Rachel got home a little after seven. “I love my new job,” he said, unbuttoning the top of her blouse, “but the paperwork is making me miss the demons we used to go chasing. Where’s dinner? And what are you looking at?”
“You,” I smiled. “I might have to duck out any minute. I’m expecting a text, but there are burritos you can microwave—”
My phone buzzed. Of course.
MUSEUM. EIGHT. FRONT DOOR WILL BE OPEN. BRING THE MONEY.
ANGELA G.
“Damn it.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’m going to have to go to that museum for a payoff. You want to come?”
“A payoff? Now you sound like a real private eye.” She crossed her arms and looked at me. “What’s going down, sweetheart?”
I filled her in. Rachel kept up, even when it got confusing, and finally said, “Okay, I’m in. But I’m going to have to take a burrito to eat in the car.”
My stomach was rumbling. “Yeah, me too. I’ll zap them while you get changed. But first I have to call my client.”
Chapman sounded resentful and impatient. “I managed to get the cash. When do I get the candle?”
“Eight o’clock,” I told him. “At the museum. I just got her text.”
“All right,” he grunted. “You going to be there?”
“Yeah. I want to see how this turns out.”
“Whatever. Just don’t screw this up for me.” He hung up.
Forty-five minutes later we were parked across the street from the museum. Rachel crumpled the foil I’d wrapped her burrito in and wiped her lips with a napkin as she looked out her window. “It looks closed.”
“She said the front door would be open.” I unbuckled my belt.
“There are cameras.” Rachel pointed.
I peered across the street. “Yeah.” No sign of Chapman yet.
I texted Angela. I’m here. What about the cameras outside?
Three minutes later: CAMERAS TURNED OFF. YOU HAVE THE MONEY?
No, I texted. Chapman is bringing that. Not here yet.
At 8:05 a cab pulled up, and Chapman stepped out. In person, he was short and pudgy, in a long coat and a bag slung over his shoulder. He looked at the front door of the museum, then turned, frowning, until he spotted me.
He’s here, I texted, and opened my door.
We crossed the street. Chapman stared at Rachel. “Who’s this?”
“Rachel. My associate. Also my wife.” It still felt a little funny not to call her “my girlfriend.”
“Hi.” Rachel smiled. “I’m psychic.”
He raised his eyebrows skeptically but didn’t argue.
The museum door opened. Angela stood inside, waving her arm. “Come on! Quick!”
Inside she shoved the door closed and locked it. “This way.”
But Chapman grabbed her arm before she could turn. “Where is it? I’ve got the money, where is it?”
Angela lifted a hand to slap him, but he let her go and backed away. She dropped her hand and saw Rachel. “Who are you?”
“Rachel. Wife. Psychic. Associate detective. Take your pick.” She looked around. “So this is the place.”
A few lights in back of the big room cast shadows around us, but they were bright enough to make me nervous about being seen from the sidewalk. “Let’s do this,” I said.
“Over here.” She led us past the big display to the sliding door of the gift shop and unlocked it from the bottom.
“You have all the keys to this place?” I asked.
“Not all of them.” She slid the door open. “Just the ones I needed once I figured out what Justin wanted.”
“From Marilyn’s desk?”
“A friend. Just—a friend.” She led us inside.
Angela went around the counter, then planted her arms on the glass like she was greeting a customer. “The money?”
Chapman’s eye twitched as he flopped his bag on the counter. “Here.” He unzipped it and pulled out a manila envelope. “Here.”
Angela smiled like a teenager as she snatched the envelope and ripped it open. She poured the cash onto the counter, laughing. “Yes!” She started counting it.
“It’s there,” Chapman snapped. “Just give me the candle.”
“Just a minute.” Angela pushed the cash back into the envelope and pulled up her sweatshirt, tucking it into her jeans. “Okay.” She dropped down behind the counter.
“You kept it here after you stole it?” Rachel asked, leaning over the counter to watch.
“I figured they’d blame Len. His father has one too.”
“He was going to sell it,” I told her. “To Kantner.”
“I didn’t know that.” She stood up.
In her hands was the candle holder everyone was so excited about. Chapman breathed a sigh of happiness. Small, bronze with silver on the edges, it held a small candle the color of twilight, with the faint scent of lavender. He reached over to pull it toward his bag.
“Just a minute.” The voice came from behind us.
I groaned as I turned, trying to edge my way between Rachel and the man in the doorway. Men, actually.
