Hidden Talents (9 page)

Zone glanced over her shoulder and then lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “His aura is very weak and tinged with a sort of pale green. I believe that there is great anxiety in him.”

“That's because he's worried about keeping us as clients,” Serenity said. “Based on that one conversation I had with him on the phone, I get the feeling he hasn't been very successful in his chosen field. Started out selling computers and lost that job. Went on to shoes and bombed again. Now he's trying to make it in the whole-grain line.”

“Ah.” Zone's bracelets clanked gently beneath the saffron and orange sleeves of her robes. “I thought I detected a fear of failure in that green aura. He has obviously not learned to align himself with the positive forces of the universe.”

“Don't worry,” Serenity said briskly. “We'll cheer him up with a large order today.”

Caleb scowled. “What is this? You're going to give that sales rep an order just because you're worried about his weak aura?”

“Can you think of a better reason?” Serenity asked innocently. “Besides, I need to lay in supplies. We'll get our first snow before too long. Deliveries will be unpredictable after that.” She glanced at Zone. “Show the rep in here, will you, Zone?”

“Of course.” Zone gave Caleb a pointed look.

“I was just leaving,” Caleb said.

“It's for the best,” Zone murmured. “The vibrations were getting very dangerous. I had an unpleasant vision while meditating the other night. And then you showed up. I was starting to become quite concerned.”

“Keep on worrying. I meant that I was leaving Serenity's office.” Caleb strode past Zone. “Not Witt's End.”

“Then we must prepare ourselves for the turmoil and danger which await.”

Caleb ignored her. He glanced at the man hovering near the front counter. The sales rep was clutching a cheap, imitation leather briefcase and fidgeting with his badly frayed collar. His tie was too narrow and his pants were made of polyester. His eyes darted about nervously behind the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses.

“You can go in now,” Caleb said. “I'm through.”

“Thanks.” The sales rep edged around Caleb. “You in natural foods?”

“Tofu.”

“Oh, yeah. Tofu.” The man looked greatly relieved to learn that he wasn't in direct competition with Caleb. “I'm in whole grains, myself.”

“You're lucky. Longer shelf life for your product.”

The sales rep brightened for a moment. “Yeah. Hadn't thought of that.” He glanced around and then leaned closer. “How was it in there? She a tough sale?”

“Tough as nails,” Caleb assured him.

“I was afraid of that.” The salesman's Adam's apple bobbed. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “Mind if I ask if you closed your deal with her?”

“I'm still working on it.”

“Too bad. Well, here goes nothing.” The nervous salesman scurried into Serenity's office and closed the door.

Caleb ignored Zone, who watched him from her station behind the counter. He wandered down the nearest aisle, studying the interesting array of goods stocked on the shelves and stored in large, round, wooden barrels.

He walked past buckwheat noodles, dried beans, peas, nuts, soy flour, whole wheat bagels and fresh rye bread. The granola in one barrel looked familiar. He was almost certain it was the same kind he'd had for breakfast. He remembered the mental note he had made to buy milk.

The dairy case at the rear of the store contained blue corn tortillas, goat cheese, and tofu in three different textures—soft, medium, and firm. Down another aisle Caleb discovered four different brands of olive oil, what appeared to be an assortment of home-bottled herbed vinegar, and several jars of unsulfured molasses. He frowned thoughtfully at the vinegar bottles.

The bells over the front door jangled cheerfully. A blast of chilly air announced the arrival of a man who looked as if he'd just stepped out of a war movie.

“Good morning, Blade,” Zone said with a gentle enthusiasm that surprised Caleb. “I see you can't sleep today. It was a difficult night, wasn't it?”

“The last three nights have been bad,” Blade said ominously. He glanced over his shoulder and spoke to two huge rottweilers who were loitering on the side-walk. “Stay,” he ordered.

Caleb watched through the open doorway as the dogs obediently sat. Then he glanced at Blade again and decided that he would have recognized the survivalist anywhere from Serenity's brief description. If the camouflage fatigues and boots hadn't given Blade away, the armament he wore would have been a significant clue. The stuff dripped from him like icicles.

“Did you get any sleep at all?” Zone asked anxiously.

“Plan to sleep a few hours this afternoon.” Blade went toward the counter “Doin' sentry duty until then. You?”

