Sizzle and Burn (36 page)

“Now what are you talking about?”

“According to the file you had on me, it was a known fact in certain quarters within J&J that there was a high statistical probability that I had inherited a type and degree of parasensitivity that is very difficult to handle out here in the real world. Did you know that when you tell folks you hear voices they tend to treat you like you’re crazy? And guess what? You often end up crazy.”

“It’s not my fault that your file got buried. Every file concerning your family was classified.”

“Got news for you, Mr. Jones, J&J may choose to conduct its operations as if it were a clandestine government agency, but it’s not. It’s just one more private investigation firm, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Damn it—”

“What’s more, even if it was a legitimate agency of the federal government, I’d still be just as pissed.”

“Calm down, Miss Tallentyre.”

It was an order. She ignored it.

“I am perfectly calm, thank you. Speaking of your cavalier disregard for other people’s personal privacy, I would like to add that I am not at all pleased to know that at the start of this case you had your analysts check out everything from my medical history to my personal shopping habits. Such things are supposed to be confidential, Mr. Jones.”

“Put Zack on the line.”

“Just so you know, I’m giving serious thought to taking J&J to court. Just imagine what a lawsuit would mean to your firm and the entire Arcane Society. Why, I’ll bet if I get myself a really good lawyer and the right judge, I can force you to open up all of your so-called classified files. Think of the headlines. ‘
Psychic Detective Agency Maintains Secret Files on Private Citizens.
’”

“Put. Zack. On. The. Phone,” Fallon ordered. “Now.”

“Sorry. He’s not available.”

“Where is he?”

“In the emergency room.”

“He’s been hurt? How? What’s going on there?”

“Oh, right, I guess you don’t know about the latest little J&J screwup, do you? Turns out you were wrong when you confirmed that the Shelbyville cops had the serial killer in custody.”

“I said the analysts estimated the probability of the cops having the right man to be ninety-six point three percent.”

She made a
tut-tutting
sound. “Not good enough, Mr. Jones. Your analysts were one hundred percent wrong. The real killer took a couple of shots at us this afternoon. One of those shots hit Zack. That was before the guy tried to torch us, by the way.”

“How bad?”

He sounded genuinely worried. She relented slightly.

“The doctor said he’ll be okay. I’m standing outside the emergency room as we speak, waiting to find out.”

“Did they get the bastard?”

“You mean, did they get the right bastard this time? The answer is yes, no thanks to J&J.”

“I don’t know how we missed that one. Clearly we had insufficient or false data.”

“Maybe you should rely a little less on your analysts’ psychic abilities and a little more on traditional methods of criminal investigation.”

“It’s not like we had a lot of time to check out the reports,” Fallon shot back defensively. “We had other priorities, if you will recall.”

She was about to fire back but she saw Zack on the other side of the sliding glass doors. He was on his feet and moving. That was a very good sign. The medics had cut off his shirt. He wore his leather jacket open over his bare chest. She could see the edge of a large white bandage on his side.

“Zack just came out of the ER,” she said. “Got to go.”

“Wait,” Fallon said quickly. “Don’t hang up. Put him on the line.”

“Okay. But before I do, there’s something you and I should get clear.”

“What?” he asked, very wary.

“I understand that J&J answers only to the Governing Council and the Master of the Arcane Society.”

“Yeah. So, what?”

“As it happens, I will soon be the wife of the next Master.”

“
What
?”

“That position will give me a great deal of power, not to mention enormous influence.” She waved a crutch at Zack. “Better not piss me off any more, Mr. Jones.”

“Give me Zack,” Fallon snarled.

Zack was through the glass doors, coming toward her.

“It’s Mr. Jones of J&J,” she said. “He wants to speak with you.”

“Figured he’d be calling,” Zack said.

“Better warn you, I just told him that you and I are going to get married.”

Masculine satisfaction etched his hard face. His eyes got very, very blue.

“Well, now,” he said softly. “Within the Society that pretty much amounts to a formal announcement. How’d he take it?”

