Amaryllis (29 page)

“I use another firm.”

“Yes, I know. Psynergy, Inc. But I can assure you, sir, that Unique Prisms can offer all of the services Psynergy, Inc. offers and much more.”

“What more is there to offer?”

“Discretion, Mr. Trent.” Gifford gave him a knowing look. “Absolute discretion.”

“Psynergy, Inc. offers discretion and confidentiality.”

“Ah, but their services cannot begin to compare with ours. For example, we do not even require a talent certification from our clients. No need to be tested first in order to use our services. Our prisms can all handle class-nine and even class-ten talents, so there is no danger of a mismatch.”

“Psynergy, Inc. has provided me with a full-spectrum prism.”

“That would be Amaryllis Lark.” Gifford winked. “Forgive me, Mr. Trent, but I know Miss Lark very well. And while I would be the first to admit that she is a powerful, well-trained prism, I must point out that she is inclined to be a bit, shall we say, conventional.”

“Your prisms aren't so conventional?”

“Mine are creative rather than conventional.” Gifford chuckled. “I can assure you that none of my prisms are burdened with Miss Lark's somewhat limited concept of what constitutes proper, ethical focusing. My people understand that the client is always right.”

“I see.”

“We respect our clients' right to determine how, when, and where to use their talents. We do not attempt to impose someone else's standards on what is essentially a private decision. Do I make myself clear, Lucas?”

“Very clear. Now you can leave. I have a lot of untalented work to do today.”

A small furrow appeared in Gifford's forehead. “Perhaps you don't understand just what I'm offering. Surely you want the freedom to use your own personal talent in any way you see fit without worrying about the restrictions of some prissy little ex-academic who thinks she has the right to determine ethical guidelines for you.”

“I'll let you in on a little secret, Osterley. Lately I've begun to discover that virtue has its own rewards.”

“Lucas, it's Amaryllis.”

Lucas leaned back in his chair and grinned into the phone. “Strangely enough, I recognized your voice.”

“Oh. Well, I've got some interesting news. Irene Dunley also went through those boxes containing Professor Landreth's things.”

Lucas stopped grinning. “Landreth's secretary searched them?”

“Right. She also admitted that she's the one who sent me to Vivien.”

“Five hells.”

“Apparently she's been suspicious of the way Landreth died ever since the accident happened. But she didn't know what to do. Anyhow, when I showed up at the department and started asking questions about a case of unethical focusing, she got the idea of involving me in the questions surrounding the professor's death.”

“Amaryllis, there aren't any questions.”

“Then she decided to search those boxes in her office.”

“Why?” Lucas demanded.

“She was looking for Landreth's special hot file.”

“Hot file?”

“Yes. It was his habit to keep one, and she distinctly recalls packing it after he died. But get this. The file was missing, Lucas.”

He did not like the excitement he heard in her voice. “Amaryllis—”

“Don't you think that the missing file is a strong indication that Professor Landreth might have been murdered because of something in that file?”

“No.”

She ignored that in a headlong leap to her conclusions. “Maybe someone pushed him off that cliff and then searched his files to remove the evidence that could have linked the killer to his victim.”

“Why would this so-called killer bother to search the boxes? The police considered Landreth's death an accident right from the start.”

“Yes, but the killer may have wanted to play it safe. Maybe he took the file just to be certain that no one ever found it. It all makes sense.”

Lucas groaned. “No, it doesn't. Amaryllis, think about it. You only have Irene Dunley's word that the file is missing. It could simply have been misplaced. From what you've told me, she was very upset by Landreth's death. She may not have been thinking clearly when she packed up his things.”

There was a short pause while Amaryllis digested that. “She did say she was crying so hard that day that she didn't even notice Gifford's name on Landreth's desk calendar. I suppose she might not have a clear memory of where she put the hot file. But, Lucas—”

“Let's talk about it later.” Lucas glanced at his watch. “I've got a few things to finish here. It's Friday and I feel like leaving the office early. I can pick you up around six. How does that sound?”

“Impossible, I'm afraid. My aunt and uncle are in town. Don't you remember? I told you that I'd be cooking dinner for them at my place tonight.”

“I see.” Lucas reminded himself that he had no reason to expect an invitation to a family dinner. He didn't even want one. After all, he wasn't a real matrimonial candidate, just Amaryllis's lover. Here in the city no one took much notice of an affair, but things were different in the country. A small-town farmer and his wife were hardly likely to approve of Lucas's relationship with their precious niece. Amaryllis would be well aware of that. She wouldn't want Lucas there, either. She was very keen on not embarrassing her family.

“Would you like to join us?” Amaryllis asked.

“What time?”

“Six?”

“I'll be there.”

No doubt the evening was going to be a big mistake, Lucas thought as he hung up the phone. But he didn't really have much to lose. After all, the entire relationship was a mistake.

“So, Lucas, I understand you're in the jelly-ice business,” Oscar Lark said as he polished off his straw-peach pie.

“Yes, sir.” Lucas eyed the last slice of straw-peach pie, which was sitting on a plate in the center of the table. He wondered if it would be rude to ask for it.

He glanced around surreptitiously. Everyone else seemed to be finished with dessert. No one appeared to be about to make a move on the one remaining slice of pie. It was practically staring Lucas in the face. It had been years since he'd had home-cooked straw-peach pie, and he could not recall ever having had any that tasted as good as this one had.

