Bishop,_Carly_-_The_Soul_Mate.txt

by The Soul Mate

  allergic to orders, but then the best detective in all the DBAA, maybe

  all the branches of the Avenging Angels, could pretty much do what he

  wanted as long as justice was the end result. Kiel wanted to get

  around to telling Angelo he wasn't done with Robyn yet,

  but he had to know what influence Angelo had finally had over the ace

  detective. "What order did you give him?"

  Angelo scowled. "I told him to follow his heart. And what do you

  know, he did. He and Liz got married."

  "That's nice," Kiel muttered automatically, then thought about what

  he'd just heard come out of Ange lo's mouth. "He what ?" "He got

  married." "He got married."

  "Isn't that what I just said?"

  "I didn't think, I mean... is that possible?"

  "Don't even think about it, Ezekiel," Angelo in-toned. "Like I said,

  we're short-staffed enough around here." '

  Kiel put aside that stunning possibility for the moment, if for no

  other reason than to get Angelo to let him go back and make sure Robyn

  would be safe. "I just need another earth day, maybe two, with

  Robyn."

  Angelo didn't bat an eye. The dockets might be full, Kiel realized,

  but Angelo would not take lightly a lingering threat of injustice.

  "What's the problem?"

  Kiel shook his head. His feelings for Robyn weren't going away. How

  could they? But that was a matter for another time. "I'm not sure

  I've done ever thing Spyder Nielsen's death didn't go unavenged. The

  woman who murdered him wound up driving off the road and getting

  herself killed."

  Angelo heaved a weary sigh. "So many victims to keep track of."

  Kiel nodded. "The false accusations against Trudi Candelaria have been

  resolved."

  "And you saved Robyn's life," Angelo pointed out.

  "Yes. But there is still the issue of the Hallelujah cave-in" '

  "What's this?" Dashiell asked, materializing at Angelo's office door

  with a Camel stuck in his mouth.

  "Dash." Kiel grinned, rising to shake hands in the mortal manner with

  the ace detective. "Good to see you ." '

  "You, too, kid. How's it hanging?"

  Kiel laughed but Angelo rolled his eyes and glared at the cigarette

  smoke wafting around.

  Surprised to know that Dash had been following the case, Kiel explained

  the dilemma.

  Out of some overflowing matrimonial good will, Kiel supposed, Dash let

  his cigarette die and dematerialized the butt. "You're convinced

  someone did blow up that mine with you and your doll face inside?"

  "It's just a hunch. I've got no proof."

  "You want a piece of advice? Stick with those hunches, kid. So what's

  the question? If no one had a motive to murder Keller Trueblood, then

  who did it?"

  "Yeah, that would be the question."

  "Classic deduction, kid." Dash grimaced. "if the murder wasn't about

  Keller, it was about his wife, wouldn't you say?" Over my dead body.

  And then, of course, Jerome Clarke had died, Robyn thought, closing up

  the file. She was no further along in her thinking about this story

  than she'd been a year earlier. Even then she'd thought Clarke's death

  far too convenient. The interesting part was that no one cared what

  had become of old Jerome once the compromise was put into effect.

  But sitting there in the historical old rattletrap of a newspaper

  building, her imagination caught fire. Spyder Nielsen's death had

  affected the town in much the same way as Jerome Clarke's. Little more

  than a week ago Scott had posed the question, what if Abe Lincoln had

  sneezed in the instant he was killed? Here the question became, What

  if someone murdered Jerome Clarke? Juxtaposed against the high-profile

  celebrity murder of Spyder Nielsen, the hypothetical question might

  make a great book.

  She had to bounce this idea off Lucy. Taking the file, she spent a few

  moments tracking Margaret down to thank her for rekindling her interest

  in this story and for making the microfilm copies, then took her leave

  and hurried back to Lucy's building.

  She was greeted as she exited the caged elevator on the second floor by

  a receptionist and Lucy's young sidekick. He stopped her long enough

  to hand her Adelmey-er's reports, which documented both surface and

  core residues of ordinary dynamite at the Hallelujah.

  "Thanks, Todd. Nothing we hadn't really expected, is it?"

  "Sorry about that. Wish we could've been more help-fuI?"

  "It is helpful to know this much--but I'm not sure it matters anymore.

  Is Lucy around?"

  He grinned. "Out to a late lunch. Anything I can do?"

  "No, thanks, really. I'm just going to tackle the mess in here. Just

  let her know I'm here, okay?"

  "Will do."

  The district attorney's office had promised Robyn the return of all

  Keller's notes once the prosecution of Detective Crandall was over. She

  tore out one page near the end of his collected notes. The sketch was

  abstract, but in its lines she saw herself and Keller, hand in hand.