“In another era I believe he would have been described as apoplectic.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll survive.”

“Zack?” Fallon’s voice, emanating from the small phone, sounded faint and tinny. “Is that you?”

Zack took the phone from Raine’s hand, leaned forward and kissed her very thoroughly. By the time he raised his head she was tingling from head to toe.

“Zack?” Fallon was shouting now. “You there? Talk to me, damn it.”

“Later,” Zack said somewhat absently into the phone. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

He ended the call, dropped the phone into a pocket and went back to kissing Raine.

Fifty-eight

T
hey were gathered in her living room, drinking the first of the two bottles of Oregon pinot noir that Gordon had brought along. He and Andrew claimed they both needed the wine for medicinal purposes while they recovered from the shock of events. The pair occupied the sofa, the cats stretched out between them. Zack was in one of the two reading chairs. Raine took the other.

“How did you figure out where she hid the journal?” Andrew asked. “Did you know about the wall safe?”

“No.” Raine looked at the leather-bound book lying on the coffee table. “But this morning I suddenly remembered the painting on the wall of her bedroom. It was the first of her mask series. “In hindsight, I realized it must have been inspired by Wilder Jones.”

Gordon glanced at the volume on the coffee table. “What did you find in that journal?”

She fortified herself with a swallow of wine and set down the glass. “My father injected himself with his version of the formula.”

“Damn.” Gordon’s silver-gray brows shot straight up. “That certainly explains a few things.”

“I’ll say,” Andrew agreed.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” she said. “Judson Tallentyre sounds like the original mad scientist.”

“No,” Zack said. He drank some wine and lowered his glass. “Within the Arcane Society, that honor belongs to my ancestor Sylvester Jones.”

Raine looked up, startled. “You’re calling the founder of the Arcane Society a mad scientist?”

“Well, technically speaking, I guess you’d have to label him a mad alchemist, given that he lived in the late sixteen hundreds. Don’t think the word
scientist
was used in those days. It amounts to the same thing, though. Sylvester was unquestionably brilliant, and there’s no doubt but that he was a powerful sensitive. But it’s also no secret, at least in the Jones family, that he was obsessed, paranoid and probably delusional, at least toward the end.”

“Interesting family history,” Andrew observed drily.

“Family tree is riddled with what the Society euphemistically likes to call
exotics
,” Zack said. “But in Sylvester’s case, I think there’s a strong possibility that some of his quirks were exacerbated by the experiments he ran on himself.”

Andrew frowned. “Sylvester Jones invented the original version of the formula?”

“Along with what was supposed to be the antidote,” Zack said. “But in the Victorian era, the Society found out the hard way that the antidote doesn’t work. In the late sixteen hundreds Sylvester died alone in his laboratory, which became his tomb. No one knows for sure what killed him, but there’s a widely held theory in the family that he probably poisoned himself with his own formula and died because the antidote failed.”

Gordon absently stroked Batman and looked at Raine. “I suppose your father took the risk with his version of the formula because he was convinced it would work.”

“Yes.” She picked up her glass and swallowed some wine. She was going to need it to get through the rest of the story. “He also injected Aunt Vella with the drug.”

There was a short, horrified silence while they all absorbed that news.

Andrew closed his eyes in pain. “That probably explains a few more things.”

“The drug worked,” she continued evenly. “It dramatically enhanced both my aunt’s and my father’s psychic abilities. But Dad soon realized that there were problems. He and Aunt Vella began to have difficulty controlling their parasenses. Their normal senses were affected, as well.”

“The old instability problem,” Zack said.

“My father immediately stopped all research on the enhancing formula and went to work on an antidote. He believed he was making progress. During the last year of his life he worked day and night in the lab. He was desperate to save himself and Aunt Vella.”

Andrew looked at her. “He found something?”

“Yes,” she said. “He began giving the antidote to Aunt Vella and himself, even though it was still highly experimental. It was a course of injections designed to be taken over a period of several weeks so that the results and side effects could be closely monitored. But Dad was killed in the car accident before either of them completed the series. They were each supposed to take one more dose.”

