

  19

  THE AMBER SKY Café was one those comfortable places where you could sit in a booth and huddle over a cup of rez-tea and a jelly doughnut for at least an hour before the waitress started to glare. Emmett did a quick survey and spotted a quiet booth at the back.

  He studied Lydia’s face as she ordered tea. She seemed to be holding up well, but he was worried about her. The strain showed on her face. She was amazingly resilient, but the shocks were coming fast and hard. A lot of people he knew would be in screaming hysterics by now. He wondered how much she could take. Everyone had a breaking point, even intrepid para-archaeologists who could de-rez Harmonic illusion traps while standing in the middle of a downtown bank.

  To make matters worse, he didn’t think she trusted him completely. She probably couldn’t bring herself to trust anyone with Guild connections.

  They sat in silence until their refreshments arrived. Lydia picked up the steaming cup of tea. She ignored the doughnuts.

  “Tell me why you think Greeley may have known the killer,” she said steadily.

  He thought back to the grisly scene at Greeley’s Antiques.

  “It looked like the killer went through Greeley’s desk in a hurry,” he said. “The papers were scattered and mixed up on top. Two of the drawers were half open.”

  “What do you think he was looking for?”

  “No way to be certain, but several sheets had been torn from the desk calendar. Yesterday’s and today’s pages were missing. So were two or three on either side.”

  “You think the killer was concerned that whatever was written on one of the pages had left an imprint on the next one?”

  “It’s a possibility.” Emmett paused. “I wonder if Greeley tried to set up an auction in order to drive up the price of my cabinet?”

  “Wouldn’t put it past him.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “If he did, it’s entirely possible that he made a note about the auction on his desk calendar. He was very methodical. He could have written the killer’s name and phone number on today’s date.”

  “As well as our names and your phone number.”

  She shuddered visibly. “Whoever killed him knew that we were due to arrive at ten. He must have contacted Greeley yesterday. Arranged the whole thing. Oh, God, Emmett, that means—”

  “It was a setup.”

  Lydia pondered for a while. “I can see someone murdering poor Chester for the key to the dreamstone coordinates. I can even envision someone killing Greeley for the cabinet. It’s not exactly priceless, but it is extremely valuable. But what’s the link between the two?”

  “You,” Emmett said. “And me. And the dreamstone.”

  “And a supposed traitor inside the Cadence Guild,” she added.

  “What do you mean, ‘supposed’?” he asked.

  “It’s possible we’ve been suckered into some illegal antiquities operation run by Mercer Wyatt,” she said coolly.

  Emmett felt his jaw tighten. Her dislike and distrust of all things related to the Guild was not news. He would not let himself get drawn into an argument on the subject of hunter ethics.

  “If the Guild was involved in this,” he said in his most reasonable tone, “Mercer Wyatt would not have invited me to dinner. He would not have told me that Quinn had been seen at the Transverse Wave. He would not have made a deal with me.”

  “You can’t be sure of that. Who knows what Wyatt’s real agenda is? He told you he wanted you to help him squash some rival who’s supposedly training young ghost-hunters without Guild approval. But what if he lied to you? What if he’s trying to set you up for murder?”

  “Believe me, the last thing Wyatt wants to do is get me arrested for murder. He needs me. And not just to help him get rid of a renegade ghost-hunter.”

  She sat back against the plastic seat. Her gaze turned very cool. “You didn’t tell me everything about your bargain with Wyatt, did you?”

  Anger roared through him. He leaned across the table, pinning her without touching her. “I told you the truth about the arrangement I made with Mercer Wyatt.”

  “What didn’t you t
ell me?”

  “Damn it, the rest of it has nothing to do with this.”

  “Tell me.”

  He sat back slowly. With an effort of will he brought himself under control. “Wyatt told me that he’s planning to retire in a year.”

  She made a soft, disgusted sound. “That’s good news, I suppose. I, for one, won’t miss him. But what has that got to do with you?”

  “He claims he has some big plan to restructure the Cadence Guild along the same lines as the Resonance Guild before he steps down.”