Zone shook her head. “Not much. The lines of negative influence were just too powerful.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Blade leaned one elbow against the counter and stared at Caleb with basilisk eyes. “Been a lot of negative influences around here lately. Kind of makes you wonder, don't it?”

Zone followed his gaze. She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, it does.”

“Something wrong?” Caleb asked politely.

“Could be,” Blade said.

The front door opened again. Quinton Priestly, bundled up in a thick parka, a scarf tucked under his beard, hurried into the warmth of the store. “Getting cold out there. Won't be long before the first snow. The endless vectors of points on the mathematical planes are mirrored in the microcosm of our seasons. Morning, everyone.”

“Good morning,” Zone said.

“Mornin',” Blade muttered. He didn't take his eyes off Caleb. “We were just talkin' about all the negative influences around here.”

Quinton heaved a sigh. “You refer, of course, to the recent death of a member of our community. Ambrose was a difficult man in many ways, but he was one of us. We'll miss him.”

“Some of us will probably miss him more than others,” Blade said.

Quinton turned and saw Caleb. “Perhaps you're right.”

Caleb walked to the front of the aisle and looked at Zone, Blade, and Quinton in turn. “Do we have a problem here?”

“Seems to me,” Blade said, “that what we got here is an amazin' coincidence.”

“How's that?” Caleb asked.

“Can't help but notice,” Blade said, “that the first death we've had around here in years took place just a few hours before you showed up in town. For all I know, you might have been here right about the time Ambrose bought the farm.”

Caleb went very still. “What the hell are you implying?”

“Nothin'.” Blade ignored Zone and Quinton, who had both turned startled stares on him. “Just pointin' out a few facts. What with the fog and all, no way of knowin' who was where the night Ambrose died.”

Caleb took a step forward.

“Come on, Blade,” Quinton said hastily. “Take it easy. Don't get carried away here. We all know Ambrose's death was an accident.”

“Yeah?” Blade squinted at Caleb. “All I know for sure is that Ambrose is dead.”

“And all I know for certain,” Caleb said softly, “is that you are a paranoid son of a bitch.”

“Seems to me,” Blade said, “that it's possible poor old Ambrose might have just had the bad luck to be your first target.”

“My first target?”

“Might be your people are a little smarter than I figured. Instead of usin' a whole commando team, maybe they just sent in a single man to pick us off one by one. A sniper who works alone. You that good, Ventress?”

Zone's face registered serious alarm. Her eyes skittered anxiously from Caleb back to Blade. “Blade, I don't think you should say things like that. I don't like the color of his aura. It's getting very dark.”

“Yeah, Blade,” Quinton muttered. “Calm down, big guy. Serenity knows Ventress. She wouldn't have invited him here if she didn't think she could trust him.”

“Sometimes Serenity's too damn trusting, if you ask me,” Blade said. “She's…whatchacallit—naive. Yeah. That's the word. Naive.”

“I think I've heard enough.” It was one thing, Caleb thought, for him to call Serenity naive. It was another for some jerk built like a tank to call her names. “One more word and I'll wrap that tool belt you're wearing around your neck. Assuming I can find your neck, that is.”

“Is that a fact?” Blade straightened away from the counter. He braced his booted feet widely apart and centered himself slowly and heavily into a martial arts stance. “Any time you want to try, I'll be waiting.”

Caleb studied him curiously. “Where'd you learn your hand-to-hand style? From a kung fu movie?”

“We'll see just how good you are, mister.” Blade started forward with a crablike movement.

Caleb reached for one of the jars of vinegar that occupied a nearby shelf.

“Jesus,” Quinton whispered.

Zone opened her mouth and screamed. “
Serenity! You'd better get out here fast
.”

The office door slammed opened. Serenity scanned the tense expressions of everyone present. “I'm trying to do some business. What on earth is going on out here?”

“I think we're in the middle of a very, very negative force field,” Zone whispered.

Quinton threw Serenity an uneasy glance. “Blade's gone a little overboard with his latest conspiracy theory. He's implied that your friend Ventress, here, had something to do with Ambrose's death. Blade thinks he's the point man for a team of commandos.”

