Chapter 64
He noticed how nicely the long, simple shape complimented her, hugging well-proportioned curves and swirling about hints of long legs. It was a bronze color, made of a soft, s.h.i.+ny, crinkly material, and with her fair skin and chestnut hair, it made her look soft and golden...and very feminine.
Fiona's fine auburn eyebrows rose. "Is something the matter, Mr. Nath?"
With a start, Gideon realized he'd been staring and, belatedly, that he hadn't asked her to call him by his first name. "No, I just thought I'd forgotten to do something... but, please," he forced a smile, wondering where his head had gotten, "call me Gideon. Now, let me get those keys."
He turned to retrieve the small goldenrod envelope that contained the keys to the shop and all doors of the building that Fiona Murphy now owned. Flipping the metal clasp that held it closed, he poured the keys-twenty-some in all-onto the table.
"You have your work cut out for you," he said wryly. "Most of these keys aren't labeled-although a few are, and, undoubtedly, some of them are duplicates-but as for the rest of them, I have no idea what they're for."
Gideon retrieved one ring with four keys on it and handed it to her. "These are for the antiques shop and they're labeled-front and back doors, safe, and storage room."
Fiona took the envelope and slipped it, along with the rest of her paperwork into the cavernous leather bag and extended a hand. "I guess we're all set then," she smiled as he clasped her hand, feeling the ridges of the many rings that adorned her fingers. "Thanks so much for all of your help, Gideon. I really appreciate it."
He walked to the door with her, realizing suddenly that he would probably have no occasion to see her again, and found himself saying, "It's been my pleasure. And if there's anything else I can help you with, please feel free to give me a call."
She stopped in the doorway and gave him another of those dazzling smiles. "I just may take you up on that. Thank you!"
The chimes tinkled above her head when Fiona opened the door and stepped into the long, narrow shop. The smell of age met her nose: the scent of mothb.a.l.l.s and mustiness, old wood and worn damask. The s.p.a.ce was dark, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the faint light.
This was hers.
All hers.
A tingle of trepidation swirled through her middle, curling and squeezing in her stomach. She'd never been responsible for anything this...important before. She'd hardly been able to keep an orchid alive, and everyone knew they could go weeks without water.
Her palms were sweating...but a giddy grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. Her mother was going to freak when she found out that Fiona owned an entire store. A business.
She closed the door behind her, locking it, and found a table on which to rest her leather bag. Then, feeling cautiously on the wall just inside the doorway, she groped for the light switch that she hoped was there. Her fingers brushed rough paneling, fumbling over molding and across a myriad of cords that no doubt attached to lamps that were suspended above. That front wall ended, giving way to the chalky brick and mortar of the side, and Fiona had not located a light switch.
Then, suddenly, with a little laugh, she pulled her hand back to her side. "Fiona, you are an idiot!" She shook her head at her own silliness and reached unerringly for a nearby lamp, slipping her hand under its shade to find the switch.
A welcome glow of light filtered into a small area, highlighting the flecks of dust and mites she'd stirred up with her investigation.
In the silence, Fiona heard the floor creak and groan as she strolled on into the center of the store. The ceiling was lower here, and she noticed that there was an un.o.btrusive staircase on the left side of the shop that led to a second floor. That explained why the front part of the store had high ceilings and the rear seemed close and dark like a cave. She began to climb the stairs, hesitating when she looked up into the dark, cavernous stairwell.
Something s.h.i.+vered up her spine. Something like a chill, and suddenly, she didn't want to go up there.
Abruptly, Fiona stepped back from the stairs, and a sharp coolness enveloped her. The hair at the nape of her neck p.r.i.c.kled and she sucked in her breath with a gasp-smelling, oddly enough, the faint scent of roses-and her heart began to b.u.mp out of rhythm in her chest.
Her hand curling at the collar of her blouse, she backed away from the stairs and looked around. There was nothing to see.
Fiona swallowed, tasting dust, and turned to continue her walk toward the back of the shop, berating herself for her skittishness. "I'll get a flashlight," she said aloud...but her voice sounded weak and hollow in the silence.
As she did turn, something felt like it whispered past her, brus.h.i.+ng her fingers. Fiona gave a little shriek, and, pulling her hand away, stumbled backward a few steps, b.u.mping into a table. Something rocked on it and fell to the floor with a loud crash.
Just then, she noticed a glow of light from near the alcove beneath the stairs, and turned to see three lamps arranged on the top of a ma.s.sive piece of furniture. The one in the middle of the trio was lit-and it hadn't been a moment ago.
The hair on the back of her neck lifted. As she stepped toward it, caution making her movements slow, the light winked out. The smell of roses became more noticeable...and the light flickered back on.
