Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-six

“I can’t believe the authorities are blaming me and the Lost Night Files crew for everything that happened,” Amelia fumed. “Talk about unfair. Talk about poor police work.”

She swept through the doorway of her apartment, stalked around the kitchen island, and plunked the colorful sack containing two orders of breakfast sandwiches and two coffees on the counter.

Gideon closed and locked the door and made his way to the island. He angled himself onto a stool and hung his cane on the edge of the counter.

“To be fair, the cops didn’t exactly blame you and the others,” he said in what she suspected was intended to be a soothing tone.

She took the two extra-large-sized coffee cups out of the sack and yanked off the lids. “Yes. They. Did.”

She and Gideon had finished the interview with the police a little over an hour ago. An investigation into the explosion on Steen’s cruiser was underway but Phoebe had warned everyone they wouldn’t find much. She had already searched for him on the dark web. For all intents and purposes, Steen was a ghost—currently in the literal sense, if you believed in that sort of thing—and also online. It was as if he had never existed. The same was true of Irene Morgan.

Amelia knew that she and Gideon were sleep-deprived, but they were far too wired to even try to get some rest. Also, there wasn’t much point, she thought. The rest of the Lost Night Files team was on the way to San Diego by air and car. They would be arriving at various times throughout the day and they planned to come straight to her apartment for a debriefing.

“The authorities simply made it clear they didn’t want to hear about your conspiracy theories,” Gideon said, “and let’s be honest. There was no need to go down that road.”

She glared and pushed one of the coffees across the counter. “They aren’t conspiracy theories. They are the true facts of the case. We both know that. And by the way, thanks for not backing me up when I tried to explain things to the cops.”

“It was for your own good.”

“Nobody likes to hear those words,” she warned.

“You know as well as I do that law enforcement doesn’t take crimes involving the paranormal seriously.”

She groaned. “Yeah, I know.”

“The cops were happy to go with my version of events, and that was all we needed to wrap up the case. In my own defense, I would like to point out that I did back you up. I just left out the paranormal elements.”

She drank some coffee while she thought about that. His version of events was that The Lost Night Files had inadvertently stumbled into an investigation that had drawn the attention of a violent drug-smuggling ring. The kingpin had decided to make the entire podcast crew disappear, starting with her.

She had to admit it was the truth, as far as it went. The discovery of a large stash of illegal narcotics hidden in a locker at the concealed boat dock had cemented Gideon’s story.

“Admit it,” he urged. “There was no need for an explanation involving bizarre serums that enhance the paranormal senses. The cops were satisfied with the fact that a serious amount of old-school street dope was involved.”

“I’ll bet Irene Morgan or Irene Steen, or whatever her real name is, hid the drugs the cops found at that boat dock. Got to hand it to her, she planned and executed a very complex scheme to get rid of her father.”

“ Executed being the operative word,” Gideon said.

“Yes.” Amelia shivered at the memory of the spectacular explosion. “If you had followed him down those steps. Jumped into the boat—”

“I didn’t follow him down those steps, thanks to you. And even in a worst-case scenario, I doubt if I would have jumped into the boat, not with this leg.”

“He had a gun. You would have been a sitting duck in that stairwell.”

“Any resemblance between me and a duck is strictly in your imagination.”

“You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

“I don’t have time to listen to your catastrophizing, because I’m too busy with my own. How do you think I felt when I realized Irene had managed to grab you?”

“Fair point.” Amelia unwrapped the breakfast sandwiches and set them on plates. “I’m sorry your uncle got drugged.”

“Not as sorry as he is. Shelton feels like an idiot. And he’s fine, so you don’t need to worry about him.”

Amelia put Gideon’s plate in front of him and carried her own around the end of the island. She sat down on one of the stools. “Do you think those two guards at Steen’s house and the one you took down at Falcon’s rental will talk?”

“Maybe,” Gideon said around a mouthful of sandwich. “But I doubt if they’ll be able to give the authorities any useful information. You saw the two at the cove house. They woke up but they were hallucinating. They may not survive, not if you’re right about their auras looking bad.”

“They were using the same contaminated version of the drug that Cutler Steen was using.”

“Pretty sure the directors of the Aurora Islands Pharmaceuticals operation wanted Steen dead.”

“Because Steen made them nervous?” Amelia asked.

“He was a ruthless man. They had been working with him for over a year. They knew what he was capable of. They probably remembered that old advice about dining with the devil.”

“Bring a very long spoon.” Amelia drank some coffee.

“I doubt if they objected to Steen’s methods—they went into business with him because of those methods. But at some point they must have started to worry, not just about his intentions toward them, but because he was attracting some unwanted attention.”

