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“Well, some new appliances, of course. Had to take up the old linoleum. But the tile work on the counters is all original. I’ll show you.”
Pallas followed him into the charming, old-fashioned kitchen, determined to keep up the comments and questions so that Ambrose would have an opportunity to finish the search.
“The tile work is fantastic,” she said, admiring the backsplash. “And it’s in excellent condition.”
“I have to do some grout work occasionally, but that’s about it,” Ralph said.
Pallas heard Ambrose coming back down the hall. Relieved, she turned toward the kitchen doorway. The glint of sun sparking on glass caught her eye. She looked up and saw a small crystal pyramid on top of the refrigerator. It had been carefully positioned to catch light and reflect it in a subtle way.
Ambrose appeared. “We should be going.”
Ralph abruptly switched gears.
“Do you think I should call the police?” he said.
“Not much point,” Ambrose said. “It’s obvious our concerns were misplaced. You were right. Looks like she bailed on the rent. I wouldn’t be surprised if her shop on Main Street is in trouble. She probably couldn’t handle the lease, so she left town.”
Ralph sighed. “She seemed so nice.”
They trooped back across the street, said goodbye to Ralph, and got into Ambrose’s car. Pallas looked at him.
“Well?” she said.
“She’s gone, all right.” Ambrose put on his sunglasses, fired up the engine, and drove back toward town. “She left plenty of stuff behind but nothing of a personal nature. She had her exit strategy planned ahead of time. I’ll see if Calvin can pick up any leads but I’m not hopeful. She knew we were closing in on her and she decided to disappear. What did you stumble into in the front hall?”
“Rage,” Pallas said. She shivered at the memory. “A lot of it. There was also a sense of frustration and, I think, some fear. It felt like the same kind of emotional heat I picked up in Fenner’s house.”
“She’s the one who killed him,” Ambrose said.
“I think so. There’s something else as well. When she walked out the front door of the Atherton house, she wasn’t just walking away from a failed business project. She was fleeing a major personal disaster, and she was very upset about it. I need to draw.”
Ambrose braked for a stop sign at an intersection. He glanced at her.
“One thing I’ve been wondering about,” he said.
She gave him a rueful smile. “You want to know why I didn’t pick up any of her emotional turmoil the day we visited her in her little shop on Main Street.”
“Just curious,” he said.
She thought about the crystal pyramid on top of the refrigerator. “Energy is energy. It isn’t good or bad. It’s what you do with it that matters. If you know what you’re doing, you can manipulate it so that it feels balanced and harmonious. Iona Bryant may be a criminal mastermind and a killer, but credit where it’s due. She knows how to handle energy. I’m going to have to look into the potential of crystals when I get home.”
—
She waited untilthey were back in her hotel room before she dug out the sketchbook and a pencil. She took a few seconds to slip into the trance—it was getting easier now, more natural—and then she went to work.
The drawing came together quickly. When it was finished sheshowed it to Ambrose. He studied it for a long moment and then looked up, his eyes grim with a dark comprehension.
“A gathering storm?” he said.
“Serenity was the spider in the web here in Carnelian,” Pallas said. “But you were right. This thing is bigger than the Carnelian Sleep Institute project.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
What we don’thave is a motive,” Ambrose said.
“What do you mean?” Pallas said. “Guthrie, Moore, and Geddings were running a drug ring.”
Ambrose stacked his heels on the hassock and drank some coffee. When he lowered the cup his eyes were thoughtful.