Serenity's face whitened with shock and then her eyes became brilliant with outrage. “Of all the crazy, idiotic notions. Blade, you're entitled to your conspiracy theories, but you will not implicate my business partner in them. Is that perfectly clear? I won't tolerate it.”

Blade's expression turned mulish. “Just how much do you know about this guy?”

Serenity lifted her chin. “Enough to be certain that he is not part of some clandestine operation trying to take over Witt's End. For heaven's sake, Blade, I chose Mr. Ventress, he didn't come looking for me. He didn't have any way of knowing who I was or where I came from until I told him.”

“You sure?” Blade asked.

“Of course I'm sure. Ambrose's death was a tragic accident. We all know that. I will not have you making groundless accusations against Mr. Ventress. Kindly apologize to him immediately.”

Blade looked abashed, but to Caleb's surprise, he didn't argue with Serenity. He nodded brusquely at Caleb. “Sorry, Ventress. Can't be too careful. You're a stranger around here, and all strangers are dangerous until proven otherwise, as far as I'm concerned.”

“I can see that.” Caleb glanced at Serenity and saw that she was still tense with anger. It occurred to him that he had never before had anyone jump to his defense. “A man can't afford to take chances.”

Blade's eyes gleamed like steel. “That's the pure truth.”

There was a short, brittle silence. Everyone seemed to be taking a deep breath.

“You're the one who makes these herbed vinegars, aren't you?” Caleb asked casually. He glanced down at the jar he had picked off the shelf.

“Yeah. That's my stuff.” Blade sounded cautious. “Bottle it myself.”

“It looks it.” Caleb examined the short, squat jar full of vinegar. A spray of rosemary waved gently inside. “Serenity tells me you make a good product. But your packaging is lousy.”

“Huh?” Blade started down the aisle at Caleb. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Caleb said patiently, “that if you want to sell your vinegars through Serenity's catalog, you're going to need to come up with something a little spiffier by way of packaging. Packaging is everything these days.”

“It is?”

“Damn right. People will buy anything if it's packaged well. You need more interesting bottles. Attractive labels. A brand name.”

“How do you know?” Blade demanded.

“I know it in the same way that you presumably know how to use all that hardware you're wearing. It's what I do. And I'm very good at what I do.”

Blade's brow furrowed intently. “You think my vinegars need a brand name, huh?”

“Something simple,” Caleb said. “Like ‘Blade's Herbed Vinegars.’ And a clever slogan. ‘Gives your salads an edge’ or something.”

Blade stared at him. “You want me to put my name on the bottles?”

“Why not? You're the one who makes the vinegar inside, aren't you?”

“Well, yeah, but I never thought of puttin' my name on these bottles.” Blade turned the jar over in his hands. For a moment he seemed utterly fascinated with the notion of his name on a label. Then he scowled. “You really think folks would buy this stuff if it was in a nice bottle?”

“Trust me, packaging is everything.”

Blade looked intrigued. “I'll do some thinkin' about this.”

“Don't forget what I said about an attractive label,” Caleb said.

Blade's face fell. “I'm no graphic artist.”

Zone cleared her throat. “I am.”

Blade looked at her. “You are?”

“I was before I came here a few months ago. I have a degree in fine arts. I could help you choose the right bottles and maybe design a label for you.”

“Good idea,” Caleb said. “By the way, can you produce those flower mugs in sufficient quantities to meet the kind of demand we'll get from a catalog mailing?”

Zone's eyes lit up briefly. “I think so. You like my mugs?”

“Yes, I do. More important, I think they'll sell,” Caleb told her with grave certainty.

“This is wonderful,” Serenity said happily. “We're off and running.”

“The next step,” Caleb said, “is for everyone in town who wants to be a part of this venture to bring his or her product in for product evaluation. We'll choose what will go into the first catalog and then we'll see about label designs.”

“I can't wait to get to work,” Serenity said eagerly. “I'll be with you just as soon as I've finished with George.”

Caleb looked at her. “George?”

“The whole-grain sales rep in my office.”

“Right. George.” Caleb picked up a package of bean soup mix. “Take your time.”

Serenity ducked back inside her office. The others exchanged glances.

Blade cleared his throat. “If Serenity says you're okay, Ventress, then I reckon you must be okay.”

“I appreciate that, Blade. I'm glad we had this little chat.”