“What’s wrong?” Celinda demanded, offended. “Are you allergic to dust bunnies?”
“Not yet,” Alice said with a long-suffering air. “But I’m thinking of developing an allergy to them.”
“Why?” Celinda picked up Araminta, lifted her out of the tote, and set her on the desk. “What can you possibly have against a sweet, innocent little bundle of fur like this?”
Araminta drifted across the desk to a glass bowl containing individually wrapped candies. She seemed to float because her six paws were concealed by her fluffy gray fur. She hopped up onto the rim of the candy jar and helped herself to one of the little bundles inside.
Alice watched her use her sharp little teeth to unwrap the candy. “Lately it seems there’s been a dust bunny involved in every screwy case I get. And from what I’ve heard, the little suckers aren’t all that sweet and innocent. They say that by the time you see the teeth, it’s too late.”
“Only if they’re provoked,” Celinda assured her.
Araminta blinked her blue eyes at Alice and then enthusiastically crunched the candy.
“I don’t understand how she can still be hungry,” Celinda said. “She just had lunch, a couple of them, in fact. She used to be a dainty eater, but lately she’s developed the appetite of a sumo wrestler.”
Araminta polished off the candy and tumbled across the desk. She stopped at the edge and leaned forward, balancing precariously on her hind paws. She chortled at Davis.
“Do you happen to have some snacks on you?” Celinda asked, embarrassed. “I think she smells food.”
“I’ve got some crackers left over from the lunch I grabbed on the way here,” Davis said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small packet. He removed the plastic wrapper and handed the crackers to Araminta.
They all watched Araminta take the offering in one paw and start munching energetically.
Celinda shook her head. “You’d think she hadn’t been fed in days, but she just swiped, ah, I mean she just ate two sandwiches, several olives, and a bag of fries. And that was after she helped herself to most of my salad.”
“About the item you purchased from Jackson’s shop yesterday,” Davis said, looking at the tote.
“Oh, right.” Celinda reached back into the tote and took out the small antique. She held it up so that Davis and Alice could see it. “It’s obviously just a chunk of old plastic off some Colonial-era gadget. It’s not like it’s a really valuable alien relic or anything. It’s not even made of green quartz.”
It was common knowledge that, with one notable exception—a substance called dreamstone—the relics and artifacts left behind by the mysterious alien civilization that had first colonized Harmony were all made of a nearly indestructible, acid-green quartz that glowed in the dark.
The aliens were long gone by the time the human colonists arrived, but they had left behind the ruins of at least four large, startlingly ethereal cityscapes and an unknown number of smaller outposts scattered around the planet. There was a lot of Harmony left to be explored. No one knew how many more archaeological sites remained to be found.
In addition to their walled cities and assorted outlying ruins, they had also constructed a maze of underground tunnels, most of which remained unexplored and uncharted. The catacombs, too, were fashioned of the green quartz.
Celinda tossed the small chunk of plastic into the air and caught it in her hand. “There’s no way this could be worth much.”
She watched Davis’s and Alice’s faces covertly, trying to tell if either of them realized that she was lying through her teeth.
The truth was, she was very certain that the red object was neither Old Earth nor Colonial in origin. She was almost certain that it was an alien relic of some kind. No Old World or Colonial antiques gave off a faint trickle of psi energy the way this thing did. The red widget was most likely a rare and therefore extremely valuable find. She had fully intended to contact some of the upscale antiquities shops as soon as possible to see if she could get a good price for it. She did not want to turn it over to the police unless there was no alternative.
The artifact was about three inches long and an inch wide. It was slightly curved, making it easy to grip in one’s palm. Although she sensed the energy coming from it, she had no clue to what it had been designed to do.
Alice frowned, head tilted slightly. “You’re right. It looks like a cheap plastic drawer pull. Are you sure that’s the only thing you bought at Jackson’s yesterday?”
“Yes,” Celinda said, relaxing a little because now she was telling the truth again. “I’m positive.”
Alice took out a notebook. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Just routine.”
Celinda went very still. “You said you’re investigating Alvis Shaw’s death as a possible homicide.”
“Yes.” Alice flipped open her notebook.
“Then your questions are not going to be routine, are they?” She tightened her grip on the relic. “At least not from my point of view.”
Alice ignored that. “Can you tell me where you were between midnight and three AM this morning?”
A sensation of impending disaster swept over Celinda. Great. Just great. She was a suspect in a murder. In the matchmaking business, that kind of thing was a guaranteed career-ender. Cold perspiration formed under her arms. Thank heavens she had not removed the jacket of her business suit. With luck, they wouldn’t see that she was sweating.
“You think I killed Mr. Shaw?” she managed.
Alarmed by the sound of her too thin, too tight voice, Araminta tumbled across the desk and bounded up her arm to perch on her shoulder. Automatically, Celinda reached up to pat her, taking comfort, as she always did, from the contact.
“Like I said, this is routine.” Alice rezzed a pen and prepared to take notes.
“Am I the first person you’ve interviewed in connection with this murder?” Celinda asked warily.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you are,” Alice said.
