In Too Deep (18 page)

Zack cleared his throat. “Let’s save the conspiracy theories until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Fallon turned back to the window. Even those within his own family circle considered him a conspiracy nut. Zack and everyone else used the term
conspiracy theory
so loosely, he thought. They did not seem to grasp the bright, shining line that separated a valid theory of a case and a conspiracy fantasy. No wonder it had been easy for someone to fire up the new rumors at the highest levels of Arcane.
I gave the traitor all the ammunition he needed
.

“Will you come to the Winter Conference?” Zack asked quietly.

Zack was right, Fallon thought. Within Arcane, power spoke and spoke loudly.

“I’ll show up for the opening-night reception,” he said. “Will that satisfy you?”

“Yes.” Zack came up off the desk and clapped Fallon on the shoulder. “Thanks, cousin. I knew I could count on you.”

“One thing you should know. I’m working on another project at the moment.”

“Sorting out the Bridewell curiosities? No problem. Once Rafanelli and his team pick up the gadgets, that old case will be closed.”

“I’m not talking about the curiosities,” Fallon said. “I meant Isabella.”

Zack shot him a knowing smile. “Bring her to the conference. Hell, the fact that you’ve got a date will, uh—”

“Make me look more stable?” Fallon asked evenly. “Normal?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Zack admitted.

Fallon turned back to the view of the Sunshine. “You don’t understand. I’m working on Isabella’s case.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She thinks someone killed her grandmother. She’s convinced that the same person may be gunning for her.”

“No offense,” Zack said, “but why would anyone bother to kill the Sentinel? She’s a nutcase. Everyone knows that. And why would anyone want to murder Isabella?”

“She thinks that she stumbled into a real conspiracy. She told her grandmother and now she thinks her grandmother is dead. So, yes, Isabella thinks there’s a connection. I agreed to investigate.”

Down below, the door of the Sunshine opened. Isabella and Raine emerged carrying paper sacks that were no doubt filled with fresh, hot muffins. Fallon could see that the two women were talking easily together, as if they were old friends. You’d never know they had met only a short time ago. Isabella’s energy had that effect on people as well as dogs and plants, he thought. But, then, energy was energy. Living things always responded to it, one way or another.

Raine was tall with distinctive eyes that she tried to veil behind the severe frames of her glasses. Like Zack, she wore a lot of black.

“Let me get this straight,” Zack said. “J&J is investigating the possible death of one of the nuttiest conspiracy freaks who ever fired up a website.”

“More or less,” Fallon said.

“You’re the man who does the numbers. You never say
more or less
. What are the odds there’s a real conspiracy involved here?”

“I don’t know,” Fallon admitted.

“You always know,” Zack said.

“Not this time.” He watched a big silver-gray
SUV
drive slowly down the narrow street. “There’s the team.”

The driver of the vehicle stopped and rolled down the window to speak to Raine and Isabella. Fallon watched Isabella point toward the small parking area behind the office. Then the two women entered the empty lower floor of the building.

There were footsteps on the stairs. The door opened. Isabella and Raine walked into the room preceded by the spicy aroma of the warm muffins. They brought something else into the office, as well, the subtle heat of their auras. Both women were powerful talents. Strong sensitives stirred the atmosphere in a space even when they were not running hot.

“Dr. Rafanelli and his team will be here in a few minutes,” Isabella said. “We told them to get some coffee and muffins at the Sunshine first.”

“Damn.” Impatience flashed through Fallon. He glanced at his watch. “We don’t have all day. We need to get started. It’s going to take some time to make sure those gadgets are deactivated and properly stowed for safe transport.”

“I’m sure the crew won’t be long,” Isabella said. She opened her sack and held it out to him. “Here, have a muffin. They’re right out of the oven.”

Distracted, he peered into the sack. “Okay, thanks.”

He selected a muffin and downed half of it before he realized that Zack and Raine were watching him with scarcely veiled amusement.

“Something funny?” he asked, munching.

“No,” Zack said quickly. He took a bite of the muffin that Raine had handed to him. “You said there’s a lot of old para-energy in the bomb shelter. Anything else we ought to know about?”

