The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(35)

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Gwendolyn said. “It’s just that a lot of the most powerful paranormal artifacts from the past come from crypts and tombs. I do a lot of business in grave goods. Death has a vibe. Even people who are not particularly sensitive get uneasy down here in my basement.”

“I see,” Catalina said. “That explains it. I’ve experienced something similar at museums but nothing as strong as this. How do you handle it day in and day out?”

“One gets accustomed to it,” Gwendolyn said. “I hardly notice the energy in here anymore. Are you finished, Slater?”

He turned away from the display table. “For now. I appreciate the help, Gwendolyn. You’ll let me know if you hear of anything else that might be connected to Olivia’s disappearance.”

“Yes,” Gwendolyn said. She hesitated. “I can contact some of the other dealers, if you like. Most of them won’t want to talk to someone from the Foundation, but they might answer some questions from me.”

“Thanks,” Slater said. He appeared surprised by the offer. “I would appreciate it. You’ve got my number. If you get any leads, anything at all, contact me immediately, night or day. We’re dealing with a kidnapping. That means we’re on the clock.”

“I understand,” Gwendolyn said. She looked at Catalina. “I know you must be very worried. I hope your friend is okay.”

“Thanks,” Catalina said.

Gwendolyn turned back to Slater. “I’ll start contacting my associates immediately.”

She led the way up the staircase. When she reached the landing she turned off the lights. Catalina paused to look down into the darkened basement. The display cases were no longer illuminated, but there was enough energy from the collection of artifacts to make the underground chamber glow with a faint radiance. She could feel the currents seething in the atmosphere.

Death had a vibe, but there was a difference between old and new. The frissons of dark energy that had tugged at her senses felt very fresh.





CHAPTER 15


Pretty sure Gwendolyn Swan was lying,” Catalina said. “I’m almost positive that someone died in her basement recently.”

Slater had just selected another french fry from the massive pile on his plate. He paused and gave her a searching glance.

“Someone or something?” he asked. “Seattle is a nice city, but I’m sure it’s got rats like every other big city, especially in the older sections.”

“Someone. Trust me, I can tell the difference between a dead animal and a dead human.”

They were sitting in a popular downtown restaurant, drinking strong coffee and eating a lot of protein and carbs in the form of extra-large orders of fish and chips. Catalina had chosen the venue because it was convenient, because it featured booths that allowed for private conversations and because she did not want to spend time or energy trying to decide where to eat.

She and Slater were not eating the healthiest meal on the planet, but they had both expended a lot of energy in the past few hours. Between the burn and the lack of sleep, they needed fuel that would hit their bloodstreams in a rush.

“Okay, I’m not doubting you,” Slater said. “Just going for a little clarification. There was a lot of hot energy in that basement, and as Swan said, many of those artifacts were probably grave goods or other items that are associated with death and violence in some way.”

“Yes, and I know that sort of energy can often mask the kind of heat I sense, but what I picked up in that basement was fresh. Probably within the past twenty-four hours.”

“Huh.” Slater munched the french fry and picked up another one. “Violent death?”

“Got news for you, Arganbright—for me, every death feels like an act of violence.”

“Point taken.” Slater forked up a bite of the fried fish while he reflected on that. “So, professionally speaking, how do you figure out the difference between a murder and a death from natural causes?”

“It’s not always simple or straightforward. Things can get murky. What I look for is the energy of a killer. When that is present, I know I’m looking at a murder scene.”

“All right, don’t keep me in suspense. Did you pick up that kind of energy in Swan’s basement?”

“No.” Catalina drank some coffee and put the cup down very carefully. “That’s why I hesitated to mention it. I’ve been telling myself all that radiation confused my senses. But the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that someone did die in that room, and not long ago. A few hours at most.”

“But you didn’t find any trace of the killer?”

“I don’t think so. But the atmosphere in that basement is really heavy. Who wants to collect things that come out of crypts and graves, anyway?”

“Me. For the Foundation’s museum. What’s more, we often compete with museums and collectors around the world for grave goods. Where do you think that old stuff sitting in museum galleries comes from? A lot of those items survived precisely because they were sealed in a tomb or a crypt.”

“Okay, I get the historical value. I just don’t like to think about that sort of provenance too much, that’s all.”

Slater ate a few more french fries while he contemplated her words. “Would you be able to tell if Gwendolyn Swan murdered someone in her basement?” he asked.