  “Really…He wants you to do a little business consulting for him, is that it? Help him modernize things?”

  Emmett hesitated. “He wants a little more than just some consulting.”

  “Damn. He wants to handpick his own successor, doesn’t he? And he wants you for the job.”

  Her stunned outrage aroused the anger he thought he had suppressed a moment ago. He tossed a meaningful glance to the side to remind her that they were not alone in the restaurant.

  “You might want to keep your voice down. We’ve got enough problems on our hands without starting wild rumors about internal Guild politics. Mercer Wyatt wouldn’t like it.”

  “I don’t care what Mercer Wyatt likes or doesn’t like.”

  “More to the point,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t like it.”

  “Are you, by any chance, trying to intimidate me?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave him a ferocious glare. But when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “What did you tell Wyatt when he informed you he wanted you to take over the Guild?”

  Emmett picked up his tea. “I told him I didn’t want the job.”

  “You think that’s going to stop him from trying to make you take it?”

  “I can handle Mercer Wyatt.” He set his cup down a little harder than necessary. “Look, the future of the Cadence Guild is not the main issue here. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re trying to keep ourselves from getting arrested for murder.”

  “Must have slipped my mind,” she said into her tea mug.

  “I have a hunch that Detective Martinez is one of those real dogged types. If she gets wind of Greeley’s murder and makes a connection to the Brady case, you can bet she’ll come around asking questions. We need to get our stories straight.”

  Lydia sighed. “What kind of stories are we going to tell her?”

  “The truth, insofar as we can.”

  “Sounds tricky.”

  “It’s always safer to stick as close to the truth as possible. Less chance to screw up that way.”

  “You’ve had a lot of experience in this kind of thing?”

  He said nothing, just looked at her.

  She flushed. “Sorry. I’m a little tense today.”

  “I’m not exactly at my best, either.” He rested his elbows on the table. “Here’s how it goes: We were together all last night and this morning. First at your place, then at the bank. We had tea here, and I dropped you off at Shrimpton’s. We simply don’t mention the few minutes we spent at Greeley’s Antiques. We should be covered. Plenty of witnesses. Kelso’s call earlier, and the people at the bank will back us up. I’ll leave a good tip here so the waitress will remember us. The missing time in between we’ll attribute to traffic congestion.”

  “What if someone on Ruin Row saw us?”

  “I doubt if anyone noticed us in the fog. None of the other shops were open. We should be in the clear.”

  “You think so?” Lydia looked worried. “Your story is going to raise some questions in other people’s minds.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as, why were you at my apartment last night and why were you still there this morning? Why are we sitting here in a café together when I should be at work? You know—questions like those.”

  “Fortunately, those questions have a real easy and obvious answer.”

  “They certainly do. For crying out loud, Emmett, everyone will think we’re having an affair.”

  “Better they think you’re sleeping with me than have them conclude that you’re murdering your associates in the antiquities field.”

  She paled. “Point taken.”

  “You and I are each other’s alibis.”

  “Great. My alibi is that I’m sleeping with my first major client. Heck of a way to launch my new career as a private consultant. Can’t wait to see what type of high-class clientele I attract after this gets out.”

  The message slips on her phone were an ominous sign. Lydia sat down very gingerly at her desk and reached for the sticky little papers. She flipped through them quickly. Two calls from Ryan and a message from a woman who wanted to schedule a tour of Shrimpton’s for her seven-year-old son’s birthday party. The good news was that there were no messages from Detective Alice Martinez.

  Lydia allowed herself to relax ever so slightly.

  Her life had certainly undergone some major alterations lately. Who would have thought that there would come a day when she would be hanging out with a past and possibly future Guild boss and ducking phone calls from the cops?

  She stared at the bookcase on the other side of the office and thought about the blood on the floor of Greeley’s back room.

  Melanie opened the office door and put her head around the edge. “Well, well, well. I see you finally decided to come to work.”

  Lydia started. “I had a breakfast meeting with my client. The time got away from me.”