  Resolving to keep her heart off her sleeve and back where it belonged,

  she spent the next hour packing up the rest of the boxes. Lucy

  Montbank let herself in just as Robyn was taping shut the last box.

  Lucy crossed the room and gave Robyn a quick hug. "You could have left

  this, Robyn. There was no need to do it all by yourself."

  She gave a weary smile. "I didn't mind, Lucy. You've been more than

  wonderful to let us use the space. Packing up was the least I could

  do."

  "What is this little charm you're wearing these days?" Lucy asked.

  "This?" She lifted the chain from which Kiel's ivory carving hung.

  "Angel wings. Why, don't you like it?"

  "It's just so commonplace. I'm personally bored silly with all the

  infatuation with angels these days."

  Robyn might have agreed except that Kiel had carved them for her.

  "In any case--'" Lucy lowered herself into one of the chairs not

  cluttered with a box"--what will you do now? Go home to Denver?"

  "I've been thinking about staying around a few days. I'm really very

  excited about an idea I had that I wanted to bounce off you."

  "Robyn, you're positively glowing! After everything that's happened, I

  thought I'd find you in a funk. Tell me your idea--but... before you

  do, let me say this. I want you to know how sorry I am that I made

  such a stink toward Kiel at my party. After the two of you left, I

  felt like such an idiot. Such a false friend for begrudging you his

  help and friendship."

  Robyn swallowed on a lump of loneliness lodged in her throat. She

  hadn't known or even thought about exactly what Kiel had done to seal

  the rift in reality he had made when he whisked them away from the

  scene Robyn herself had begun to create.

  But her friend's apology gave Robyn a sudden new insight. More than

  any celebrity, Lucy represented this town, its history, its penchant

  for image, and she wanted nothing, nothing, to reflect badly upon

  her.

  "Lucy, please don't worry about it. Kiel was quick to point out to me

  what wonderful friends I have, how lucky I am in that."
/>
  Lucy's impeccable blond brows rose. "Don't tell me he included me

  among them, Robyn."

  He hadn't, not at all. He'd been referring to Mike and Jessie and

  Scott, but whether Kiel liked Lucy or not, she was a friend and had

  been long before Kiel came onto the scene. "It doesn't matter, Lucy.

  Don't give it another thought."

  She smiled gratefully. "So, where did our Mr. Alighieri take himself

  off to so fast?"

  Robyn shook her head. "I don't know. Off exploring the Hallelujah for

  all I know." Dismay flickered in Lucy's expression. "Surely not!" "I

  was just being flippant, Lucy," Robyn rushed to reassure her, wondering

  why such a ridiculous idea had spilled out of her mouth, anyway. "I

  really have no idea where Kiel is right now."

  "That was quite a speech he made this morning. Reminded me of Keller

  and that bedrock integrity."

  Her throat tightened, but only for a moment. "Kiel did a terrific job.

  Keller would be--" not pleased, she guessed "--satisfied, I guess.

  Clear conscience."

  "A thing to be desired," Lucy quipped.

  "I know Kiel was very disturbed about the treatment Trudi and Stuart

  got at your party."

  Lucy nodded and sighed. "I invited them--and I suppose they

  came--because we'd hoped this town was ready to shed its

  holier-than-thou attitude. Anybody would think Spyder Nielsen was some

  kind of martyred saint, when the truth is, he was a fourteen-karat son

  of a bitch with more money than scruples or brains?"

  "Maybe now that Trudi's been exonerated, things will be different."

  Robyn hoped so, more for Stuart Willetts's sake than Trudi's.

  Seeming preoccupied, Lucy flicked one talon like thumbnail against the

  other. "Tell me about your idea."

  Shifting mental gears, Robyn stacked a few boxes. "I went by

  Margaret's office earlier today--you knew she went to the trouble a

  year ago of having those old newspaper accounts of the avalanche that

  supposedly killed

  Jerome Clarke printed out for me." '

  "Supposedly?"

  "Yes." She moved a crate of files to the floor and sat down in the

  chair near Lucy's. Sitting cross-legged-she described her book idea.

  "The thing is, I think I can draw a really dynamite analogy between

  Spyder Nielsen's death and Jerome Clarke's. I got to thinking about it

  this way. People here didn't really care that Spyder had been

  murdered-wouldn't you say that's accurate?"

  Lucy nodded thoughtfully. "He'd become somewhat of an embarrassment

  with all his drunk and disorder lies the women, the drugs--"

  "Exactly. Where once he was king of Aspen Mountain, his popularity was

  far more hype than real. He'd actually become a potential liability to

  the Aspen image.

  Jerome Clarke was a perfect example of the same thing, only in a

  different time and circumstance. If it hadn't been for his apex strike

  on the very same mountain, this town was Nowhereville--until the ski

  industry came along, at least. But his welcome wore out, too,

  especially after winning that court battle. Do you see where I'm going

  with this?"

