In Too Deep

31

Marge folded her elbows on the counter and gave Isabella an expectant look.

"Well?" she said. "Did you have a good time at the ball, Cinderella?"

Isabella sipped her tea and swiveled slowly from side to side on the stool while she considered her answer.

"It was very exciting," she said, choosing her words with care.

"Any pictures?" Marge asked.

"No, to be honest, I didn't even think about taking pictures."

"Darn."

The bell over the door chimed. Violet and Patty walked into the cafe, raincoats dripping.

"We came for a full report," Violet announced. "Are there pictures?"

Isabella set down her mug. "I was just explaining to Marge that there are no photos. To tell you the truth, things got a little complicated down in Sedona. This guy broke into my room and tried to bribe me to make it look as if I was on the take and Fallon had to beat him up. Then we went to Cactus Springs to check out my grandmother's trailer and another guy showed up who convinced us to help him find an old artifact. When I located the artifact, he tried to kill Fallon, and Fallon had to beat him up, too, and then we came home."

Marge, Violet and Patty exchanged looks.

Marge frowned at Isabella. "That's it?"

"Pretty much," Isabella said.

"Gee," Violet said. "Guess that's the last time we let you and Fallon go off on a romantic getaway trip."

Marge shook her head. "I can't believe it. We send the two of you off to a glamorous ball with a beautiful gown and glass slippers, and you and Fallon end up getting attacked?"

"The best part is that I found out my grandmother is alive, but I can't contact her yet because it might put her in jeopardy."

Violet looked blank. "I thought you said your grandmother was dead?"

"Fallon is sure she is okay. She's gone underground until we wrap up the case."

Marge's brows rose. "Your grandmother sounds like a very interesting woman."

"She is," Isabella assured her. "All in all, it was a very busy trip, but it's good to be home."

"You can take the girl out of Scargill Cove but you can't take the Cove out of the girl," Patty said. "Welcome home, Cinderella."

"Thanks," Isabella said. "If it's any consolation, I can tell you that Fallon looked great in a tux."

Marge smiled. "I'd have paid good money to see Jones in a tux."

"Worth every penny, trust me," Isabella said.

Violet laughed.

Marge snorted and straightened. She looked at Patty and Violet. "You two want coffee?"

"Of course," Patty said.

She plunked herself down on one of the stools. Violet hopped up onto another one.

Marge went to the coffee machine.

"Anyone seen Walker today?" Isabella asked.

"The muffins are gone," Marge said. "So he must have come by on his morning rounds."

"He's probably at the hot springs," Violet said. "He spends a lot of time there during the daylight hours. Why?"

"I don't know," Isabella said. "For some reason, I've been thinking about him a lot this morning."

Marge poured coffee into two mugs. "Don't worry, he'll show up sooner or later."

Isabella slipped off the stool. "I'm going to the grocery store to collect the mail. But first, I'll drop by Walker's place and see if he's there. Maybe he's ill."

"Just be sure you don't do anything to startle him," Marge warned.

"I'll be careful," Isabella promised.

She slipped into her yellow raincoat, collected her umbrella and went outside onto the street. She paused briefly and looked up at the window of Jones & Jones. Fallon was not visible. She knew that he was probably at the computer, phone to his ear, multitasking as he searched for a trace of the person who had supplied the Quicksilver Mirror to Sloan.

She walked to the end of the street and followed the bluff path to the weathered cabin that Walker called home. The cabin looked much the same as it always did, lonely and forlorn. But it always seemed to her that there was a certain stalwart air about the place, as if the cabin would persevere, regardless of the ravages of time and the elements. Walker had infused the place with his own energy and aura, she thought.

She went up the tumbledown steps, careful to avoid the broken middle tread, and then stopped. The shades were pulled down but that was par for the course with Walker. There was no smoke from the chimney but that, too, was normal. Still, something in the atmosphere was raising goose bumps on her arms. She opened her senses.

A terrible cold fog enveloped the cabin. Walker's home was always awash in a haze of secrets, but until now, the mists had been tinted with the chill of old mysteries. Not today.

Today the fog seethed and burned with the ominous dark radiance that warned of impending death.

Heedless of Marge's advice, she pounded on the door.

"Walker, it's me, Isabella. Are you in there?"

For the first time she became aware of the faint notes of a delicate melody. The light, tinkling strains of the waltz were barely discernible above the crashing of the waves below the bluffs. There was an eerie undercurrent in the music that rattled her senses. Her intuition was screaming at her.

Run.

She was suddenly certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that Walker was in mortal danger.

Pushing past the panic, she twisted the old knob, expecting to find the door locked. But to her surprise, it opened. The music was louder now. Searing fog swirled in the small, rustic front room. Walker lay un-moving on the floor in the center of the energy storm.

"Walker."

She moved into the room and crouched beside him, searching for a pulse. Relief swept through her when she found one. Walker was alive but unconscious. There was no blood. She ran her hands through his unkempt hair but found no signs of a wound.

The music seemed to be getting louder now. For some reason the icy strains of the waltz made it hard to think.

She glanced around, looking for the source of the disturbing music. An elegant gilt-and-enamel music box sat on a small table. The glass lid was raised. Two tiny dancers, a man and a woman, dressed in late-nineteenth-century ballroom attire, twirled slowly, their movements jerky.

The box looked Victorian.

It was getting harder to see now. The room was spinning slowly around her. She had to get outside.

She heard footsteps in the short hallway. A figure wearing a set of high-tech headphones appeared.

"Oh, crap," Isabella said.

Frantically she called on her talent, and for a few seconds, she was able to push back the dark waves of the waltz that threatened to drown her.

She jammed a hand into the pocket of her raincoat. The business card was still there. Clutching it in her fingers, she crumpled to the floor.

Fallon would come looking for her. He would notice every detail that seemed wrong or out of place. A business card did not fit into Walker's decorating scheme.

The steady beat of the waltz was in control now. She could not fight it any longer.

The music pulled her into an endless night.