Isabella tossed the empty muffin sack into the trash. “We should probably tell you about the body.”

Raine looked at her and then at Fallon. “There’s a body?”

“Old one,” Fallon explained. “Just a skeleton. Belongs to the con artist who founded an intentional community here twenty-two years ago. The members of the community kicked him out when they realized that he’d taken all their money and was trying to set up his own private harem. He returned one night to try to steal the curiosities. He got one out, the clock.”

Zack dusted muffin crumbs off his hands and looked interested. “How did he get dead?”

“Workplace accident,” Fallon said.

AN
HOUR
LATER
Fallon stood with Zack in the shelter. They watched Rafanelli and his team painstakingly deactivate the clockwork mechanisms that animated the objects in the glass cases. Each curiosity was carefully stowed in one of the leaded-glass boxes the Society’s museums used to transport artifacts infused with a hefty amount of unknown crystal or glass-based psi.

Isabella and Raine were on the other side of the room, standing over the skeleton. They talked in low voices. Zack glanced at the body with a thoughtful expression.

“That was no workplace accident,” he said.

“Close enough.” Fallon shrugged. “Lasher was a thief, and he appears to have been at work trying to steal stuff when he got whacked. Workplace accident, like I said.”

“Who used the crowbar on his skull?”

“We think there was a woman with him. Her name was Rachel Stewart and she had some talent. From the looks of it, Rachel got really pissed off.”

“You’re going with a falling-out-among-thieves scenario?”

“It fits,” Fallon said. “In any event, it happened more than twenty years ago. No one gives a damn now.”

“And it would be a little awkward to turn the case over to the authorities,” Zack agreed dryly, “given the hot psi down here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“See?” Zack widened his hands. “This is how the Joneses accumulate secrets.”

“Another thing we’re good at, like acquiring enemies.”

Raine and Isabella turned away from the skeleton and walked back across the small space.

“You say you’re planning to dump the remains off the Point?” Raine asked.

“That’s the plan,” Fallon said.

“Use your own judgment,” Raine said. “But I think you should know that I can hear the echoes of the voices of the people who were here that night.”

Fallon looked at her. “And?”

Shadows flickered through Raine’s eyes. “There was a woman involved. But she was not the killer. There were three people down here at the time of the death. Someone else struck Lasher with that crowbar.”

“Lovers’ triangle?” Isabella asked.

Raine’s brows tightened over the rims of her glasses. “No, I don’t think so, not exactly. But there was a violent quarrel.”

Fallon pondered possible revisions to the scenario for about one second, made the small adjustment necessary to his theory of the crime and was satisfied.

“Doesn’t change anything,” he said. “No one cares.”

Across the room Preston Rafanelli finished locking down the last of the curiosities. A short, sturdily built man in his early forties, he balanced his balding head with a neatly trimmed beard. He gave final instructions to one of the techs and then walked forward to join Fallon and the others. His broad face was flushed with excitement.

“This is an incredible find,” he enthused. “I can hardly wait to get these artifacts into the lab. I know Dr. Tremont will want to examine them as soon as possible. I’ll e-mail her tonight. Got a hunch she’ll be cutting her sabbatical short when she hears that an entire cache of Bridewell’s inventions has been located. I can’t thank you enough for bringing me in on this project, Jones.”

“No problem,” Fallon said. “I live to bring joy into the lives of others.”

Everyone except Isabella stared at him, mouths agape.

Isabella widened her hands. “And people say Fallon Jones has no sense of humor.”

A
t four o’clock that afternoon, Zack got behind the wheel of the rental car. Raine buckled up in the passenger seat. She waved at Isabella and Fallon, who were standing on the narrow sidewalk in front of the office.

Zack put the car in gear and drove slowly along the Cove’s narrow main drag, following the
SUV
carrying Rafanelli and his team.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Raine said. “But I believe that the Earth may have just shifted on its axis.”

Zack smiled. “Because Fallon finally hired an assistant?”

