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Pallas cleared her throat. “I think we’re finished here. Thank you for your help, Serenity. Really appreciate the background on the ghost story.”
“You’re welcome,” Serenity said. “But I hope I haven’t discouraged you from investigating the mystery of Xavier Carnelian’s death. People here in town will be very disappointed if you decide not to do a podcast on our local legend.”
Pallas leaned down to pick up her messenger bag. “An investigation of Carnelian’s fall down the stairs is looking less and less likely, but we did hear a rumor of a recent disappearance out at the old asylum that sounds promising.”
“Really?” Serenity stared at her, bewildered. “Who told you that?”
“We can’t discuss our sources,” Pallas said. “Not at this stage. We’re still trying to verify the facts. You’d be surprised how oftenpeople plant a fake story to get our attention. Everyone wants to be on a podcast these days.”
Serenity’s expression cleared. “I suppose it’s the new version of fifteen minutes of fame. Trust me, if someone had disappeared out there in the ruins, it would have been front-page news here in Carnelian.”
“Not if there was no evidence and no missing person report,” Ambrose said.
“I don’t understand,” Serenity said. “If there is no evidence and no report of a missing person, what makes you think someone disappeared?”
“Bad vibes,” Pallas said, going for an ominous tone.
Serenity’s elfin queen face tightened, first with disappointment and then with gentle disapproval. “Is your podcast fiction? If so, you really ought to make that clear.”
“Oh, our programs are based on real cases,” Pallas said. “That’s why we do a lot of fact-checking first. Thanks, again, for your help.”
“Anytime,” Serenity said. She no longer sounded as warm and enthusiastic as she had a short time earlier. “Who else will you be talking to?”
Ambrose took a small spiral notebook out of the pocket of his jacket and flipped it open. “The reference librarian at the public library recommended that we interview the caretaker out at the cemetery, Ron Quinn.”
“That makes sense,” Serenity said. “No one knows local history as well as someone who tends the graves at the cemetery.”
Pallas hitched the strap of the messenger bag over one shoulder and turned to make her way back through the maze of glass shelves. But she paused to take one last look around at the assortment of chimes, crystals, candles, books, and herbal teas.
“I do have one more question,” she said. “Do you really believe there is such a thing as paranormal energy?”
Serenity laughed—a light, lilting laugh. “Of course I do.” She waved a graceful hand at the array of metaphysical paraphernalia that filled the shelves and display cabinets. “I’m in the business of selling paranormal energy.”
CHAPTER TEN
The bells overthe door chimed again when Pallas and Ambrose exited the shop. They started walking the two blocks to the Carnelian Hotel.
“I can tell you one thing about Serenity No-Last-Name,” Pallas said. “If she hadn’t found her calling with Prism she could have made a very nice living as an interior designer.”
“Good energy back there?”
“Yes. Didn’t you notice it?”
Ambrose squinted a little. “Eh, maybe. I wasn’t paying attention to that aspect of things.”
“Most people aren’t aware of a harmonious interior on a conscious level. They take it as natural and right. We are all more inclined to register a negative vibe and say things like,I don’t like that colororWhat an ugly carpet. I don’t know whether Serenity is consciously or unconsciously arranging those crystals and chimes to achieve a balanced vibe, but regardless, it works.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“One of these days I’m going to have to look into using crystals inmy work,” Pallas mused. “I’ve always relied on water features, greenery, and color, but there’s no reason I can’t expand my tool kit.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “About our investigation.”
“Right.” She pulled her attention back to the problem at hand. “That makes three places we’ve dropped the rumor this morning: the front desk of the hotel, the library, and the local crystals-and-candles shop. Let’s give it a couple of hours. Word will spread quickly in a town this size. Later today we will hit the Institute. The staff will stonewall us, of course, on grounds of patient confidentiality, if nothing else. But someone may be encouraged to come to us later to talk.”
“Think so?” Ambrose asked.
“In my experience, people are fascinated by true crime, especially if it’s got a paranormal vibe.”
