The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(34)

Gwendolyn gave her a thoughtful look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“That miniature didn’t come from any of the lost labs,” Catalina said. “It looks old.”

“Nineteenth century, to be precise,” Gwendolyn said. “There’s nothing new about the paranormal, Catalina. People have been messing around with it since humans discovered fire.” She turned back to Slater. “What, exactly, are you looking for?”

“I think something from the Fogg Lake lab ended up in Royston’s vault,” Slater said. “Someone murdered him for the artifact. Three days later, Catalina’s friend Olivia LeClair was kidnapped. We’re looking for her.”

“You think the killer found whatever he was looking for in Royston’s gallery and then concluded that he needed Olivia LeClair?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Yes.”

Gwendolyn snapped a quick, searching look at Catalina. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend. Have you contacted the police?”

“No,” Catalina said. “At this point we don’t have much to go on. I didn’t want to waste any time filling out the paperwork. To be honest, I don’t think they would take Olivia’s disappearance seriously. And even if they did, this seems to be connected to something that happened in Fogg Lake years ago. I hate to admit it, but I have a feeling someone from the Foundation has a better chance of finding her.”

Gwendolyn gave that some thought. “Has there been a ransom demand?”

“No,” Catalina said.

“And we’re not expecting one,” Slater added. “We think this is about locating one of the lost labs, probably the facility believed to have been established in the Fogg Lake caves.”

Gwendolyn frowned. “Are you saying that for some reason the kidnappers think Olivia LeClair can help them?”

“That’s the only theory we’ve got at the moment,” Catalina said.

Slater looked at Gwendolyn. “What was in Royston’s vault that might have convinced his killer he needed Olivia LeClair?”

Gwendolyn shook her head. “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that a month ago there were rumors that a cache of goods with a Fogg Lake provenance had come on the market. But none of the items passed through my shop. It was a private auction. Invitation only. There was no description of the goods. I heard Royston got a few valuable items. So, yes, he probably had some Fogg Lake artifacts in his vault, but I can’t tell you what they were.”

“By now the raiders will have cleaned out Royston’s vault,” Slater said. “You know how fast they move.”

“Somehow they are always the first to know when a collector dies,” Gwendolyn said.

“Have any of the usual suspects shown up at your back door offering you objects that may have come from his gallery?” Slater asked.

Gwendolyn raised her chin. “I do not deal in stolen goods. My reputation is spotless and you damn well know it, Slater Arganbright.”

“I’m not accusing you of illegal sales,” Slater said, impatient now. “In fact, I don’t really give a damn if some of the items in this basement have a murky provenance. I just need to know if you’ve heard of anything from Royston’s collection.”

Gwendolyn’s mouth tightened. Then she sighed.

“All right,” she said. “A couple of lowlife raiders came around offering some objects they claimed were from Royston’s gallery. Nothing special, though—a few desk accessories, an old-fashioned calculator and a coffeepot. It was all the right vintage, and there was the residual heat that items pick up when they are in a room full of hot energy for a long period of time. I took the calculator. It’s still here if you want to see it.”

“Yes,” Slater said. “I’d like to take a look.”

Gwendolyn crossed the room to a table that was covered with antique office equipment. She gestured toward an old calculating machine.

“Help yourself,” she said. “Late nineteen fifties, I believe. Definitely warm, but not hot enough to be interesting to a serious collector.”

Slater examined the big, clunky-looking machine with a thoughtful expression. “I agree.”

He moved on to another item in the display, an antique typewriter. He touched it lightly with his fingertips and then lost interest. He moved on to another object.

Catalina noticed a large clockwork figure dressed in a vintage nurse’s costume: a crisp white dress, white shoes, white stockings and a white starched cap. The doll was about four feet tall. It gripped a syringe in one mechanical hand.

Curious, Catalina started to cross the crowded space to get a better look. She stopped abruptly when she realized she had just stepped into a pool of all-too-familiar energy.

Death.

A ghostly vision started to take shape. It was too vague to make out any details, but she thought she saw a man fold up and collapse on the floor.

“Something wrong, Catalina?” Gwendolyn asked.

“No, I’m fine.” Catalina rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s just really, really hot in here.”

“Yes, it is,” Gwendolyn said. “But it’s not the heat that gets to those of us with a strong psychic vibe, it’s the death factor.”

Catalina whirled around. “What?”