Amelia smiled, grimly satisfied. “Because the Lost Night Files podcast was getting traction. Closing in on the whole operation.”

“Yep.”

She stopped smiling. “Well, the case may look neat and tidy to the authorities, but they are going to miss the larger picture. Someone out there has created a dangerous drug that has the ability to enhance the paranormal senses. Oh, and by the way, there can be some unfortunate side effects. A lot of people will either go insane or die.”

Gideon sighed. “Amelia—”

She ignored the interruption. “Several of the so-called test subjects died in the course of Steen’s experiments, Gideon.”

“I know.”

“But no one is going to look for the person or persons who launched those illegal drug trials. What’s more, those individuals still have the formula for the serum. It’s not fair. It’s not justice.”

“Get used to it,” Gideon said. “The ending may not be perfect as far as you’re concerned, but in my experience this is as good as it gets in the psychic investigation business. You and your friends have been producing The Lost Night Files long enough to know that.”

“Okay, but I still say that if the authorities had taken us seriously after we were kidnapped the first time in Lucent Springs—if they had done their job—none of this would have happened.”

“You’re starting from a false premise,” Gideon said. He finished his sandwich. “The authorities would never have taken your lost night story seriously, because they do not accept the reality of the paranormal.”

“You’re right.” She brightened. “The authorities failed us but the fans of the podcast certainly came through when we needed them.”

Gideon smiled. “Yes, they did.”

Her phone rang just as she was about to take another bite of her sandwich. Assuming it was a call from one of the Lost Night Files team, she glanced at the screen. Bridget Hampstead. She put down the uneaten portion of the breakfast sandwich and stabbed accept.

“Bridget? Did the McCall listing finally sell?”

“Yes, it did,” Bridget said, buoyant to the point of giddy, as she always was when she closed a deal. “A very nice young couple. They are getting help with the down payment from their parents. Thanks to your photos, the buyers were able to visualize the potential of the house. He works in construction, so he’s not afraid to tackle a fixer- upper. She’s a schoolteacher with an artistic eye. The house is perfect for them.”

“I hope so. Congratulations. Glad it finally sold. How soon do you think you’ll be able to pay me for the photos?”

“Just as soon as I get my commission,” Bridget said smoothly. “The sale closes in sixty days.”

“Sixty days.”

“That’s fast for a deal like this one. I’ve got more good news. We’re on a roll. I picked up a new listing yesterday. Another starter home. This one definitely needs your special touch—”

“Sounds interesting,” Amelia said. “I’m a little busy at the moment but I’ll check my calendar and see if I can squeeze in another real estate shoot.”

“I was hoping you could hop on it right away. I’d really like to start marketing the place. The inventory of starter homes is low right now. That means this one will move quickly.”

“You mean like the McCall house? The one that took three months to sell and for which I won’t get paid for another two months? Right. I’ll get back to you.” Amelia ended the call, picked up what was left of her sandwich, and took a savage bite.

“Let me guess,” Gideon said. “One of your check-is-in-the-mail real estate clients?”

“Yep.” She swallowed and reached for her coffee. The intuitive sense of knowing whispered through her. “?‘Get used to it.’?”

“What?”

She gave herself a moment to let the feeling of certainty settle in before she continued.

“That’s what you said a few minutes ago when I was whining about not getting justice. You said ‘get used to it’ because that was as good as it gets in the psychic investigation biz.”

“So?”

“So I’m going to get used to it.”

Gideon put down his coffee and watched her with a wary expression. “You’re going to get used to waiting on the check-is-in-the-mail clients?”

“Nope. Back at the start you told me there was a learning curve involved when it came to figuring out how to control my talent. You were right.”

“Okay. So? Where are you going with this?”

“Luckily I’m a fast learner. And what I’ve learned is that using my abilities to help other people get justice, or maybe just the answers they need, is what I want to do with my life.”

“Uh, this is probably not a good time to make a major career decision,” Gideon said. “It’s been a stressful few days.”

“Wrong. This is the perfect time. Don’t you see? I’ve finally figured out why I’ve been so obsessed with photography all these years even though I’m not that great at it. I knew intuitively that there was something about the process that helped me focus my other vision. But I kept trying to make it work in the wrong lane.”

“You’re losing me here,” Gideon said.

“I’ve been using photography in the wrong way,” she explained. “I never found my lane. I am, however, very good at reading auras and energy prints and I’m getting better by the day.”

“Do you, uh, have some idea of how you can make a career out of energy reading?”

“Yep.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not going into the psychic demonstration business. Aunt Cybil discouraged me from doing that. She said it wasn’t the most satisfying way to use my talent because most people see psychics as entertainers. The truth is, she’s in that line because of the free cruise travel and the romance.”

