Dream Eyes (7 page)

He tightened his grip on the wheel. “Oh, yeah.”

“Are you positive?”

“Call it male intuition,” he said.

“I wasn’t trying to project that sort of impression, believe me. I just wanted him to know that I had—”

“Backup?”

“Yes, backup.” She was clearly pleased. “That’s the right word.”

“Why?”

“Wesley can be a trifle obsessive when it comes to his show. I don’t want him interfering with our investigation.”

“Do you think that he would?”

“Ha. In a heartbeat if he thought it might be fodder for an episode of
Dead of Night
. What could be more made-to-order than an investigation into the mysterious death of a woman who conducted research into the paranormal?”

“Is his series really popular?”

“It has attracted an audience on cable, but between you and me, I think it’s struggling,” Gwen said. “You can only do so many ghost stories, you know. After a while, they all tend to be alike. Evelyn and I did our best, but it’s hard to keep coming up with new angles.”

“Especially since there are no such things as ghosts.”

“That fact was the least of our problems,” Gwen said. “Between us, Evelyn and I did a good job of coming up with interesting locations and good scripts because we focused on genuine murders. We stuck with the really old ones, of course—historical mysteries.”

“The kind where everyone involved is long dead.”

“Right. The last thing we wanted to do was get sued by irate relatives of the deceased. Anyhow, once we had the mystery and the location, I just invented a ghost for the story. No problem.”

“Or have to wonder if you should go to the cops with whatever evidence you found?”

She glanced at him swiftly and then looked straight ahead through the windshield. “There would be no point going to the police in most cases. They wouldn’t pay any attention to a psychic counselor.”

“No, probably not. But you’re okay with the real cold cases?”

“Yes.” Gwen brightened. “I view them as fascinating puzzles. To tell you the truth, I think that Evelyn and I solved a lot of very old murders for
Dead of Night
, but of course there’s no way to prove it.”

“Because everyone involved is dead.”

“Yep.”

“Were you telling Wesley the truth when you said that you didn’t have any idea what Evelyn was working on recently?”

“That was the absolute truth,” Gwen said. “I’ve been busy with my clients and finishing an earlier script for
Dead
. I hadn’t heard from Evelyn in a while, but that wasn’t unusual. I just assumed she was consumed with her research. When she got caught up in a project, she became very, very focused.”

“Are you talking about her research for
Dead of Night
?”

“No,” Gwen said. “She just took that job to pay the bills. Her real passion was serious research into the paranormal. She set up an entire lab out at the old lodge near the falls. That’s where she spent most of her time.”

“When was the last time you heard from her?”

“I got a very cryptic e-mail message from her late last night telling me that she had stumbled onto something very important. She wanted to talk about it in person, not over the phone.” Gwen looked out the side window at the river. “But I didn’t read my e-mail until this morning. I tried to call her immediately, but by then it was too late.”

He caught the faint tremor in her voice.

“There was nothing you could have done,” he said quietly.

“I know.” Gwen trapped her hands between her knees and continued to stare out the window at the river. “I know.”

Brooding on what ifs never went well, he thought. He should know. The solution, he had learned, was to stay focused on the present.

“Let’s stick with what we have,” he said. “You’re thinking that if Ballinger was murdered, there may be a connection to whatever she was working on just before her death.”

“Yes.” Gwen turned back to look at him. “You heard me tell Wesley that her computer was missing. Her cell phone was gone, too.”

“I agree that under the circumstances that needs some explaining. You don’t trust Thor—Lancaster—do you?”

Gwen winced. “I wouldn’t say that, not exactly. It’s just that when you’re dealing with Wesley, you have to keep in mind that he always has an agenda and that he’ll do or say whatever it is he needs to do or say to get what he wants. The trick to dealing with him is to remember that the most important thing in his world is the future of
Dead of Night
. If you filter everything through that lens, you can work with him. He’s no worse than any other career-obsessed person, male or female. In fact, I’ve met worse.”

“Got any specific reasons for not trusting him?”

Gwen was silent for a few seconds.

“I guess I’ll have to go with the obvious answer,” she said. “Female intuition.”

