“What the hell?” he asked. He spoke very softly, as though curious and intrigued but not alarmed.
He released her and went toward the glass case. Catalina pulled herself together and saw that the miniature scene had gone still. None of the figures moved. The unpleasant music had ceased. The figure in the black cloak had disappeared behind the velvet drapes.
“Well, that was certainly interesting,” Gwendolyn said. She joined Slater at the display case. Together they examined the tableau. “I’ve never had a client who could do anything more than activate a few of the dancers.”
“Where did you get this piece?” Slater asked.
Gwendolyn sighed. “The usual source—the estate of a dead collector. As I told you, I haven’t been able to sell it. Those who lack whatever the vibe is that activates it aren’t interested in it. Those who can activate a few of the figures have the same reaction Catalina did just now. No one wants it in their collection.”
Catalina shuddered. “I think I know why. There’s something very disturbing about that miniature scene.”
“Evidently,” Gwendolyn said.
“What happens when the figure in the black cloak raises the gold cane?” Catalina asked.
“I have no idea,” Gwendolyn said.
“I’m no expert on paranormal antiques,” Catalina said, “but for what it’s worth, I think that thing may be dangerous.”
Gwendolyn gave her a thoughtful look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“That miniature didn’t come from any of the lost labs,” Catalina said. “It looks old.”
“Nineteenth century, to be precise,” Gwendolyn said. “There’s nothing new about the paranormal, Catalina. People have been messing around with it since humans discovered fire.” She turned back to Slater. “What, exactly, are you looking for?”
“I think something from the Fogg Lake lab ended up in Royston’s vault,” Slater said. “Someone murdered him for the artifact. Three days later, Catalina’s friend Olivia LeClair was kidnapped. We’re looking for her.”
“You think the killer found whatever he was looking for in Royston’s gallery and then concluded that he needed Olivia LeClair?” Gwendolyn asked.
“Yes.”
Gwendolyn snapped a quick, searching look at Catalina. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend. Have you contacted the police?”
“No,” Catalina said. “At this point we don’t have much to go on. I didn’t want to waste any time filling out the paperwork. To be honest, I don’t think they would take Olivia’s disappearance seriously. And even if they did, this seems to be connected to something that happened in Fogg Lake years ago. I hate to admit it, but I have a feeling someone from the Foundation has a better chance of finding her.”
Gwendolyn gave that some thought. “Has there been a ransom demand?”
“No,” Catalina said.
“And we’re not expecting one,” Slater added. “We think this is about locating one of the lost labs, probably the facility believed to have been established in the Fogg Lake caves.”
Gwendolyn frowned. “Are you saying that for some reason the kidnappers think Olivia LeClair can help them?”
“That’s the only theory we’ve got at the moment,” Catalina said.
Slater looked at Gwendolyn. “What was in Royston’s vault that might have convinced his killer he needed Olivia LeClair?”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that a month ago there were rumors that a cache of goods with a Fogg Lake provenance had come on the market. But none of the items passed through my shop. It was a private auction. Invitation only. There was no description of the goods. I heard Royston got a few valuable items. So, yes, he probably had some Fogg Lake artifacts in his vault, but I can’t tell you what they were.”
“By now the raiders will have cleaned out Royston’s vault,” Slater said. “You know how fast they move.”
“Somehow they are always the first to know when a collector dies,” Gwendolyn said.
“Have any of the usual suspects shown up at your back door offering you objects that may have come from his gallery?” Slater asked.
Gwendolyn raised her chin. “I do not deal in stolen goods. My reputation is spotless and you damn well know it, Slater Arganbright.”
“I’m not accusing you of illegal sales,” Slater said, impatient now. “In fact, I don’t really give a damn if some of the items in this basement have a murky provenance. I just need to know if you’ve heard of anything from Royston’s collection.”
Gwendolyn’s mouth tightened. Then she sighed.
“All right,” she said. “A couple of lowlife raiders came around offering some objects they claimed were from Royston’s gallery. Nothing special, though—a few desk accessories, an old-fashioned calculator and a coffeepot. It was all the right vintage, and there was the residual heat that items pick up when they are in a room full of hot energy for a long period of time. I took the calculator. It’s still here if you want to see it.”
“Yes,” Slater said. “I’d like to take a look.”
Gwendolyn crossed the room to a table that was covered with antique office equipment. She gestured toward an old calculating machine.
“Help yourself,” she said. “Late nineteen fifties, I believe. Definitely warm, but not hot enough to be interesting to a serious collector.”
Slater examined the big, clunky-looking machine with a thoughtful expression. “I agree.”
He moved on to another item in the display, an antique typewriter. He touched it lightly with his fingertips and then lost interest. He moved on to another object.
Catalina noticed a large clockwork figure dressed in a vintage nurse’s costume: a crisp white dress, white shoes, white stockings and a white starched cap. The doll was about four feet tall. It gripped a syringe in one mechanical hand.
Curious, Catalina started to cross the crowded space to get a better look. She stopped abruptly when she realized she had just stepped into a pool of all-too-familiar energy.
Death.
A ghostly vision started to take shape. It was too vague to make out any details, but she thought she saw a man fold up and collapse on the floor.
“Something wrong, Catalina?” Gwendolyn asked.
“No, I’m fine.” Catalina rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s just really, really hot in here.”
“Yes, it is,” Gwendolyn said. “But it’s not the heat that gets to those of us with a strong psychic vibe, it’s the death factor.”
Catalina whirled around. “What?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Gwendolyn said. “It’s just that a lot of the most powerful paranormal artifacts from the past come from crypts and tombs. I do a lot of business in grave goods. Death has a vibe. Even people who are not particularly sensitive get uneasy down here in my basement.”
“I see,” Catalina said. “That explains it. I’ve experienced something similar at museums but nothing as strong as this. How do you handle it day in and day out?”
“One gets accustomed to it,” Gwendolyn said. “I hardly notice the energy in here anymore. Are you finished, Slater?”