Grace smiled. “Your paranoia is showing, sir.”
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“Neither do I,” Luther said. He went to stand at the window and looked down at the café. “But sometimes a waitress is just a waitress.”
It struck Fallon that there was something weird about Luther. He still looked like the battered ex-cop that he was, right down to the bum leg and the cane. But there was a sense of positive energy around him that felt odd. The same kind of strange energy was coming off of Grace, too. What was up with this pair?
“I ran my own check of the genealogy files,” Grace said. “But I didn’t find anything. Evidently none of Miss Valdez’s ancestors was ever affiliated with the Society.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time Nightshade hacked into our database and altered records,” Fallon reminded her grimly.
She shook her head, very certain. “I think she’s exactly what she appears to be: a woman with a strong talent who found herself alone in the world. I didn’t turn up any immediate family or close relatives. Looks like she grew up outside Arcane, so there would have been no one to help her understand and accept the psychic side of her nature. I think she came here because she’s lonely, Mr. Jones. She was looking for a place to call home. Trust me, I know the feeling.”
Fallon contemplated that for a moment. “Valdez feels different all of her life, so she ends up here, where ninety- nine point nine percent of the town’s population could be labeled misfits. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” Grace said. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Luther looked back over his shoulder. “Only ninety-nine point nine percent of the locals are misfits? Who’s your token normal?”
Fallon frowned, mystified by the question.
“Me,” he said.
Luther grinned. “Right. Well, now that we’ve assured you that the new coffee shop waitress is not a Nightshade operative sent here to spy on you, Grace and I are going to be on our way.”
“What’s the rush?” Fallon asked. He didn’t get a lot of visitors. For the most part he didn’t like visitors, at least not for long. Visitors were a distraction. High maintenance. But for some reason he was reluctant to see Luther and Grace leave.
“Figured as long as we had to come over here to the mainland on J&J business, we might as well visit a friend in Eclipse Bay before we fly home to the Islands,” Luther said. “It’s called padding the expense account.”
“Who’s the friend?” Fallon asked, ignoring the unsubtle dig.
Grace smiled. “Her name is Arizona Snow.”
“Snow.” Fallon searched his memory. “The name sounds familiar.”
“She used to be my landlady,” Grace explained.
“Something else.” Fallon frowned, trying to remember where he had come across the name.
Luther gave him a knowing look. “She’s a senior citizen, the town eccentric. She’s harmless, but years ago she used to work for a classified government agency.”
“Got it,” Fallon snapped his fingers. “I came across the data in a file when you moved to Eclipse Bay, Grace. I remember checking into it. Snow was some kind of high-level talent at one time. Never registered with the Society, so there’s no record of exactly what type of ability she had. Somewhere along the line she self-destructed. Went over the edge and got lost in her own crazy conspiracy theories. Harmless, but definitely a total whack job.”
Grace and Luther exchanged looks. Fallon got the feeling he was missing something. But, then, that happened a lot when he was around other people.
Belatedly, the meaning of the glance that had passed between Grace and Luther hit him. He exhaled heavily.
“You think I’ve got a few things in common with Arizona Snow, don’t you?” he asked. He suddenly felt inexpressibly weary. “You think that I’m a conspiracy nut, too.”
“No, of course not,” Grace said quickly. “It’s just that your talent is so unusual. This thing you do, your ability to see connections between seemingly random bits of information, it’s quite rare.”
“No, it’s not,” Fallon said flatly. “People do it all the time. Check out the Internet if you want to see real conspiracy buffs.”
“Here’s the big difference between you and most of the other conspiracy-theory folks,” Luther said. “Ninety-five percent of the time you’re right.”
“Actually, it’s more like ninety- six point two percent,” Fallon corrected absently. “It used to be higher, but I had to recalculate after the Hawaii case. Regardless, it leaves a small but very real margin for error. You two found that out the hard way.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t make a few mistakes,” Grace said generously. “Have you given my suggestion any thought, Mr. Jones?”
“What suggestion?”
“I told you that you needed an assistant.” Grace looked around the office. “You’re getting buried in paperwork and computers here. You need someone to organize this place.”
He surveyed the office. “I know where everything is.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean that things are organized efficiently,” Grace said. “We talked about this. The burden of commanding the fight against Nightshade falls mostly on your shoulders. You’re the man in charge, but you have to face the fact that you can’t do it all. You need someone who can take over the day-to-day administrative tasks so that you will be able to focus on more important priorities.”
“She’s right,” Luther said. “Might help if you got more sleep, too. No offense, but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck. When was the last time you got a full night’s rest?”
For some reason he felt the need to defend himself. “I don’t need a lot of sleep,” he muttered.
“Yes, you do,” Grace said. “Hire an assistant, Mr. Jones. And soon.”
“And on that note, we’re out of here,” Luther said. He smiled at Grace. “Ready, honey?”
“Yes.” She glanced at her watch as she walked toward the door. “Oh, wow, look at the time. We definitely need to be on our way north.”
Luther nodded at Fallon. “Later, Fallon.”
“One thing before you leave,” Fallon said. He looked at Grace. “None of my business, but are you okay?”