Damn, it was happening all over again, Celinda thought. Her short career at Promises, Inc., flashed before her eyes. She would have to leave town and find another job, just as she had four months ago. There were only four large city-states on Harmony. Two down and two to go. At this rate, she would soon be running the kind of low-end dating service that advertised in the Personals section of cheap tabloids.
“Miss Ingram?” Alice’s voice was sharp.
Davis did not move. He just stood there, watching her. Celinda forced herself to shake off the dread that threatened to demoralize her. Stay focused. Maybe you can manage this. Maybe your life is not about to go to green hell again.
“Sorry, Detective,” she said politely. “What was the question?”
“You were about to tell me where you were last night between twelve and three,” Alice said.
Celinda moved one hand in a vague gesture. “Where I usually am at that time of night. In bed.”
There was a short beat of silence.
“Was there anyone else in the household?” Alice asked.
Probably diplomatic cop talk for Are you sleeping with anyone who can give you an alibi? Celinda thought.
“No,” she said. “Just Araminta.”
Alice looked up from her notes. “So there’s no one who can vouch for the fact that you were home alone?”
Celinda started to say no and then stopped, brightening a little. “My landlady, Mrs. Furnell. She lives right downstairs. I have to walk past her front door to get outside the building. Trust me when I tell you that she would definitely remember if I went out late at night or if I came in at an odd hour.”
Alice did not look impressed, but she made a note. “Were you a frequent shopper at Jackson’s?”
Celinda shook her head. “Yesterday was the first time. I was just browsing, but Araminta went straight to this widget and started playing with it. She seemed to want it, so I bought it for her.”
It was the truth as far as it went. Celinda s
aw no need to add that she would never have gone into the shop in the first place if Araminta hadn’t made a great fuss when they walked past the window.
“Thank you.” Alice flipped the notebook shut and looked at Davis. “That does it for me. What about you? Is that the missing relic you were hired to find?”
Davis studied the red plastic object in Celinda’s hand. “It fits the description I was given.”
“What, exactly, was the description of this missing item you’re looking for?” Celinda asked.
“I’ve got a photograph.” Davis went back to his chair, reached down, and opened the slim briefcase he had brought with him. He took out a glossy print.
Celinda looked at the picture. The relic in the shot was, indeed, identical to the one in her hand. In the photo it appeared to be lying in a metal drawer, the kind that museums and banks use to store valuables.
So much for hoping that Davis didn’t know the relic was valuable. Easy come, easy go, she thought.
Alice rose from her chair. “I’ll leave you and Miss Ingram to talk about that red doohickey. Believe it or not, I’ve got some actual police work to do.”
“Thank you, Detective,” Davis said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“Gee, thanks, Mr. Oakes.” Alice did not bother to veil the sarcasm in her voice. She slung the strap of her black leather bag over one shoulder and made for the door. “Be sure to mention my name to Mercer Wyatt the next time you see him. Tell him that we at the Cadence City PD just live to assist the Guild in every possible way.”
Celinda froze. Mercer Wyatt was the CEO of the Cadence Guild.
“Oh, damn,” she whispered. “Please don’t tell me this is Guild business.”
Chapter 2
ALICE PAUSED AT THE DOOR. “GUESS I FORGOT TO MEN tion that Mr. Oakes’s client is Mercer Wyatt, the boss of the Cadence Guild.”
Celinda stifled a heavy sigh of regret. So much for Mr. Perfect. There was a saying in her business: Any match-maker who tries to match herself has a fool for a client. She should have remembered that bit of wisdom. But, oh, the vibes had been so good. Correction: the vibes were still terrific. What was wrong with this picture?
“Guess you did forget to mention that little fact,” she said to Alice. She drew herself up and gave Davis an accusing look. “I assumed you were probably working for some high-end collector.”
“The Cadence Guild is what you would call a corporate collector,” he said, unfazed by her glare. “It has a very fine museum.”
“Which, of course, is not open to the public.” She gave him a steely smile. “Like everything else the Guilds do, their museums are operated in an extremely secretive manner.”
Alice was starting to look amused again. “I’ll leave you and Mr. Oakes to discuss this in private.” She turned back to Davis. “Don’t forget our agreement. If you turn up anything in your investigation that I should know about, I expect to hear from you immediately.”
Davis inclined his head. “Understood, Detective.”
Alice looked skeptical, but she said nothing more. She went out into the hall, closing the door behind her.
Davis studied Celinda, eyes cool and enigmatic. “I apologize for any confusion here.”
“My fault,” she said crisply. “I obviously didn’t ask the right questions.”
Sensing her tension, Araminta muttered into her ear.
“I take it you are not a fan of the Cadence Guild?” Davis said.
“I am not a fan of any of the Guilds. I consider them antiquated, outmoded institutions. Not to mention arrogant, heavy-handed, and corrupt.” She gave him another chilly smile. “Just my opinion, of course.”
“Sure.” He gave her an equally wintry smile. “You’re not the only person who has some reservations about the way the Guilds are run.”
“They certainly have had some bad public relations problems in the past,” she agreed with alacrity.