  Lucy frowned. "I'm afraid I do, Robyn. It sounds like exploitation of

  image and celebrity to me, not to mention revising history to suit your

  own purposes."

  Bewildered by Lucy's resistance to the whole idea, Robyn decided she

  must have been less than clever in explaining what she wanted to do

  with the book. "It's just an analogy, Lucy, a way to point out that

  the more things change, the more they stay the same. You can't deny

  this town thrives on its image. That the town as a whole has an idea

  of itself that commands attention."

  "Spyder Nielsen's murder had nothing to do with what image this town

  holds of itself."

  "That's true, Lucy, but the point is, no one cared. It gave people an

  excuse to ostracize Trudi Candelaria, but other than that his death

  meant nothing. I think the same is true with Jerome Clarke. He made a

  tremendous impact here, but when he died--whether he was murdered or

  not--no one cared."

  Expressionless now, Lucy said, "You believe he was murdered."

  "I do, but that doesn't mean I'm going to haphazardly rewrite history.

  Don't you see any potential in this story, really?"

  "None." Lucy's frown deepened. "Why do you care, Robyn? What is it

  about this that you can't let go of? Did losing Keller make you

  believe people care about these things?"

  Robyn blanched. "That feels like a cheap shot, Luc." "I don't intend

  to be mean-spirited, Robyn, but something has stuck you into this

  frankly morbid bent of mind ." '

  She felt stung. Attacked. "Maybe you're not interested in this kind

  of thing, but I like to think my books have hit the bestseller lists

  because the what-ifs really fascinate people. The mystery, the sense

  of how things go wrong in people."

  "You're right, Robyn. I'm not only not interested, I dislike looking

  for--as you say--the ways things go wrong."

  "I'm sorry if it offends you. I thought with all your interest and

  historical collections re

  "Oh, I quite like all of that and I'm glad to help you any way that I

  can. You're a friend, Robyn. But I would suggest that you go home to

  Denver and see if you can't find something a bit less macabre to fill

  your time."

  Smiling to defuse the tension between them and dispel the disquieting

  sensation that perhaps Lucy was right on target, she couldn't let go.

  She didn't know why. "Lucy,

  this is what I want. Will you help me?"

  "How?"

  "I would like to go back to the Hallelujah, just once."

  Lucy looked aghast. "For God's sake... why? You can't be serious!"

  "I am, Lucy. I've never been so serious in my life." "But why? What

  good can possibly come of it? Let me take you somewhere else, one of

  the tourist mines, or--"

  "No. It's got to be the Hallelujah, Lucy." She took a deep breath.

  There were important reasons for her to revisit the old silver mine.

  She wanted to say goodbye to Keller once and for all. She wanted to

  get over her fears about the dark. The Hallelujah was where all that

  terror had begun.

  Even more important-, she wanted to be able to trust her own feelings

  again. In the wake of Kiel Alighieri, determining the fate of Jerome

  Clarke, a silver mining mogul who had died or been murdered more than a

  hundred years ago, had somehow become vital to learning to trust

  herself again.

  She couldn't even write if she couldn't rely upon her instincts.

  "If you don't want to go, Lucy, maybe I could ask that old miner friend

  of yours. Tee Palmer, wasn't it?"

  "Robyn, are you absolutely sure this is what you want?"

  Her friend's tone made prickles climb her spine. "I'm sure, Lucy."

  "Then--" the older woman shrugged "--I will take you."

  THE CLAUSTROPHOBIC FEEL of the Hallelujah chilled Robyn to the marrow.

  Shaking inside, but determined not to show it, she despised it all. The

  dark. The riveting silence. The way their voices dropped like stones

  into a bottomless v
oid. Lucy had assured her that the miner's helmets

  they Wore were state of the art, but Robyn thought their light beams

  pathetically weak against the hellish perpetual night.

  Robyn urged that they press on when Lucy would have stopped. She tried

  to keep track of the shafts and the offshoots, the stopes that

  dead-ended, the rail car tracks that extended out over virtual cliffs.

  If what she'd wanted was a sense of the mine, of its enormity and

  complexity, she had that long ago. By her watch, they'd been plunging

  deeper and deeper into the mine for an hour.

  Creeping along, skittish, just waiting for support beams to groan

  anywhere near her, breathing the dank, dead air in a fashion that could

  pass for near-panic on a movie soundtrack, Robyn called out to Lucy to

  stop..

  Her friend turned, and for a moment Robyn was blinded by the light from

  Lucy's helmet. Breathing heavily, she clutched at the ivory angel

  wings at her breast.

  "The point of this drill is escaping me at the 'moment." Lucy said

  nothing, only sank down to her haunches. Robyn went on. "What do I

  have to prove, and to whom? I don't want to die anymore. Overcoming