Canyons of Night

Chapter 6

THE PHONE RANG JUST AS CHARLOTTE REACHED INTO her voluminous shoulder bag to find the key to the back door of Looking Glass. She took out the phone instead and glanced at the screen.

“Hi, Mom,” she said. “Before you ask, yes, I’m fine. Things are going swell.”

“What did you have for dinner last night?” Marilyn Enright demanded.

“Grilled salmon, a lovely salad of vegetables fresh from my neighbor’s garden, and some homemade zucchini bread.”

“You’ve never cooked anything on a grill in your life.”

“That’s because whenever a grill was involved Dad and Cort always took over. Something about it being the manly way to cook, remember?”

“It’s the fire thing,” Marilyn said absently. “Men can’t resist an open flame. So, if you didn’t cook the salmon, yourself, what did you do? Eat out?”

“No, it was a home-cooked meal.”

“Someone cooked it for you?”

“The salmon was grilled by my host. But I made the salad. Doesn’t that count?”

“Yes, of course it counts.” Marilyn’s voice softened. “Sounds like you’re making friends there on the island.”

“Getting to know people, yes, indeed.”

Marilyn pounced. “What’s his name, dear?”

“Mom, we’ve talked about this. You promised me that you would respect my privacy, remember? We both agreed that at my age a woman no longer has to give her mother an account of her personal life.”

“I know, dear, but I’m a mother. I can’t help but worry. Let’s face it, your personal life tends to be somewhat volatile where men are involved. That situation with Jeremy Gaines a few months ago became quite worrisome. Your father was starting to think that Gaines might be stalking you.”

“Jeremy wasn’t a stalker. He was just very tenacious.”

“Regardless, we’re all very glad that he’s out of the picture. But your father and I don’t like the idea of you being so far away.”

“I didn’t move to a desert island, Mom. I’m only a couple of hours from Frequency by ferry, for crying out loud. Forty-five minutes by float plane.”

“Technically, maybe. But an island is an island. It feels like you’re a long way from us.”

“Mom, I’ve got to go. I’m at the shop and it’s after eight.”

“I thought you didn’t open the shop until nine,” Marilyn said.

“True, but I’m trying to conduct an inventory this week. It’s easier to do that before I open up. Once the morning ferry arrives I’ll be dealing with customers.”

“All right, I’ll let you go. But first tell me how your date went last night.”

“How do you think it went? It was a disaster, as usual. Got to go. Bye.”

“Wait, who is he?” Marilyn demanded.

“The chief of police here in Shadow Bay.”

“Is he registered?”

“With Arcanematch? No, not any longer. Evidently things didn’t work out when he went the matchmaking route. I thought it gave us something in common but I think I was wrong about that.”

“What’s his name?”

“Slade Attridge. He used to work for the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation. Talk to you later, Mom.”

She cut the connection, dropped the phone back into her purse, and started to undo the lock. It took her a second to realize that the door was already unlocked.

“Devin, I swear, if you’ve been prowling through my shop again, I’m going to report you to your grandmother this time. Forget the local cops.”

She opened the door and moved into the cluttered back room. A trickle of unease fluttered through her. She knew the sensation all too well. Her intuition was kicking in. But this ominous crackle of awareness was much different from the one she had experienced yesterday when she’d discovered the unlocked door.

It dawned on her that the back room was even more disorganized than usual. The lids of several packing crates had been pried off. The contents were strewn everywhere. The drawers of an antique rolltop desk stood open. The top of a fine First Generation steamer trunk had been raised. The bubble wrap had been ripped off several small antique glass items.

Yesterday she had sensed that someone had been inside the shop but the knowledge had not filled her with sharp, clawing dread. She had been annoyed but she had not been scared. This morning she was scared. She was also angry.

She started to back out of the shop. She was going to feel like an idiot calling Myrna at the station again this morning to report another intruder. This time it would be a thousand times worse because she would have to deal with Slade after their dreadful date. She had not yet decided how she wanted to handle that situation. She had been awake most of the night thinking about it. No solution had presented itself.

She saw the shoe sticking out from between two stacks of shipping crates just as she stepped back and reached for her phone. A man’s shoe.

Adrenaline shot through her. Her senses flashed high in fight-or-flight mode. She struggled to lower her talent. The last thing she wanted to do was go back inside but she had no choice. She had to make certain the man was truly dead, not bleeding to death or suffering a seizure.

She made her way around a stack of wooden crates. The unnerving sensation grew stronger as she got closer to the body. When she saw the face of the man sprawled on the floor she froze.

There was no need to check for a pulse. Although there was no blood and no signs of obvious violence, the aura of death was palpable. Besides, fear and adrenaline had kicked her senses into high gear. She could see very clearly that there was no hint of a rainbow around Jeremy. The lack of a reflection meant that there was no aura energy.

Jeremy Gaines had seriously complicated her life while he was alive. She had a feeling that he was going to make things even more difficult now that he was dead.

She started to shiver. Damn. She hadn’t had a panic attack in months. She went into the deep-breathing exercise immediately, hoping to regain control before things got worse.

It was all she could do to take out her phone. It required a couple of attempts to call the emergency number. But she managed to keep it together while she reported the situation to Myrna.

“The chief is on his way,” Myrna said, sounding uncharacteristically authoritative and thoroughly professional. “Do not go back inside your shop until he gets there. Understand?”

“Got it,” Charlotte said.

“Are you okay?” Myrna asked. “You sound a little breathless.”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

Charlotte hung up the phone and sank down onto the back step. She forced herself to breathe the way she had been taught, fighting the panic attack with every ounce of her willpower. She hated using the pills.

Breathe.