Fiona shook her head to clear it. "There must be a timer on this thing," she murmured, pus.h.i.+ng the heavy chair out of the way so that she could step closer to the large oaken desk. "Or a short in the wire."
She reached around and found the cord to the glowing white lamp, following it down to the depths behind the secretary. It wound behind it and disappeared into a corner. Fiona leaned over and, from the light of the lamp, could see where it went.
When she looked, Fiona suddenly felt as though she'd been plunged into freezing water, and for a moment, she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't react.
Then, she was a flurry of frantic movement, whirling away from the alcove, ramming into the corner of the chair, ricocheting against a table, and stumbling toward the front of the shop. Her breath came back, furious and shallow, and her head felt light as she ran to the front door, flipping the lock open.
Without looking back, without even hesitating, she yanked the door wide. The tinkling of the bells above barely registered in her stupefied mind as she burst out onto the sidewalk.
The lamp was unplugged.
The phone rang, its low-key bleep startling Gideon in the silence of his office. Rubbing his dry eyes with a thumb and forefinger, he reached for the receiver as his attention skittered over the clock on his desk.
"Yes?" he said crisply.
"Gideon! I knew I would find you there." His grandfather's voice boomed over the line as if he were in the room with him, despite the fact that static crackled in the background. "What are you doing at the office at ten-thirty on a Friday night? Don't you have anything better to do with your time than to work?"
Tilting his chair back so that he could rest his feet on the desk, Gideon smiled faintly. "Someone has to hold this practice together while you and Iva are gallivanting around the Caribbean in your yacht." He loosened the tie he'd been wearing since six-thirty a.m., and snagged open the top b.u.t.ton of his starched s.h.i.+rt. Ahh.
"Good G.o.d, man, you've got to get yourself a life." H. Gideon Nath, Sr., bellowed over the phone lines. "How the h.e.l.l do you think you're ever going to find a woman to marry if you're at the office every day till midnight?"
Gideon shook his head at the old man's familiar diatribe. If his grandfather would learn to call him on his cell phone, at least he wouldn't know where he was. "We've been through this before-you've been married enough times for both of us so I don't need to worry about that. Besides, marriage is not in my five-year plan. By the way," he added, determined to change the subject back to something he was more comfortable with, "did you get my message about Nevio Valente?"
"What? Is he in there trying to change
"No, it's too late for that. He died over two weeks ago. We've already had the probate hearing."
"What? Valente's dead?"
Gideon rolled his eyes. "You didn't get my message." Of course he didn't get his message. Gideon Senior refused to use a BlackBerry, an iPhone, or anything resembling a phone that was "smart."
"You left me a message-where the h.e.l.l-you mean on that d.a.m.n little phone I can't figure out how to use? All those little b.u.t.tons and-well, blast it all. Next time call Iva if it's something important. She knows how to use hers. Anyway, doesn't matter now. So Valente's dead, eh? I should've known the b.a.s.t.a.r.d would find a way to ruin my honeymoon, d.a.m.nation!"
"What do you mean?" Gideon asked, looking out his office window at the moonbeam-washed street. It was too late to go somewhere for dinner. He'd have to settle for a frozen pizza-if he had any left from the last time he'd gone to the market.
There was a m.u.f.fled noise on the other end of the line and the static got worse for a moment, then his grandfather's voice came through clearly. "...Cut the trip short. I hate to do that to Iva, but I know she'll understand. We'll try to be home within a week-depending on the weather."
"What are you talking about, Grandfather?" Gideon sat straight up in his chair. "There's no reason for you to come home! The heirs have already signed off and it's being probated-"
"Now, Gideon, it has nothing to do with you-it has to do with that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Valente. There's a lot going on that you don't know about and I'm going to have to get back there before all h.e.l.l breaks loose. I'll see you as soon as I can."
"Grandfather-" Gideon began, but the dial tone that greeted him interrupted his words. "d.a.m.n." He slammed the receiver down onto its cradle in an uncharacteristic display of temper.
Gideon Senior had left him in control of the practice for his entire three-month honeymoon, and now the first thing that came up with one of his clients, he had to rush home.
Gideon's lips curved into a frown as his eyebrows tightened, and he glared at the phone. d.a.m.n. He'd been practicing law for nearly ten years, and an equal partner in the small firm for three of them-what made his grandfather think he couldn't handle a simple estate?
He closed the laptop and rose to his feet. Just because his father was a screw-up didn't mean that he'd follow in his footsteps. No, indeed, Gideon had taken great pains that his life be as opposite his father's as possible.
