“Then, within a week, Gary White is murdered on the property,” Avery said. He pulled a piece of Cutter’s monogrammed paper from beneath the heavy jade paperweight that held it down. “List it all out. God knows, it might help.”
She did so. When she was done, he took her by the hand, making her get up. “Come on, we’ll get back to this, but let’s take a break. Come on out—we’ll see if the dolphin is still hanging out by your docks.”
Her back was cramped. Her muscles were tense. She smiled. “Okay.” They walked through the house and out the back together.
He waited. He waited until he was certain that they were gone.
He reminded himself that he was powerful and invisible.
He came to the desk, and he read the sheet that lay there, not touching it. He was tempted to rip it to pieces. He didn’t. He didn’t need anyone suspecting that he was invisible, and that he could come and go at will.
He felt a tic in his cheek. He was angry with what he was feeling. She was close, so close.
Oh, yes, close…close to everything but giving him the real reliquary.
Patience. He had to have patience.
He turned away. He’d had his chance to take the damned book, but he hadn’t. How the hell could he have known that Cutter kept notes in it? He knew that Cutter would find a way to tell Kelsey about the reliquary.
He slipped away, tamping down his fear. He had a real face when he wasn’t invisible. Maybe he could do more with his real face.
In this house, though, he had to take care. He had to remain invisible.
Until it was time. Until Kelsey Donovan had the reliquary.
And he had Kelsey Donovan.
11
“Jonas, hey,” Liam said. It was easy enough to park at the bed-and-breakfast—on a Tuesday, few places in town were full, and the bed-and-breakfast inns tended to fill up last simply because hotel chains were more readily visible on travel sites.
Jonas was sitting on his front porch, reading the paper, eating his lunch. When Jonas had been growing up, the place had been a single-family dwelling. It was a nice house, with its own little spit of beach, six bedrooms in the main house and, now, two in the old carriage house. He and Clarinda lived in the master on the ground floor of the first house. He was a good innkeeper, with many guests being people who were from the state and returned often during the year. His tiki bar was well-run; his breakfasts were known to be both inventive and very good.
It was impossible to think of him as a thief or a killer.
But, of course, Liam had learned the hard way that you seldom ever really knew another person.
“Liam, hey,” Jonas said. He started to stand. Liam waved him back down. “Join me. Want some lunch? Clarinda is inside making herself a sandwich. At least have some iced tea or something,”
“I’m fine, really. I’ve got to get back to the station. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Jonas’s brows shot up. “Officially?”
“Casually. I’m hoping you can help me.”
“How?” Jonas looked baffled.
“Two things. I’m looking for a book,” Liam said.
“Um—have you tried the library or a bookstore?” Jonas asked.
Liam grinned. “No, I was at the library. I’m trying to find a book about Satanism in Key West.”
Jonas laughed. “Watch it! People will talk. You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”
“No, I’m not planning on taking up the black arts,” Liam said. “I was trying to find this particular book. It’s missing from the rare-book room, and you were there. I don’t know, but it’s like I told Jaden and Ted—honest people have been known to slip rare books out of rare-book rooms and slip them back when they’re done with them. Saves a lot of trips to the library.”
“I was there, and I was in the rare-book room,” Jonas said. “But I wasn’t looking for a book on Satanism. I’m still Catholic. Well, my own form of Catholic.” He paused. “You’re not here to talk about religion. What’s the deal with the book?”
“I think it has something to do with Gary White’s murder,” Liam said.
“A book on Satanism?” Jonas asked.
“And the Key West connection,” Liam said. “Apparently, there was a fellow here during the Civil War. He supposedly caught Southern blockade runners by practicing black magic. Later in life, he knew a fellow named Abel Crowley, who was related to or an admirer of the Aleister Crowley, who was known to be the ‘wickedest man alive.’ Gary, using the name Bel Arcowley, might have taken the book.”
Jonas nodded, and then shook his head. “So why did you think I had taken the book?”
“Gary might have taken the book, and he might not have done so. When he was in the library last, he told the librarian he was headed out here to do some work at the B and B. I don’t know—I thought you two might have talked about it.”
“I hired Gary to do some painting. Upstairs in the old carriage house,” Jonas said. “He wasn’t a bad guy.”
“You didn’t mention it,” Liam said.
“I didn’t think to mention it. We all knew him. Sort of—at least.”