“Len?” Angela frowned. “Who’s—”
“This is my dad.” Len seemed nervous, uncertain, but man beside him patted his arm reassuringly.
“Glen Noland,” I said. “Tom Jurgen. We spoke on the phone.”
“Jurgen?” Noland stared at me. He was a tall man, with a balding forehead and thin gray hair at the temples and in the back. His glasses flicked toward Rachel, and he nodded. “Who are—never mind.” He nudged Len with his elbow. “Get the candle.”
Len started forward, but Chapman hugged the holder to his chest. “No! It’s mine!”
Noland laughed. “You stole it, Justin. Or your friend here did, whatever. It doesn’t make any difference. Hand it over before anybody gets hurt.”
“You’ve got a gun?” I own a handgun. Unfortunately, it was back at the apartment.
Noland smiled. “Something better.”
From the pocket of his jacket came another candle holder—a twin of the one Chapman was clutching. “The lighter, Len.”
Len dug into his jeans for a cigarette lighter. Noland snatched it and gave it a flick, and lit the wick of the candle. A wisp of smoke rose up through the air.
“I thought you were selling that to Gavin Kantner,” I said, trying not to look directly into the flame.
“I was. Then I found out that Justin was getting in on the act.” Noland held up the candle. “If you were just going to buy it, that would have been one thing, but no, you had to get your pretend niece here to steal it for you.”
“Len!” Angela pounded the counter with a fist. “You piece of shit! You went to your father?”
“Me?” Len backed away, still nervous. “You were the one who—pretended to like me. Just so you could get your hands on the keys!” He jabbed a finger at her.
“I didn’t just . . . okay, maybe I did. A little.” Angela glared at Chapman. “This is all your fault! All I wanted was a trip to New York!”
“Shut up, everyone!” Noland lifted his candle over his head. The flame trembled. The candle smelled like lavender and incense.
The door behind him slid shut. The lights in the back of the museum went dark. The only light came from his candle.
“Give it to me,” Noland growled at Chapman.
Chapman shook his head. “Hell, no, you—”
But the candle holder shot from his fingers and soared across the room. He tried to grab for it, but Len snatched it from the air., grinning as if he’d just caught a line drive.
“Good. Now . . .” Noland crouched, reaching into his other jacket pocket. For the third candle holder. “Put that down here.”
Len set it on the floor next to the other two, and Noland flicked his lighter.
Rachel was closer to him. Before I could say or do anything, she kicked one of the candle holders over. The candle skittered across the floor as she grabbed for the lighter.
Len rushed toward her, awkwardly, as if he didn’t want to manhandle her but needed to do something. Rachel hit him—not hard, but she knows Krav Maga and can handle herself reasonably well in a rare fight. He yelped and jumped back.
In the meantime I grabbed for Noland’s arm, trying to swat the candle out of his fist. But he squirmed away, and something hit me in the back of the head. I staggered and almost fell, and Noland swept the candle holders together on the floor and started lighting the other two, using the flame from the first candle.
I looked down and saw a heavy book between my feet—Noland had flung it at me with his mind. Before I could do anything, like snatch the book up and hurl it at him, Noland leaned back and lifted all three candles in both hands, smiling. “Stop.”
My body froze.
The gift shop suddenly looked like it was full of statues. Rachel was halfway into a kick aimed at Len’s stomach. Chapman and Angela stood next to each other, staring at Noland. Angela’s mouth was open as if in mid-shout. Chapman had a hand on her arm.
Noland laughed. It wasn’t an evil supervillain laugh, a “bwa-ha-ha,” just a chuckle of satisfaction. He looked at me, then Rachel, then at Chapman, still holding the three candles over his head. “Justin, you tried too hard. I didn’t want to do any of this, but you had to push it, didn’t you? Gavin would still be alive.”
Then he leered at Angela. “My son liked you. Too bad.”
Then he turned to stare at Len, the veins in his neck tensing as he breathed in and out. I could see his mouth quietly saying Len’s name, over and over, as if trying to reach him from far away.
Len’s body jerked, and he took a step back, surprised. He shook his head to clear it and looked at his father. “How’d you do that?”
“I’m still figuring it out.” He lowered his arms to hand a candle to Len. “Okay, let’s leave them and get out of here. They’ll stay frozen until we’re—"
Then the red light on the smoke alarm by the door started flashing, and the sprinklers in the ceiling went off. The wispy smoke from the candles had triggered the alarm.