“I respect intuition,” he said. “But I like hard facts, too. Correct me if I’m wrong, but earlier I got the impression that you and Lancaster have some history that involves more than a business association.”

“Two years ago, when we met here in Wilby, he tried to get me into bed.”

Judson’s gut tightened. “Do you distrust every man who wants to sleep with you?”

“Only when the man in question neglects to mention that he’s married. That tends to piss me off.”

Judson exhaled slowly and loosened his death grip on the wheel.

“Okay,” he said. “I get that. So, did you find out about the wife before or after?”

She gave him a cold glance. “It’s not really any of your business, is it?”

“No. But I am a trained psychic investigator. I tend to be curious by nature.”
Especially when it comes to you,
he added silently. “Sorry. You’re right. Not my business. Moving right along—”

“Before.”

“What?”

“I found out that Wesley was married before our relationship progressed to the physical stage,” she said stiffly.

“Is he still married?”

“No. Evelyn mentioned several months ago that Wesley and his wife were divorced.”

“Was Lancaster here in Wilby two years ago when the deaths occurred?”

“Yes,” Gwen said. “He was here.”

“Now there’s been another death and Lancaster is here again.”

“I noticed that amazing coincidence, myself,” Gwen said. “Here we are. That’s the Wilby General Store. You can park in front. We’re in time. Luckily Buddy doesn’t close much before five-thirty.”

Six

B
uddy Poole, proprietor of the Wilby General Store, leaned on the counter and peered at Gwen over the rims of gold-framed reading glasses.

“So, you took Evelyn’s cat, eh?” he said. “That’s mighty noble of you, but I’d better warn you up front Max is used to the expensive stuff. The high-end cat food, canned wild salmon and the good tuna fish. Evelyn always bought him the best—same brands that people eat. Gotta tell ya, my dogs don’t eat nearly as high on the hog as that cat.”

“He’s going to have to modify his gourmet tastes if he hangs around me,” Gwen said. “Buddy, I’d like you to meet Judson Coppersmith. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Nice to meet you,” Buddy said. He stuck out a big hand. “Welcome to Wilby. Sorry it’s such sad circumstances that bring you here.”

Judson shook hands across the counter. “Call me Judson.”

“You bet. Heard Gwen had a friend with her. You’re stayin’ over at the inn?”

“That’s right,” Gwen said. “Trisha has very kindly allowed me to keep Max in my room, but I need some cat litter and food for him. I don’t suppose you know anyone who might like a nice cat?”

“Nope. I’m a dog man, myself. Got a couple of Rottweilers that would probably view Max as a chew toy.”

The Wilby General Store had changed little in the two years that she had been away. The grocery aisles and the small fresh produce section occupied the left-hand side of the premises. Shelves and tables displaying the wares of the local artisans were arranged on the right.

Buddy Poole hadn’t changed, either, she thought. He was a sturdy, stocky man with a bushy gray beard and a receding hairline. He wore a plaid shirt and a pair of pants held up by red suspenders.

“Real shame about poor Evelyn,” Buddy said. He exhaled heavily and shook his head. “We’re all gonna miss her. She was a fixture here in Wilby.” He looked at Gwen. “Heard you were the one who found her body.”

“Word gets around fast,” Gwen said.

“In this town it does. Sorry it had to be you. I know the two of you were friends.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said. “About the cat food, I’ll go with the expensive stuff for now. I think Max has been traumatized enough. You know how cats are when you take them out of their territory.”

“Heard they don’t settle well into new surroundings,” Buddy said. “With dogs, it’s different. Long as they’re with their pack, they’re happy campers.” He bustled around the end of the counter. “You’ll be wanting the wild salmon, then. And fresh eggs. Evelyn always fed him eggs. Got a refrigerator in your room? If not, I’m sure Trisha would let you store a carton of eggs in her kitchen.”

“I’ve got one of those minibar refrigerators,” Gwen said. “There’s enough space for a half-size carton of eggs.”

“We’ll need a can opener, too,” Judson said, “and the cat litter.”

“Aisle three.” Buddy started back toward the counter with a couple of cans of salmon and the eggs.