  Melanie glanced over her shoulder, apparently checking the hallway, and then bustled into the small room. “Thought I saw you get out of London’s car a few minutes ago. Breakfast meeting, huh?”

  “Yes.” Lydia got up and went over to the hot plate that sat on top of the bookcase. She didn’t really want any more tea, but she needed to do something, anything, while she endured the inevitable inquisition.

  “So, how is the consulting project going?” Melanie asked a little too brightly.

  “We’re making progress.” Lydia spooned tea leaves into a pot.

  “I just wondered,” Melanie said.

  “What did you wonder, Melanie?”

  “Why Mr. London gave you a lift to work. Usually you walk.”

  If she couldn’t handle Melanie, Lydia thought, she wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in a very warm place of handling Detective Alice Martinez. Think of this conversation as a good chance to practice your story.

  She put down the pot, turned around, and leaned back against the bookcase. She braced her hands on the wooden shelving behind her and smiled at Melanie.

  “Mr. London very kindly offered to drop me off here after our breakfast meeting.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Don’t imagine too many high-end clients could be bothered to chauffeur their consultants around. Just think of all the trouble he went to. He had to get up early, leave his hotel, drive to the Old Quarter to pick you up, drive you to the café, drop you off here—”

  Lydia took the plunge. “Mr. London is staying with me while we work on his project.”

  Melanie’s face lit up with horrified fascination. “Omigod, you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you? You’re having an affair with your new client. I knew it. I knew it the minute I saw you get out of that Slider this morning.”

  Lydia was saved from having to respond by the sight of the six-and-a-half-foot-tall skeletal shadow that darkened the glass panel of the office door. A bony hand lifted to knock.

  “Come in, Mr. Shrimpton,” Lydia called. The more, the merrier. Martinez would probably show up any minute now.

  The door opened. Winchell Shrimpton looked at her with his undertaker’s gaze. “You’re here.”

  “Sorry I was a little late getting in to work this morning. I had some personal business. Don’t worry, I’m going to make up for it by working through lunch.”

  Shrimpton inclined his skull-head in a glum gesture. Don’t suppose it makes much difference. As you may have noticed
, business has fallen off again. Customers are not exactly thronging the galleries anymore.”

  Shrimpton’s chronic pessimism was more irritating than usual this morning. The last thing she wanted to do was listen to her boss whine about the fall-off of business. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her own problems, Lydia thought. It was all she could do not to yell at him. You want something to whine about? Try walking into a murder scene first thing in the morning. Try finding out that the killer left one of your personalized amber bracelets next to the body. Try worrying about whether you’re going to be arrested at any moment. Try wondering if the man who is sleeping on your sofa and using your shower is scheduled to become the next boss of the Cadence Guild.

  Lydia pulled herself up short and gave herself a mental shake. It was not Shrimpton’s fault that he not only looked as if he had just walked out of a crypt but had a personality to go with his looks. The man had given her a job when she desperately needed one. That counted for a lot in her book. Besides, as a boss, he literally and figuratively towered over a lot of the egotistical academics she’d worked with at the university.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Shrimpton,” she said, struggling for a note of professional good cheer. “The spring holidays are coming. Things always pick up during school vacations. Kids love this place.”

  Shrimpton did not brighten noticeably, but his cadaverous features realigned themselves into a thoughtful expression.

  “It was the body in the sarcophagus in the Tomb Gallery that caused business to pick up for a day or two,” he said. “I wonder if there’s any way we could arrange for another little incident.”

  Lydia felt her jaw unhinge.

  Melanie bounced with excitement. “What a great idea, boss! You know, if a second body turned up here at the museum, we could probably get a good legend started.”

  Shrimpton looked at her hopefully. “What sort of legend?”

  “Something along the lines of an ancient Harmonic curse would probably work best.” Melanie tapped her finger against her cheek. “People love that sort of thing, you know. Maybe we could mount an ad campaign based on the Curse of the Harmonic Sarcophagus.”