After Glow

Chapter 20

Lydia sat tensely in the front seat of the Slider. Emmett was at the wheel, easing the car through a maze of side streets in order to avoid the traffic and congestion on the main thoroughfares. Verwood loomed large in the rear seat.

The two had explained Sandra Thornton's role in the affair. A hasty plan of action had been hatched, but Lydia did not like it. She had decided to make her feelings on the subject known.

"I think you should take me with you when you go talk to this Sandra Thornton," she said.

"I told you, I want you to stay out of this." Emmett did not take his eyes off the dark streets.

"We've been through this before. You can't keep me out of it. We both know that."

Verwood had not said much after greeting her with a respectful nod but she knew that he was taking in every word of the argument. Given his position there in the backseat, it would have been impossible for him not to hear every word. Emmett was probably not real happy about having his security chief listening to what amounted to a domestic spat but she refused to back down. Her intuition told her that it was important that she go with him.

"Mr. Verwood says she's living alone," Lydia continued. "Just imagine how she's going to feel when she finds the two of you at her front door at this hour. She'll probably panic."

"That'd be the right thing to do," Verwood said, "if she shot the boss, that is."

"But what if she wasn't the one who shot him?" Lydia struggled to hang on to her patience. "And even if she did have something to do with the shooting, you need information from her, not hysterical panic. If she sees me, she'll be a lot less likely to rez-out on you."

"Huh." Verwood appeared to be somewhat struck by that observation. "Y'know, she's got a point, sir."

"Yeah." Emmett slowed the Slider to a crawl and drove along a narrow lane that led into the Old Quarter. "She does, doesn't she?"

Verwood folded his arms on the back of the seat. "Guys down at the Guild Hall are all talking about you, ma'am."

Lydia winced. "Is that anything like having the guys in the locker room talking about me?"

" 'Course not." Verwood was shocked by the analogy. "The guys are really impressed. Some of them worked with you while you were at the university. They said you're one hell of a tangler."

"Oh." She was taken aback by that news. She hadn't realized that the hunters gossiped about such things, she mused.

"Everyone down at the hall knows how you managed to find your way out of the tunnels after you'd been lost down there all on your own without any amber, for two whole days," Verwood added. "Pretty impressive."

"Mmm." She decided not to mention that the reason she had found herself in that predicament was because two members of the Guild had abandoned her.

"Most people who went through something like that, assuming they survived, would've ended up in a nice quiet para-psych ward." Verwood tapped his forefinger against his temple. "Probably never be able to work underground again. But we all know how you helped Mr. London, here, find his nephew after the boy got himself kidnapped. The guys say you went back into the catacombs just as cool as you please and never blinked."

"The reports of the effects of my underground disaster were greatly exaggerated," Lydia retorted.

"And this afternoon everyone was talking about how you took Jack Brodie and his girlfriend out to lunch at the fanciest place in town and made 'em give you a table even though the snooty head waiter tried to pretend they didn't have a reservation."

"It was a misunderstanding," Lydia mumbled.

"There were some who claimed that you weren't a real Guild wife on account of you weren't born into a Guild family and didn't know our traditions. But they sure changed their tune after they heard how you walked into that meeting of the Council today and told 'em how you were there to claim your Guild wife rights." Verwood whistled. "It was just like you'd been born and bred in the Guild."

"Yes, well—"

"You sure shut down Dorning's plans to issue a challenge," Verwood said happily. "Never did like that guy. Real ambitious and he doesn't care how he gets to the top. Fact is, the first thing I did after I heard about the boss getting shot was check out Dorning's alibi for that night."

"You did?" Lydia turned quickly in her seat to peer at him through the shadows. "I take it he was in the clear?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean he didn't hire someone to do his dirty work, right, Mr. London?"

"It's a possibility," Emmett conceded.

"So, there are some other suspects besides this Sandra Thornton," Lydia said softly.

"Oh, yeah." Verwood shrugged. "Guild bosses always have enemies. Part of the job description."

"Yes, I've heard that." Lydia shuddered and turned back to face the windshield. Please let this be over soon, she thought.

Emmett shot Verwood a warning glance in the rearview mirror. "I think you've said enough."

"Yes, sir." Belatedly realizing that he had annoyed his boss, Verwood tried to recover from his conversational faux pas. "Anyhow, down at the Guild Hall, everyone's talking about how they can sure see why you married this nice lady, Mr. London."

"What can I say?" Emmett muttered. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

The apartment house where Sandra Thornton lived was located on one of the darker, meaner streets in the Old Quarter. Emmett got out of the Slider and studied the shabby-looking building. Most of the windows were dark. A couple were boarded up. You could almost smell the decay.

"Are you sure about the address, Verwood?" Emmett asked.

"Yes, sir." Verwood extricated himself from the back of the Slider and joined him on the cracked sidewalk. "I watched her come and go a couple of times this afternoon. She's got a key to the front door. Her car is that old Float parked near the curb. She lives here, all right."

Lydia walked around the front of the Slider, frowning at the heavily shadowed doorway across the street. In spite of the distractions presented by the business at hand, Emmett was intensely aware of her. Dressed in the sleek midnight-blue gown and sexy high heels, with little whispers of stray psi energy writhing around her, she made him want to head straight for the nearest bedroom. Or the backseat of the Slider, for that matter.

He got a flashback to the glittering ballroom they had just left and thought about his reaction to the sight of Lydia dancing with Hepscott. The thought of her working closely with the developer for the next few months was deeply disturbing.

"What's wrong, Emmett?" Lydia asked quietly.

He pulled himself back to the present. There would be ample time to brood over the problem of Gannon Hepscott in the future.