Two people, clearly summer visitors, not locals, ambled into the store. The subtle draft created by the opening and closing of the front door sent a faint shiver of all-too-familiar music through the atmosphere. The melancholy sound iced the back of Gwen’s neck. She knew that from now on whenever she heard wind chimes, the image of Evelyn’s body lying on the carpet would drift like a ghost through her thoughts.

She saw that Judson was studying the small display of crystal wind chimes suspended from the ceiling.

“Sell a lot of those?” he asked Buddy.

“Sure do,” Buddy said. He set the cans of salmon on the counter. “Local lady named Louise Fuller makes ’em. Very popular with the tourists. Just about everyone around here has one of her little musical sculptures hanging on the front porch or somewhere inside the house. Couple of other craftspeople in Wilby make chimes, but no one makes ’em the way Louise does. The sound is unique. I sell a lot of ’em at the crafts fairs, too.”

“You’re still doing the crafts fair circuit?” Gwen asked.

“Oh, sure.” Buddy punched in numbers on the antique cash register. “I try to hit five or six a year. Lot of the craftspeople and artists here depend on the cash I bring back from those fairs. Nicole, the florist, looks after my dogs when I’m gone. You remember Nicole Hudson, Gwen?”

“I remember her,” Gwen said.

Buddy winced. “Sorry. Forgot that you and Nicole had some words after what happened out at the falls a couple of years ago.” He cleared his throat and looked up from the cash register. “Will that be all?”

“Yes,” Judson said. He fished out his wallet and put some cash on the counter.

“Wait,” Gwen said. “I was going to pay for those things.”

“We’ll settle up later,” Judson promised.

Buddy slipped the money into the till and handed back some change. He looked at Gwen above the rims of his glasses. “Don’t want to get personal, but people are saying that Oxley gave you a hard time because of what happened to Evelyn.”

“I think it’s safe to say that Chief Oxley would prefer that I leave town as soon as possible,” Gwen said. “And he’s not the only one. But it’s going to take a while to decide what to do with Evelyn’s house and her old lab.”

Buddy’s bushy brows bounced up and down a couple of times. “Also heard that the television guy Evelyn used to do some work for is back. Any idea why he’s hanging around?”

“He’s looking for more ideas for his show,” Gwen said, deliberately vague. “He left town a short time ago.” She collected the sack of cat litter, food and eggs. “Thanks, Buddy.”

“You bet.” Buddy exhaled. “Just so damn sad about Evelyn. Really gonna miss her.”

“So will I,” Gwen said.

Seven

E
velyn’s small house was huddled in the trees at the end of the road. The windows were dark, just as they had been that morning when Gwen arrived. She felt the hair lift again on the nape of her neck. A shiver went through her.

Judson eased the SUV to a stop in the drive. He sat quietly for a moment, studying the house. Energy shifted in the atmosphere. The stone in his ring heated a little.

“You feel it, too, don’t you?” she said.

He did not ask her for an explanation.

“Like a shadow over the house,” he said. “You just know something bad happened inside.”

“I knew this morning when I got here, before I even opened the door,” Gwen said.

“Yeah, it usually hits me that way, too.” He paused. “But only if serious violence was involved.”

“Same with me.” She did not take her eyes off the house. “But at least in your business you get to do something constructive. You find justice for the victims.”

“I hate to disillusion you, but most of my consulting work is—was—done for an intelligence agency. Justice wasn’t the objective.”

“What was the objective?”

“Information. I’m good at gathering that.”

She turned her head and gave him a disturbingly insightful look. “But you don’t find it very satisfying, do you?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes I think Mom was right. I should have joined the FBI.”

“So that you could hunt bad guys? But you don’t like to take orders or work as a member of a team. You and the FBI would not have been a good fit.”

“No.” He paused, frowning. “Did Sam tell you about my preference for working alone?”

“No.”

Judson’s irritation was palpable. “You can read that kind of personality trait in an aura?”

“I didn’t get that information from your aura.” She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. “Five minutes in your company was more than enough to reveal that aspect of your character, believe me.”

She jumped down and slammed the car door a little harder than was necessary.

*   *   *