Zack went very still. “That’s why the two of you went to his lab the night of the funeral.”

She nodded. “Aunt Vella writes in the journal that she was desperate to take the last injection of the antidote. By then she had realized that she had been sleeping with the enemy. She knew that when Wilder found the lab, he would destroy everything in it.”

“Did she get the final dose?” Gordon asked, riveted.

“Yes.” Raine took another sip of wine and lowered the glass. “I remember her driving us to the lab that night. She knew the code that unlocked the door. Once we were inside, she sat me down in a chair and gave me one of my favorite books to read. It was about horses. I loved that book, but that night I couldn’t concentrate.”

“No mystery there,” Andrew said. “You were traumatized because you had been to your father’s funeral that day.”

“At the lab she went into the small room where my father had installed a special refrigerator.” Raine watched the flames dance in the hearth. “Wilder Jones and his men stormed through the door a short time later and started taking the place apart. Aunt Vella rushed out of the refrigerator room and scooped me up in her arms. She was crying and screaming at Wilder. The next thing I knew we were sitting in the back of the car, being driven home by one of Wilder’s men.”

“She took the last dose of the antidote that night,” Zack said, looking very thoughtful. He switched his attention to Andrew and Gordon. “How long was it before you started seeing signs that she was in trouble?”

Andrew and Gordon exchanged looks.

“Three, maybe four months later,” Gordon said. “The first episode only lasted a few days. She seemed to return to normal after that, at least for a while.”

“We thought the worst had passed,” Andrew explained. “But the episodes came and went with increasing frequency over the years. Each was more severe and lasted longer, leaving her a little more fragile.”

“But she lived until last month.” Zack leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs and put his fingertips together. “She’d still be alive if she wasn’t murdered.”

“She had to be institutionalized at the end,” Gordon reminded him.

“Yes, but you described her as being relatively calm and reasonably lucid during the last year of her life, thanks to Ogilvey’s meds and therapy. And we know for a fact that she was able to think clearly enough on the night of her death to leave a message for Raine.”

“Where are you going with this?” Raine asked.

Zack tapped his fingers together once. “I’m thinking that, although your father’s version of the antidote was obviously flawed, he must have leaped a few major technical hurdles.”

She frowned, baffled. “What do you mean?”

“As far as I know,” Zack said, “your aunt lived longer than anyone else who was given several doses of the drug and then deprived of it. In every other instance that I am aware of, the individuals all died within days, usually by suicide. But Vella Tallentyre, for all her odd behavior, did not go insane and she did not take her own life. According to the historical records, that makes her unique.”

They all absorbed that for a few minutes.

After a while, Raine stirred in her chair. “In that case, you might be interested to know that taking the last dose of the drug wasn’t the only thing that Vella did that night when we went to the lab.”

Zack watched her steadily. “What else did she do?”

“My father kept three sets of lab notes—one on a computer, another on a hard-copy printout and a third in his private journal. Wilder Jones knew about all three and destroyed them. But before he arrived at the lab, my aunt photocopied the pages of my father’s journal that contain his antidote. She took the copies with her that night.”

Zack’s eyes narrowed. “According to his report, Wilder searched your aunt before he put the two of you into the car.”

“I don’t know if he concluded that I had been traumatized enough for one day or if he was just distracted by Vella in a hysterical rage. Whatever the case, he didn’t search me. Aunt Vella hid the pages in my horse book. I’m the one who carried the formula for my father’s antidote out of the lab.”

They all switched their attention to the leather-bound volume lying on the coffee table.

“She took the pages from me as soon as we got home,” Raine said. “I never saw them again until I opened that journal. They were tucked into the back.”

Zack contemplated the flames with an enigmatic expression. “Well, one Jones family mystery has been solved.”

“What’s that?” Raine asked.

“It’s now obvious why Uncle Wilder went over the edge during the last three months of his life. Everyone said it seemed as though he had developed a death wish. But Dad was right. There was a woman involved.”