Rose returned with a pile of clothing that smelled strongly of smoke.
“Chloe likes color,” she explained. “Lots of it.”
“I can see that,” he said.
He thought about his own cold, steel-and-concrete condo. Everyone said it suited him. He had a feeling it was not necessarily a compliment.
“You can clean up in the kitchen,” Rose said. She motioned him toward the sink. “I’m going to put these in the washing machine.”
“Thanks.” What he really needed was a shower, but he didn’t want to go home just yet. He wanted to stay here near Chloe until she kicked him out.
There is a certain kind of freedom in celibacy.
Like hell.
He rolled up his sleeves and ran the water in the sink. Rose disappeared into a tiny laundry room. He heard the washer start. When she returned a moment later she opened a cupboard and took down a bottle of red wine.
“I thought private investigators always drank whiskey,” he said.
“Chloe tried that. Unfortunately, it turned out she didn’t like whiskey.” Rose reached into a cupboard for a glass. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
“Whatever.” Rose set the bottle and the glass on the table. Concern darkened her expression. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”
“Chloe? She seems fine. A little shaken, that’s all. Why?”
“It’s just that she looked like she’d been through hell when she came out of that house. I haven’t seen her like that since—”
Rose stopped abruptly.
“Since when, Rose?” he prompted.
“Since she closed the Anderson Point case for the cops.”
“She told me that she rarely did the kind of work she was doing tonight,” he said.
“That’s true. She doesn’t like what she calls the messy stuff. She says her real talent is for finding lost things like your lamp.”
“She’s really good at that, huh?”
“She’s brilliant. Like you said, she’s psychic.”
He lowered himself into a chair. “You wouldn’t happen to know if she’s made any progress on my case, would you?”
“Didn’t she tell you?” Rose poured half a glass of wine. “She found your lamp in Vegas this afternoon.”
“What?”
“Well, she thinks it’s the right lamp but she’s going to arrange an intro to the owner tomorrow. If all goes well, she’ll fly down to Vegas the day after to make sure it isn’t a fake or replica. She says she can’t be sure until she gets into the same room with it. The woo- woo factor, you know.”
He stared at Rose’s back, disbelief splashing through him. “I spent years on and off trying to find that damn lamp. This past month I’ve been looking for it full time and I’m a strat- talent. Are you saying that she located it in one afternoon?”
Chloe appeared in the doorway. “Told you I was good.”
He looked at her and felt everything inside him clench. She was muffled in a white spa robe. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. She looked flushed and warm, but he could see the strain in her eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “You did tell me that.”
“I don’t know for sure that the lamp I’ve got a lead on is the genuine artifact yet.” She sat down at the table, picked up the glass and took a healthy swallow of the wine. “I’m hoping to verify it in person as soon as possible.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. Absolutely not.” She waved one hand and drank some more wine. “Dealing with collectors, especially the kind who acquire paranormal objects, can be an extremely delicate matter. In my experience, it’s never good to have the client in the same room. This sort of thing is always best handled by a third party, trust me.”
“Damn it—”
“If Mr. Stone wants to sell the lamp, I’ll let you know. You can then transfer the funds into his account. I will pick up the lamp and bring it back here to you. That’s how it works.”
“Let’s get something straight,” he said. “Given what almost happened tonight, you’re not going anywhere very far without me.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” She made a face. “What happened tonight had nothing to do with your case.”
“That’s not the point. The point is you’re not going to take any more chances until that lamp is in my hands.”
She looked at Rose. “You see? This is always the problem with clients. They hire me to fix a problem, and then they try to tell me how to do my job.”
12
HE WALKED BACK INTO HIS CONDO AN HOUR LATER AND POWERED up his laptop. The newspaper accounts he was searching for popped up almost immediately. The long- delayed arrest in the Anderson Point murders had received a fair amount of coverage because of the drama at the end. He hadn’t paid much attention because at the time he’d been out of town putting together a deal with a start-up in Southern California.
The killer had managed to evade the police sent to arrest him long enough to grab a hostage. He had barricaded himself in his house with the girl and threatened to kill her.
The suspect, Richard Sawyer, told negotiators that he had been framed by a private investigator, Chloe Harper, who was working on behalf of the teenager he had taken hostage. The young woman was the daughter of the murdered couple, John and Elaine Tranner.
Sawyer offered to exchange his captive for Miss Harper. Police were reluctant, but in the end, amidst some confusion at the scene, Harper walked into the house.
What happened next is unclear. Shortly after entering the residence, Harper and the hostage emerged, unharmed. When police entered the house they found Sawyer on the floor, unconscious, having apparently suffered a seizure.
A few months later a follow-up story appeared:
. . . The thirty-one-year-old suspect in the murders of an Anderson Point couple confessed to the killings but was found incompetent to stand trial. He was ordered committed to Winter Cove Psychiatric Hospital, where he likely will spend the rest of his life.
Three weeks later there was one last piece. It was a small one:
Richard Sawyer, the confessed killer of an Anderson Point couple was found dead in his room at Winter Cove Psychiatric Hospital, the victim of an apparent suicide . . .
It took a little more digging to turn up the name of the murdered couple’s daughter. There was a photo of her leaving the courtroom with Chloe. Most of the tattoos were discreetly covered by a coat, and the makeup had been toned down, but he recognized her easily. Rose.