Amaryllis's aunt, the small-town doctor, smiled at him from across the table. Hannah Lark was an attractive, petite, irrepressibly cheerful woman with bird-bright blue eyes and a short bob of graying red-blond hair. There was an air of great competence about her in spite of her size. There was also an aura of power. Without even bothering to employ his own talent, Lucas could sense the invisible hum of Hannah's strong diagnostic talent. It simmered away inside her, a palpable force even without the aid of a prism's
focus. There was also something about her that made him fret about his manners.

Oscar Lark sat at the opposite end of the small table. He was as big as Lucas, a rock-hard agtalent whose years in the fields showed in the toughened planes of his face and in his large, calloused hands. It had taken Lucas only a moment to figure out why he looked vaguely familiar. Oscar could have stepped right out of a portrait of First Generation founders.

“How long have you been in jelly-ice?” Oscar probed.

“All of my life, Mr. Lark.” Maybe he could get the slice of straw-peach pie later, Lucas thought. After everyone had left. Unless someone else ate it first.

“I told you that Lucas was with Lodestar Exploration, dear,” Hannah said. “You've heard of Lodestar.”

“Lodestar, eh?” Oscar gave Lucas a shrewd glance. “Big company. What do you do with the firm?”

“I own it, sir.”

“Is that a fact?” Oscar looked skeptical. “Rather young to own a company that size. Are you sure it isn't your father who owns the firm?”

Lucas took his eyes off the pie to meet Oscar's gaze. “My parents were both killed when I was three. I built Lodestar from the ground up. The company is mine.”

Oscar blinked owlishly. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “What about the rest of your family? Are they all employed at Lodestar?”

A tense silence gripped the table.

“There are no other members of my family,” Lucas said bluntly. “Or, at least no one close enough to count.”

“No family?”

“No, sir.” Lucas made up his mind. The lack of a proper family was no doubt the last nail in his coffin. He had nothing else to lose. He reached out and seized the pie pan. “But I intend to change that soon.” He shoveled the last slice of straw-peach pie onto his plate.

“Lucas is registered at a marriage agency, Uncle Oscar.” Amaryllis rose abruptly and started to clear the table. “He expects to go in for the final interview soon.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “Same as you, eh, Amaryllis?”

“That's right.” Amaryllis carried a stack of plates into the kitchen.

“Registration with a good agency is the only way to go,” Oscar said. “A decision as important as marriage should never be made without proper guidance. Runaway marriages always end in disaster.”

Lucas fell to the pie. He told himself it might be a long time, if ever, before he got a chance at another slice of homemade straw-peach pie.

“Anyone for coff-tea?” Amaryllis asked from behind the counter.

Hannah got to her feet. “I'll fix it, dear.” She gave Oscar a meaningful look. “Why don't you two men go into the living room? Amaryllis and I will take care of these dishes.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Oscar gave Lucas a stony stare. “You finished, Lucas?”

Lucas wolfed down the last bite and met Oscar's grim gaze. “Probably, but what the hell.”

There was no avoiding the inevitable, so he got to his feet and followed Oscar into Amaryllis's tiny living room. His instincts warned him that the grilling was not yet over. He had a feeling the worst was yet to come.

Things hadn't been too bad until now. Hannah's graciousness had offset Oscar's ill-concealed scrutiny of his niece's new “friend.” Lucas thought he had handled himself quite well in the circumstances. Everyone had been polite. The conversation had not flagged during the mouthwatering meal. He had even indulged himself in a harmless little fantasy in which he and Amaryllis were married and entertaining relatives for the evening.

But the illusion Lucas had woven for himself was about to be smashed to pieces. He could not blame Oscar Lark. If he were in the older man's boots, he would do the same thing. It was Oscar's duty to protect Amaryllis.

Oscar lowered himself into a fragile-looking chair near the miniature jelly-ice fire that blazed on the hearth. “Well, now. So, you're both registered with an agency.”

“Yes, sir.” Lucas sat down in the small chair on the other side of the fire.

“My niece tells me you're a strong talent.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She's a full-spectrum prism.”

“I'm aware of that, Mr. Lark.”

“Not much chance of a match between the two of you.”

“No, sir.”

Oscar gazed into the flames. “A man and a woman can get some strange notions when they first register with an agency. The business of getting serious about marriage makes some people a little skittish.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They start to wonder if the agency will really be able to find someone who's right. Someone they'll want to spend the rest of their lives with.”

“It does make you think.”

Oscar peered at him. “Some people even tell themselves that they can make better decisions than an agency counselor can.”

Lucas said nothing.

“Other people figure they better have a few flings before they settle down,” Oscar said. “Everyone knows that here in the city folks are more inclined to fool around both before and after marriage.”

Lucas didn't see any smart response to that heavily loaded remark, so he maintained his silence.

“I don't want to see Amaryllis hurt, Trent.”

Lucas met Oscar's determined eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Nor will I allow her to ruin her life the way her mother did. You know about that?”

“Amaryllis told me the story.”

“Amaryllis's mother, Eugenia, was my sister.” Oscar turned his attention back to the fire. “That sonofabitch who persuaded her to run off with him was from the richest family in Lower Bellevue. The Baileys. I suppose Amaryllis told you that he was married.”

“Yes.”

“It was one of those family-arranged marriages. No counseling, unfortunately. It was no secret that Elizabeth Bailey was more concerned with property and social standing
than she was with her son's happiness. Young Matt didn't know how to stand up to her. He was only twenty-one when she bullied him into the marriage. Much too young.”

“Yes.”