“Not just any assistant. He managed to find the one woman on the face of the planet who seems to be able to appreciate his rather unique nature. They’re sleeping together.”

“Yeah, I did get that impression,” Zack said. “Always knew that when Fallon finally went down, he’d fall like one of those big woolly mammoths at the end of the Ice Age.”

“Hard?”

“Very. I’m surprised we didn’t feel the ground shake all the way up in Seattle.”

Raine drummed her fingers lightly on the seat. “I like Isabella very much, but I do sense that she’s as comfortable with conspiracy theories as Fallon is. Maybe even more so.”

“I think it’s in the blood. Fallon says that she’s the Sentinel’s granddaughter.”

Raine turned her head sharply, startled. “The nut who operates that weird website? Iceberg?”

“One and the same. Evidently the Sentinel died recently or faked her own death, depending on your point of view.”

“Good grief.”

“Isabella is convinced that someone may have murdered her grandmother because of some secret conspiracy. She thinks the killers are after her as well.”

Raine rested her head against the back of the seat and groaned. “Oh, brother. Isabella really is a little out there, isn’t she?”

“Looks like it.”

“She seems so nice. I really like her. What does Fallon think?”

“Fallon really likes her, too. I got the impression that he’s not buying into her conspiracy theory, at least not entirely. But he’s sleeping with her and he’s a Jones, so he’ll do just about anything for her. He’s investigating the Sentinel’s death.”

“Wait until the rest of the Joneses hear about this.” Raine’s mouth twitched. “The clan is going to go into shock. Everyone has been hoping that Fallon would meet someone who could keep him anchored in reality, a woman who would serve as a counterbalance for his rather unusual nature.”

“Instead he’s gone right off the deep end for someone who is even further over the horizon than he is.”

“What did he say when you asked him to come to the Winter Conference?” Raine asked.

“I explained the situation to him. He understood. He’ll be there. He won’t be staying long, though, just the night of the reception and the auction. But that’s enough for my purposes.”

“Get a bunch of Joneses in one room together and people pay attention,” Raine said. “Any idea why Fallon hates social gatherings so much?”

“He’s never been keen on them, but he really does not want to attend this particular gig.”

“Why?”

“His ex-fiancée and her family will be there.”

“Whoa, slow down. I didn’t know that Fallon had been engaged.”

“Her name is Jennifer Austin. She’s an expert in paranormal radiation. Works in the lab in L.A.”

“Any relation to the Conroy Austin who sits on the Council?”

“His daughter,” Zack said. “When Jennifer and Fallon got engaged, everyone thought it was a perfect match.”

“What happened?”

“It didn’t end well,” Zack said.

“I see.”

“By the way, you were wrong about the Earth shifting on its axis just because Fallon Jones got himself a new assistant.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely certain,” Zack said. “That Earth-shifting-on-its-axis thing only happens when you and I make love.”

“Yes,” Raine said. She smiled. “You’re right about that.”

A
t nine o’clock the next morning, Isabella was on the phone with Emily Crane, one of J&J’s contract investigators.

“He’s sitting here in my office, crying,” Emily whispered on the other end of the line. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Don’t worry about the crying client,” Isabella said. “Cases involving fraudulent mediums are always very emotional. Mr. Rand hoped that the fake psychic really had communicated with his dead mother. But the fact that he asked J&J to investigate makes it clear that deep down he had his doubts. Pat him on the shoulder and remind him that his own instincts were solid.”

“The problem,” Emily said in low tones, “is the reason why he was so anxious to contact the dear departed in the first place. Evidently his mother stashed several thousand dollars’ worth of financial instruments somewhere before her death. Rand told me that his mom collapsed and died very suddenly. Heart attack. She never told anyone where she had hidden the papers.”

“Oh, I see,” Isabella said. “Well, that’s simple enough. Tell Mr. Rand that you’ll be glad to see what you can do about turning up the missing financial instruments.”

“Uh, that’s not such a great idea. Hang on a sec.”

Isabella heard muffled voices in the background. Emily Crane was speaking to the client.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Mr. Rand, this is a business call. I’m going to take it in the next room
.
”