He shoved a few files into his briefcase and zipped up his laptop inside. Then he rearranged a stack of papers on his desk so they were aligned neatly, replaced his fountain pen in its gold-plated holder, and turned off the desk lamp. He started toward the door, his gaze sweeping the office one last time to be certain nothing was awry-for even the cleaning service didn't work on Friday night. He noticed a glint on the floor under the small conference table.
Stooping, he reached beneath it and picked up the flat, circular object. It was a small, gold compact with a Celtic design etched on it, and he realized it must belong to Fiona Murphy. No doubt it had fallen out of that huge bag she carried. He flipped it open and found himself staring at his own steel grey eye in the unsmudged mirror inside.
He snapped it closed, dropping it in his pocket, suddenly remembering the spark in her amber eyes and the thick auburn hair that gave her a tousled, rumpled look. She was definitely an interesting person. While she seemed on the verge of being scatterbrained, she'd actually been very organized and bright in a naive sort of way.
Gideon closed his door behind him, walking into the hallway toward the front of the office. He paused at Claire's desk to put a stack of papers in her in-box, and hesitated. His fingers slipped over the smoothness of the gold compact in his pocket. He could have his a.s.sistant call Fiona and drop it in the mail to her.
The memory of her mellow lips, puckered in concentration during his explanations earlier that day and the way they quirked in a smile of enthusiasm at the end of their meeting flashed into his mind, surprising Gideon. He hadn't realized he'd taken such note of her features, other than the objective realization that she was uncommonly striking.
He rubbed a thumb thoughtfully over the compact. Maybe he'd return it himself.
It was Monday before Fiona managed to return to her store.
Over the weekend, she'd talked herself out of the fright she'd experienced on Friday-all the while making up excuses not to return quite yet. She realized after leaving the shop, and her heart settling back into its regular rhythm, that she hadn't checked to see if there was a battery pack on the light.
That had to be the explanation for the strange experience. It had been foolish of her to dash out of there like a bat out of h.e.l.l...but maybe it had really been a symptom of her own insecurity, owning the store and being responsible for it, that had caused her to react so strongly. At any rate, she was back and was not about to let herself be spooked away.
It was a very sunny day, and the result was that the shop did not seem as dim and still as it had on Friday. As well, the tenant's shop next door was also open, and as Fiona fit her key into the lock of her own store, a pair of customers let themselves into Glad's Rags, the fas.h.i.+onable clothing boutique that adjoined Antiques Shoppe.
Fiona frowned. She really did have to change the name of the establishment. Could it have a more boring name?
The little bell jingled overhead as she pushed the door open, and again that aged smell a.s.sailed her senses. Quickly turning on as many lights as possible in the front area, Fiona looked around, her heart thumping steadily in her throat.
Nothing seemed amiss, nor did the strange lamp appear to be illuminated in the back of the store. She walked further in, turning on more lights automatically, and soon the shop was aglow in the same manner it had been the first time she'd entered it.
Fiona left her heavy leather bag on the huge desk that was located partway back into the shop. It was still cluttered with papers, writing utensils, and the telephone, just as it had been the day she'd entered the store, seeking refuge from a storm. Clearing that off was one task she promised herself she'd handle today.
Strolling purposely past the desk, now, she continued to turn on lights without pause-to keep from thinking about that weird lamp. Even though she'd talked herself into several different explanations for it-a battery pack, most likely-Fiona still felt odd about the store and the light. There had to be an explanation for it. Her mother would say that it was just the energy from the shop, or her own aura...but, as much as she was her mother's daughter, Fiona didn't believe it was that simple.
When she made her way past the staircase and into the low-ceilinged portion of the shop, Fiona fixated on the lamp that squatted like an old toad.
It was an unexceptional piece. Stocky and white, the base had small nodules texturing its milk gla.s.s curves. The shade had faded to a yellowish satin, but the fringe that edged it was still white.
Fiona didn't take her eyes from the lamp and was watching breathlessly to see if it would come on again when a faint jingle from the front of the store startled her.
"h.e.l.lo? Is anyone there?"
Fiona pivoted in surprise, banging her s.h.i.+n on a heavy chest, and paused, wincing in pain. Stifling a groan, she called back, "I'll be right with you!"
Limping slightly, trying to ignore the throb of pain in her leg, she hurried back to the front. On the way, she noticed the shards of porcelain from the clock she'd broken on her last visit, and knew she'd better find a broom somewhere soon.
When she reached the front, she was surprised to see the tall figure of Gideon Nath looming in the aisle. As usual, he was wearing a tie and an expensively cut suit, and he stood leaning casually against the doorway. He must have noticed that she favored her leg, for he asked, "Are you limping?" in that cut-to-the-chase, professional way of his.
"When you called out, you startled me so that I slammed my leg into the corner of a chest," she told him, wondering what he was doing here. "Do you have more papers for me to sign?"