“The romance of the sea?”

“Well, that, too, but she means the men. You’d be amazed how many are attracted to psychics.”

Gideon watched her with a mix of fascination and dread. “Is that right?”

“Not that you could prove it by me. My dating life for the past seven months has been a rolling disaster. Aunt Cybil says my problem is that I haven’t added the element of glamour or mystique. I’m sure she’s right, but in my own defense, I have been a little busy lately. But now I’ve got a plan.”

“How nice for you. I’m so thoroughly confused I might have a nervous breakdown. What, exactly, are you going to do?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s clear to me that I was born to be a psychic private investigator. You know, like you.”

Gideon’s expression metamorphosed from fascination and dread to full-on deer in the headlights.

“I don’t think you understand what you’re getting into,” he said carefully.

“Of course I do. I’ve been watching you work for the past few days, remember? Also, you could say I’ve been training to do this since we started the podcast. For the first time in my life I have a clear-cut goal. It feels great. I’ll bet this is how you felt when you finally opened your own agency.”

“Amelia, I’ve been working investigations for a while now, and I’m here to tell you, hanging out a sign that says Psychic Detective is a great way to attract a lot of weird clients.”

“I know. The podcast attracts more than its share, believe me.”

“This business can also get dangerous.” He gestured toward the cane.

“Gee. Who knew? Gideon, in the past few days I’ve been shot at, drugged, kidnapped, and used as a hostage by an unstable psychic who almost murdered his own daughter.”

Gideon’s jaw clenched. “Don’t remind me. All right, point taken. But I strongly suggest that you wait to make such a big decision. Give yourself some time to get past the trauma of the last few days.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I have a strategy.”

“That’s what worries me.”

She ignored him. “You’ll be my first client, of course. Eventually I’ll be able to make the connections necessary to grow my business.”

“Let me get this straight. You expect me to hire you as a consultant?”

“Admit it, Gideon, you need me.”

Without warning his eyes heated.

“Yes,” he said. “I do need you.”

She caught her breath. “For my psychic talents?”

“I need you because I can’t envision my life without you in it. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say I don’t want to think about my life without you in it.”

“You’re sure? I mean, we’ve only known each other a few days.”

He smiled an unexpectedly wistful smile. “I fell in love with you the day you hired me.”

She frowned. “How could you know so quickly?”

“Because I felt like I’d been hit by a freight train.”

“That’s how you knew you were in love?”

“Well, sure. That’s usually how it is with the Sweetwaters.”

Her pulse kicked up. “I was afraid I’d made a serious mistake by hiring you.”

“You’re not much of a romantic, are you?”

“But I realized right away that my feelings were very complicated. Hard to sort out. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Your uncle explained the biophysics of the situation. Something about aura resonance.”

“Well, shit. You discussed us—our relationship—with my uncle? You and I haven’t even talked about it. Not until now. I can’t believe this.”

“Calm down. He was very understanding. Helpful. Supportive.”

“Thank you, Uncle Shelton,” Gideon muttered.

“You’re missing the point here. I love you, Gideon.”

“What?”

She smiled, savoring the quiet, thrilling joy of certainty. “There is no question about it. I think I knew it that first day but, like I said, the situation was complicated.”

Gideon’s eyes were molten silver now. “Amelia—”

The doorbell chimed.

Startled, Amelia jumped off the stool. “I wonder who that could be?”

Gideon was already on his feet, suddenly all business. “I’ll get it.”

Amelia followed him into the front hall and managed to get to the door ahead of him. “It’s okay. That’s Egan, the gardener.” She opened the door.

The gardener had a small white envelope in one gloved hand.

“Hi, Egan,” Amelia said. “What’s up?”

“Morning,” Egan said. “I found this in the gardening shed. It has your name on it. The mail carrier must have dropped it.”

“Thanks.”

Bewildered, she took the envelope. Her name was, indeed, printed on the front in block letters. She was pretty sure she recognized the handwriting. She ripped open the envelope and discovered a note and a business card.

Dear Amelia:

I will miss our pizza-wine-and-movie nights. I realize I almost got you killed, but I want you to know I truly did value our friendship. In my family we don’t do friends. It was nice to have a real one for a while.

I know you will take good care of Daisy and Dahlia.

Remember, don’t overfeed them. And help yourself to my wine collection before the apartment manager realizes I’m not coming back.

Sincerely,

Irene

P.S. Don’t forget to follow up on the real estate agent who wants to hire you to do the shoot on his waterfront listing in La Jolla. That was for real, I promise. His card is enclosed. Remember: Attitude is everything.

P.P.S. You were right about Falcon.