Cold water hit my scalp. I reached up to rub the back of my neck, and realized I could move again.
So could Rachel. She staggered, caught her balance, and kicked Noland in the knees as he bent over to clutch at the candle holders. He howled, stumbling, and I managed to snatch one of the holders from him before he could stop me.
I tossed it over a display case, where it hit the wall and fell out of sight. Rachel got a second one out of Noland’s hand. It was still burning even with the cold water pouring down over us, so she blew it out. She tossed it over to me and then stalked toward Len, who held the third candle holder in his trembling hands.
He stared at her as she held her hand out silently. After a second he shrugged and handed it over to her. Rachel shoved it into a pocket of her jacket.
Noland reared up, as if he wanted to charge at me. With the sprinklers raining down over all of us, he looked less like the menacing figure he wanted and more like a golfer irritated by bad weather. Rachel took a step toward him, and he back off, still glaring at me. At everybody.
I looked at Len. “Is the fire department coming?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It’s an automatic alarm.”
I wiped water from my forehead. “We should get out of here.” Explaining this to the cops would be complicated. “The cameras are off, you said?”
Angela nodded and snatched up the envelope with the money before bolting for the door.
“What about the candles?” Chapman demanded. “I didn’t come all this way—”
“Forget about them,” I snapped. “I’ve got two, and neither of you are getting them. You—” I pointed a finger at Noland. “You killed Kantner, didn’t you? With the chandelier? I saw you here the day he discovered that his candle got stolen.”
His face was paler with water dripping down. “I didn’t mean to—I just wanted to make him shut up, I didn’t realize he was standing right in the spot where it would fall right on top of him . . .”
I desperately wanted to turn him over to the cops, but I knew they’d never be able to prove the case in court. “Just get out. Resign from the board. You—” I looked at Len. “Quit the gift shop.” I held out my hand to Rachel. “Come on, honey, let’s go home.”
Outside we ran across the street to our car, sirens already ringing from a block away. Angela was already out of sight. We saw Chapman make his way down the street and turn a corner, beyond our view. Noland and his son had gone a different way, probably out a back door.
I started the car. Rachel punched my arm. “Call me ‘honey’ in front of anybody again and I’ll Krav Maga your crotch.”
“Ouch.” I pulled away from the curb. “Whatever you say, snookums.”
She scowled. “Keep it up. Papa Bear.”
“Yikes.” I hit the turn signal. “Let’s just go home.”
Angela Greenwood called me the next morning.
Rachel was home today, but still taking her shower. I looked at my buzzing phone, considered letting her go to voicemail, then decided I was mad at Chapman, not her, so I answered it. “Hi, this is Tom.”
“Hi, Tom. Have you heard from Justin?”
I snorted. “No. I got a retainer from him when this started out. I don’t figure he’ll call me to settle up accounts.”
She laughed. “You might be surprised. Look, I’m sorry for all the trouble. It was stupid. Who needs to go to New York? I just—Len was a scumbag. I thought he liked me, and, well . . .” Her voice dropped. “I guess I let him think I liked him. So there’s a lot of shit to go around.”
“Life is like that sometimes. At least you got the money.”
“Yeah, I guess. Well, I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. And your wife.”
“We’re fine.” Rachel walked into the office right the, her still wet, carrying her Supergirl coffee mug. “I’ll say hi.”
“Okay, thanks. Bye.” She hung up.
“Who was that?” Rachel sat down and yawned.
“Angela. Apologetic. She says hi to you.”
Rachel scowled, then sipped her coffee. “So what are you going to do about Noland?”
I groaned. I hated the idea of Noland getting away with killing Gavin Kantner, but even the few cops who didn’t think I was completely nuts wouldn’t be willing to charge someone with using an enchanted candle for murder. Still, I thought about Noland’s two houses in addition to his fancy condo. There could be something worth looking into. Something that wouldn’t pay him back for murder, but might at least mess up his comfortable life a little.
“I’ll think of something. Anyway, we’ve got to make sure those candle holders are secure.” Right now they were under our bed.
“Or just throw them in Lake Michigan.”
“That’s an idea.” It wouldn’t be the first dangerous supernatural object we’d consigned to the depths. “Your turn to make dinner tonight, by the way.”
She sighed. “Okay, what kind of sex do I have to promise you if we can order Thai?”
I grinned. “We’ll negotiate something.”
# # #
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