The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (5 page)

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 mothballs and mustiness, old wood and worn damask. The space 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 unobtrusive 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 shivered 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 prickled and she sucked in her breath with a gasp—smelling, oddly enough, the faint scent of roses—and her heart began to bump 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, brushing her fingers. Fiona gave a little shriek, and, pulling her hand away, stumbled backward a few steps, bumping 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 massive 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, pushing 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 button of his starched shirt.
Ahh.

“Good God, man, you’ve got to get yourself a life.” H. Gideon Nath, Sr., bellowed over the phone lines. “How the hell 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 his will around again?” barked Gideon Senior. “I’ll have a word with him—”

“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 hell—you mean on that damn little phone I can’t figure out how to use? All those little buttons 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 bastard would find a way to ruin my honeymoon, damnation!”

“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 muffled 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 bastard 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 hell breaks loose. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

“Grandfather—” Gideon began, but the dial tone that greeted him interrupted his words. “Damn.” 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.
Damn.
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 assistant 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 hell…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.