“Which they are working hard to overcome.”
She thinned her smile out a little more. “Got a long way to go.”
The Guilds had been established during the Era of Discord when the colonies had faced the threat of tyranny from a megalomaniac named Vincent Lee Vance. Until that turning point, there had been no necessity for the four struggling city-states that had grown up around the original colonies to establish militias. Regular police departments had been all that was necessary to maintain law and order in the new world.
When Vance and his fanatical minions had begun to terrorize the city-states, they had staged their assaults via the network of underground alien catacombs that crisscrossed the planet. The strange alien psi energy that radiated throughout the maze of tunnels rendered conventional weaponry unreliable at best and, at worst, extremely hazardous to those who used it.
But the underworld labyrinth provided its own natural artillery in the form of highly volatile, potentially lethal balls of fiery, acid-green energy technically known as UDEMs. The acronym stood for unstable dissonance energy manifestation. The balls of eerie green fire were called ghosts, because they drifted erratically and unpredictably through the tunnels like so many lost specters.
Certain individuals with unusual parapsych profiles—commonly known as ghost hunters—could control and manipulate the ghosts, transforming them into weapons. The vast majority of ghost hunters were men, because the paranormal ability to handle the unique energy storms generated by the UDEMs was linked to certain male hormones.
Every schoolchild knew the story. Vincent Lee Vance recruited ghost hunters into his renegade army. The city-states responded by creating the militias known as the ghost-hunter Guilds. In the end, the colonies were able to put down the rebellion, thanks to the admittedly heroic actions of the Guilds.
After the Era of Discord, the Guilds were never disbanded. Instead, those in charge saw a golden opportunity to corner a booming new market. Exploration and excavation of the alien catacombs was rapidly becoming big business. Hundreds of academic, corporate, and privately financed companies were eager to go underground to compete in the search for valuable alien antiquities and the quest for long-lost secrets. And they all needed ghost-hunter teams to protect the crews from the wandering balls of alien energy. It took a ghost to kill a ghost, and only ghost hunters could do the job.
The Guilds contracted the services of their members to those who wanted to hire them. Over the years the organizations, led by a series of shrewd, ambitious men, had become powerful, secretive institutions bound by mysterious traditions and Guild Law.
History was repeating itself once again with the recent discovery of the vast, underground rain forest. Within the last few months the Guilds, led by Cooper Boone, the boss of the Aurora Springs Guild, had moved swiftly to position themselves as the primary source of guides and bodyguards for researchers, para-archaeologists, treasure hunters, and others who wanted to explore the jungle.
There were those—Celinda counted herself among them—who considered the Guilds only a notch or two above criminal mobs.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why the Cadence Guild is interested in my relic,” she said.
Davis smiled his faint smile. “One of the things that I offer my clients is a guarantee of confidentiality.”
“Why did the Guild hire you?” she asked. Then she held up a hand to stop him from responding. “Wait, let me guess. Guilds usually throw their business at people connected to the organizations. There must be half a dozen private investigation and security firms in Cadence that are owned and operated by retired hunters. Is your firm one of those companies?”
He contemplated her with a considering expression. “I come from a family of hunters. But I turned out a little different.”
“I see.” More bad news. He came from a Guild family. Traditionally, Guild people married other Guild people. It was one of the many customs that, in her opinion, had kept the organizations from going truly mainstream.
How could she have been so wrong about him? So mu
ch for her psychic powers.
Sadly, all the lecturing in the world wasn’t going to dampen her intuitive reaction to Davis Oakes. Something about him compelled her senses, riveted them. Probably a bug-to-liquid-amber kind of thing. Silly little bug gets attracted to the enticing, glowing resin, goes for a stroll, gets stuck and—whappo—the stuff hardens around her and she’s trapped in amber forever.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to give me that artifact.” Davis reached inside his jacket and took out a checkbook. “I’ll reimburse you for the cost plus an extra thousand for your trouble.”
“An extra thousand?” She was stunned. “It’s worth that much to the Guild?”
“Let’s just say that my client is very eager to recover the relic. Fifteen hundred?”
The arrogance of the offer irritated her.
“What happens if I refuse to hand it over?” she asked.
He took out a pen, put the checkbook down on the desk, and began writing. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Gosh, I don’t know.” She unfolded her arms and spread her hands. “Maybe because I bought it legally. Even got a receipt.”
“The relic was stolen. You are not the legal owner.”
“Maybe I just don’t like the Guild thinking it has the right to have a private investigator barge into my office and take it away from me without an adequate explanation.”
He did not look up from writing the check. “This is Guild business, Miss Ingram.”
“I love it,” she said, not bothering to conceal her disgust.
He glanced up. “You love what?”
“You thinking that Guild business is an adequate explanation.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That is so very Guild-like.”
He straightened, put the pen back in his pocket, tore out the check, and handed it to her. “Maybe this will make up for the lack of a full explanation.”
She took the check from him and read it carefully. Two thousand dollars was clearly written out in a bold scrawl. She could do a lot with two thousand. Pay her rent, buy some badly needed new clothes, treat herself to some fancy restaurants…