Gideon shook his head, then turned his gaze from her to span it around the shop. "I've only been in here once before. It looks like a fascinating place."
Fiona looked at him in surprise. He seemed to be the last person who would find an old, musty shop like this fascinating. Antiques would be out of place in his life: he'd be all chrome and black and white decor, with smooth lines, sleek leather furniture, and perhaps red or cobalt accents throughout. The illumination in his high-rise condo, she imagined, would consist not of interesting lamps, but of recessed lighting, wall sconces, and halogen bulb lamps hanging from narrow black cords.
Abruptly, he returned his attention to her and caught her staring at him. Fiona looked away, controlling a smile, and jammed a hand through her thick hair to push it back from her face.
"I think you dropped something at my office the other day," he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out her gold compact, proffering it to her.
Relief surged through her as she reached for it. "Oh, thank you so much for finding this! This was a gift from my grandmother-and I didn't even know I'd lost it."
She took the compact from his long fingers, noticing how warm it was from being in his pocket, and clutched it to her chest, heaving a sigh of relief. Her grandmother had died five years earlier, and this was her favorite keepsake from the fiery, outspoken woman.
"You didn't have to come all the way here to return it, though." She raised her eyes and found that he was looking at her with more than cordiality, and an unexpected warmth rumbled through her.
Gideon s.h.i.+fted his gaze away and straightened his stance-as if he could stand any taller-and said, "How about a tour of your place while I'm here? Are you open for business yet?"
"No. That's why I was so startled when you came into the shop. I thought the sign said it was 'Closed Due to Death'." She smiled teasingly.
"I figured you'd be here, and I wasn't sure the compact was yours." He didn't even crack a smile.
Fiona looked at him, tilting her head to one side. She wondered why he was so uncomfortable. "It was certainly nice of you to take the time from your busy schedule to stop by. I'd be happy to show you around, although, honestly, I haven't seen the whole place myself yet. Come on back with me, won't you?" She turned, gesturing for him to follow her toward the rear of the store.
Gideon shoved his hands into his pockets and walked behind her. He found that he was more interested in watching the s.h.i.+ft and sway of her hips in the long, flowing skirt than in examining the shop's wares.
That surprised him, because Fiona wasn't at all the type of woman who normally caught his eye. She wasn't polished or professional, her auburn hair looked like it reeked of static electricity. He'd never seen it sleek and styled, and she wasn't a sharp, ambitious businesswoman. She was as different from Leslie as a White Zinfandel was from an oak-barrel Chardonnay-or more like a fruit punch compared to a blush Moscato: colorful, sweet, and punchy-but not what one would serve to guests.
Yet, she had been drifting into his mind more often than she should...and he felt as though he had no choice but to try and figure out why.
Pulling his mind from those unfamiliar thoughts, Gideon forced himself to look around the shop more closely. It was rather intriguing, he admitted, with the glow of light and the ambience of history and age. Fiona led him past a large desk, where papers and writing utensils were scattered, and a telephone sat buried among them.
"What happened here?" he asked when he noticed a pile of ceramic shards scattered over the floor about three-quarters of the way back into the store.
Fiona stopped to see what he meant, and he fancied she looked a bit uncomfortable. "I-uh-backed into that table and knocked it off," she explained. "I haven't located a broom yet, so there it sits." She gave a little laugh, then continued to walk along the aisle into the rear of the shop, where the lighting became dimmer and the ceiling lower.
"It's like a cave back here," Gideon commented, watching her turn on lights as they went. The sleeve of her casual blouse fell back to the elbow as she reached for a pull-cord. He admired the long, graceful line of her arm and allowed his gaze to continue its logical path over her shoulder, then to wander over the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. In the low light she looked elfin and ethereal with her halo of burnished hair, flowing clothing, and tall, slender build.
"It is," she agreed, and for a moment, he forgot what it was she was agreeing to. "It's a little nerve-wracking coming back here alone in the dark when you don't know where you're going," she continued after a pause.
"I can imagine." He followed as she turned a corner, and noticed a large desk with three lamps on it, sitting just at the juncture of the bend in the aisle. Something about the walnut secretary caught his attention, and he paused, peering at the wall behind it. Fiona had only switched on one of the lights. He reached to pull the cord of the middle one, the one with the cream-colored shade decorated with fringe.
He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from Fiona, and when he glanced at her, she was staring at him and the lamp as though waiting for them to draw swords.
Her eyes seemed fixed on his hand. "Is something wrong?" he asked, yanking the lamp cord. The cord clicked, and nothing happened.
She puffed out the breath she'd been holding, making him even more confused. "Is this some kind of rare light?" he asked. "It's not working."
"Why don't you check to see if it's plugged in." Her voice sounded thready.