"I've got to tell you that I'm a little surprised that Sandra Thornton is living in a run-down place in a bad part of town." He shrugged. "Whatever else you can say about him, the fact is Wyatt has a reputation for being generous with his women. When he ends a relationship, he usually softens the blow with a few valuable parting gifts. Jewelry. Stock in Guild funds. That kind of thing."

"I see," Lydia said neutrally. "In other words if Sandra was Wyatt's mistress for any length of time, she should have been able to afford to live in a better neighborhood."

"Yeah."

"You said that Wyatt stopped seeing Sandra nearly two years ago. Maybe she ran through whatever money and jewelry he gave her."

"Hey, maybe that's why she called Mr. Wyatt the other day," Verwood volunteered. "To tell him she was broke. Probably knew she could get more cash out of him if she gave him a good sob story."

"If that was the case, I doubt she would have shot him in the back before identifying herself," Lydia said. "Hard to get cash out of a dead man."

"Huh." Verwood raised both hands. "She's got a point, Boss. Maybe we're off the mark a little here. Maybe Sandra Thornton didn't have anything to do with it."

"But there are other reasons besides money why a woman might want to kill a man," Lydia said quietly.

Emmett glanced sharply at her but he could not read her expression in the darkness.

"Well, we're not going to get any answers standing around out here," he said. He started toward the front door of the apartment house. "Let's go ask her."

He led the way across the narrow street, Verwood immediately behind him. Neither of them made any noise but Lydia's high heels rang faintly on the pavement.

Emmett went up the steps and tried the front door. It was locked.

"I'll take care of it, Boss." Verwood stepped in close to the door, took a pick out of his pocket, and applied it to the lock. Ten seconds later the door opened.

"That lock-pick gadget can't be legal." Lydia did not bother to conceal her disapproval. "Do all hunters carry one?"

"Uh—" Verwood broke off and looked quickly at Emmett, seeking guidance.

"What lock-pick gadget?" Emmett asked. "I didn't see any lock-pick gadget."

He moved through the doorway into a dimly lit hall. Lydia and Verwood followed.

Emmett examined the hand-lettered plaques on each door he passed. He stopped at the one that read 5. Thornton.

"Let me knock," Lydia said. "It will be a lot less threatening."

She was right, Emmett thought. He stepped aside.

Lydia rapped her knuckles lightly against the panel and stood directly in front of the peephole.

There was no response.

She tried again, louder, sharper, more authoritative this time.

When there was no answer, Emmett took Lydia's place. He ignored her frown and knocked once.

"Ms. Thornton? This is Emmett London. I want to talk to you about Mercer Wyatt. This is a Guild matter."

"Oh, hey, that's real subtle," Lydia told him. "If I were her, I'd be climbing out the rear window about now."

No, you wouldn't, he thought. You'd fling open the front door and start chewing me out for having the nerve to wake you up at this hour.

"You want me to go downstairs and watch the alley in case she tries to sneak out that way, Boss?" Verwood asked.

"No." Emmett was about to order him to use the pick again but he remembered to try the door first. It turned easily in his hand.

"Sheesh." Lydia shook her head. "I can't imagine leaving your front door unlocked in this neighborhood."

"Neither can I." This was not a good sign. He eased the door open. "Ms. Thornton?"

The unnatural stillness and the scent of burnt spice told its own tale.

Verwood wrinkled his nose in disgust. "She's into Chartreuse. Well, that explains how she went through whatever cash and goodies the boss gave her when they split."

"Something's wrong," Lydia whispered. "It's too quiet in there."

Emmett went through the doorway first with Verwood on his heels. He opened all his senses, listening for the slightest sound and feeling for any trace of psi energy, but he caught nothing. He glanced back at Lydia and Verwood. They both shook their heads.

The light from a single floor lamp slanted across a small living room that was nearly empty of furnishings.

Verwood surveyed the space with disdain. "She must have sold everything to buy the dope."

Emmett went down the short hall, glancing into the tiny bath before continuing on into the bedroom.

The smell of death mingled with the smoky scent of the Chartreuse.

Another weak lamp was lit in this room. It revealed a woman dressed in a scarlet nightgown. Her head was turned away from them, facing the window. Blond hair tumbled across the pillow.

A small Chartreuse burner sat on the table beside the bed.

They all looked at the body.

"Dear God, not again," Lydia whispered. She put her hand on her stomach.

Emmett went to the bed and touched the cold skin of the woman's throat. "She's been dead for several hours."

"Just like Professor Maltby." Lydia's gaze was riveted on the woman.

Emmett did not like the sound of that. "Do me a favor and don't get started on any new conspiracy theories, Lydia. Maltby and Thornton were both Chartreuse users."

"I know, but you've got to admit this is something more than a coincidence."

"I don't have to admit anything of the kind." He was about to tell Verwood to make the call to the cops when he saw the sheet of paper lying on the nightstand beside the drag apparatus.

There was a note written in an extremely shaky hand. He did not pick it up but he read it aloud to Lydia and Verwood.

My beloved Mercer:

Please forgive me. You always said that I was impulsive, didn't you? You told me that it was one of the things that you loved about me. I doubt that you expected that I might someday try to kill you on impulse, though, did you?

The papers say that you will probably live. Believe it or not, I'm glad to know that I did not succeed. But I can't go on any longer seeing you with her and knowing that I will never have you. I was good enough to be your mistress but not good enough to be your wife.

Farewell, my love. Sandy

"I told you there were other reasons why a woman might try to kill a man," Lydia whispered. "Obsession and jealousy are right up there at the top of the list."

"It explains a lot of things," Emmett said, "like why Wyatt went out alone late at night to meet her and why he kept insisting that it was not Guild politics."

"Looks like we've got the shooter," Verwood said. He sounded relieved and satisfied.

Emmett nodded. "Better call Martinez."