Abby glared. “Do not, under any circumstances, underestimate Newton. He picks up on vibes in the atmosphere. He knows when he’s being insulted.”
Sam looked at Newton. “Is that so?”
Newton gave a disdainful little snort and trotted off down the hall.
Sam looked at Abby. “Since your guard dog has decided to allow me over the threshold, is it okay if I take off my coat?”
Abby flushed. “Yes, of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”
“I got that impression.”
He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. When she took it from him, her fingers brushed against his, sending an intimate little thrill of awareness across his senses. He knew she felt the small flash because her brilliant eyes widened slightly in surprise. She gave him a startled look and then just as swiftly looked away.
She hung his jacket on the coat tree and led the way down the short hall to the living and dining area.
A few minutes ago, Gwen Frazier had discreetly vanished in a cab to her own apartment a couple of blocks away. Sam had felt the energy shiver in the atmosphere when Abby had introduced him to her friend. He was fairly certain that Gwen had used some talent to make a judgment call. She had evidently decided that Abby was safe with him, at least for now, because she had not tried to hang around.
Things were looking up, he decided. He had managed to get through two lines of defense tonight, the protective friend and the protective dog. He was on a roll.
“Your friend is also a talent, isn’t she?” he asked.
“Yes. Gwen is a psychic counselor. She does aura readings in a shop in the market.”
“Aura readings. Right.”
Abby gave him a severe look. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?”
“You think Gwen is using her talent to con people. For the record, she doesn’t do fortune-telling or palm-reading. And she certainly doesn’t pretend to talk to the dead. She really can read auras. Her clients come to her for advice and guidance. She analyzes their energy fields and tells them what she sees and makes recommendations. She’s a kind of therapist.”
“Got it.”
Abby sighed. “I’m probably overreacting here. It’s just that so many people think Gwen is a fraud. Storefront psychics aren’t exactly held in high esteem by psychologists and traditional counselors. Would you like some herbal tea? I’d offer coffee, but I don’t drink it at night, at least not lately.”
And that was all the information he was going to get on Gwen Frazier, he thought. “Tea will be fine. Thanks.”
“I’ll get the water started.” She hesitated, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. “Please, sit down.”
He studied his options. The condo was small, but it was a corner unit with an open, flowing floor plan. The walls were a sunny Mediterranean gold with dark brown accents. The floors were hardwood. There were two area rugs decorated with modernistic designs in deep red, teal, green and yellow. Newton was lounging on the one near the window. He watched Sam with deep suspicion, but he showed no signs of going for the jugular or the ankle.
There was a comfortable-looking L–shaped sofa, a reading chair, some bookshelves, a lot of healthy-looking plants and a glass-topped coffee table. There was a book on the table. He took a closer look. Families by Choice: A Guide to Creating the Modern Blended Familyby Dr. Brandon C. Radwell.
“That’s my father’s new book,” Abby said.
He picked up Families by Choiceand turned it over. The back-cover photo showed a smiling Brandon C. Radwell holding hands with an elegant-looking woman who had to be his wife. Behind the beaming couple stood Abby, a man about her age, and two very attractive women who appeared to be nineteen or twenty.
“This is your family?” Sam asked, holding up the book to show the photo.
“That’s the Radwells, the perfect modern blended family,” Abby said. She turned away and became very busy with the teakettle. “That’s my stepbrother, Dawson, and my half sisters standing with me behind Dad and Diana.”
“Your half sisters look like twins.”
“They are. They’re in college.” Abby set the kettle on a burner. “I was twelve when they were born. Dawson was thirteen.”
He put the book down on the coffee table and finished his examination of the room. One corner had been turned into a home office outfitted with a desk, a computer and some storage cabinets.
The tiny balcony and wraparound floor–to–ceiling windows took full advantage of the cityscape view. The lights of the Space Needle glittered in the night.
The whole place glowed with a cozy, inviting warmth that suggested a very personal touch. A lot of time and attention had been lavished on the little condo to transform it from a living space into a home.
“Nice,” he said.
Abby smiled, the first genuine smile he had gotten from her. She was suddenly radiant. Deep satisfaction and delight lit her eyes. “It’s my first home. I’ve been renting forever. But I finally managed to save enough for a down payment. Moved in three months ago. Did the decorating myself. My friends helped me with the painting and built-ins.”
There was more than just pride of ownership in her voice. “It’s my first home” said a lot. The little condo was very important to Abby. Something else she had said struck him, too. Her friends had helped her paint and decorate. There was no mention of any assistance from her stepbrother and half sisters.
He walked to the granite counter that divided the living area from the kitchen and angled himself onto one of the bar stools.
Abby took a canister down out of the cupboard. “I assume you came to see me tonight because you’ve made some progress on the investigation?”
“Nope. I’ve got zip.”
For a heartbeat or two she did not move or even blink. Her stillness was absolute. She recovered quickly and frowned.
“Then what in the world are you doing here?” she asked.
He folded his arms on the counter. “My job. I told you I don’t have any startling revelations, but I do have a few questions.”
“You could have called.”
“I prefer to get my answers face–to–face.” He smiled. “Less chance of a misunderstanding that way.”
“Fine, whatever.” She removed the lid of the canister and started spooning loose tea into a pot. “Ask your questions.”
“You said you don’t know what the blackmailer wants.”
“I told you, he hasn’t made any specific demands.”
“Do you have any theories?”
“I assume he’s after some very hot, probably encrypted, book. He wants me to get it for him.”
“But you don’t know which book?”
“Not yet.” She put the lid back on the canister. “At any given time, there are always a few extremely rare volumes with a paranormal provenance floating around in the underground.”
“Did Thaddeus Webber give you any clue?”
“No.” She opened another cupboard and took down two mugs. “Our communication on the subject thus far has been via email. Thaddeus lives alone in the foothills of the Cascades. He’s very reclusive. Quite paranoid. He doesn’t have a phone. Says they’re too easy to tap. When he insisted that I contact you immediately, I emailed him a couple of questions, but the only response I got was ‘Talk to Sam Coppersmith. He’ll know what to do.’ ”
“I think he’s right. I have a better idea of what may be going down than you do.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I’ve come to the same conclusion. Talk to me, Sam.”
“I’m pretty sure that Thaddeus Webber sent you to me because he thinks your blackmailer is after an old lab notebook that my father spent years trying to find.”
“For the record, whoever he is, he’s not myblackmailer, but go on.”
“Eventually, Dad concluded that both the notebook and the man who had recorded the results of his experiments in it had been buried in an explosion in an old mine called the Phoenix. But now there is reason to believe that the notebook has surfaced in the collectors’ market. We know of at least one very dangerous man who is after it.”