Hidden Talents

  “The blackmailer sent photos of Crystal Brooke to him. The photos included shots of her posing nude. There were also several pictures of her and my father making love on a beach in Santa Barbara.”

  “Dear God.”

  “My grandfather refused to pay the blackmail. The blackmailer sent the pictures to the Ventress Valley News. The editor and my grandfather had been quarreling for years. The pictures got published, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Oh, Caleb, how awful for everyone involved.” Serenity stopped reading and carefully refolded the clippings. “No wonder you went bananas when I told you that someone was trying to blackmail me with nude pictures. It was like having your parents' past thrown in your face, wasn't it?”

  Caleb slanted her a disgusted look. “I didn't go bananas.”

  “Yes, you did. Now I know why.”

  “Damn it, Serenity.”

  “You're starting to lose your temper,” she pointed out. “But I think I prefer that to your zombie mode.”

  “‘Zombie mode.’ What the hell is my zombie mode?”

  “It's when you go all cold and expressionless. You're very good at hiding your emotions, aren't you? You must have had a lot of practice.”

  “I am not an emotional sort of man.” Caleb spaced each word very carefully and distinctly.

  Serenity gently closed the jewelry box. The waltz stopped. “You don't think your reaction was a highly emotional one?”

  “Let's just say the news that there were nude photos of you took me by surprise.”

  Serenity smiled ruefully. “I'll just bet it did. I'm sorry, Caleb. I shouldn't have called you all those nasty things.”

  “You mean straitlaced, conventional, arrogant, and inflexible?” Caleb's brows rose slightly. “Don't worry, I've forgotten all about it.”

  “The same way that I've forgotten that you called me naive and gullible.” Serenity traced a line of faded gilt on top of the jewelry case with her fingertip. “I wonder why your grandfather gave you these clippings. He doesn't strike me as a cruel man. Hard and inflexible, perhaps, just like you in some ways, but not cruel.”

  Caleb smiled without any humor. “I doubt that he considered it a cruel act. He just wanted to make certain I never forgot that there was bad blood in me. He believed it was his duty to remind me that I had to guard against the effects of my mother's genetic influence. He breeds horses, remember? He's a great believer in the power of genes.”

  Serenity remembered the display cabinet full of honors and awards. “So you spent your childhood trying to prove to him that you weren't tainted with Crystal Brooke's genes.”

  “For all the good it did.”

  “Did something happen between you and Roland before you came in to breakfast this morning?”

  “We had words.”

  “Words?”

  “He called Crystal Brooke a bitch. It was nothing unusual. Every time he's mentioned her name for the past thirty-four years, he's called her a whore or a bitch or the woman who ruined the family.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him not to call her bitch.” Caleb flexed his fingers on the wheel. “It was the first time I've ever done that. The first time I've ever told him that I don't want him calling her names.”

  Serenity reached out and put her hand on his thigh. “You're her son. You have every right to protect her memory. What about your father? Does Roland call him names, too?”

  “No. He thinks my father was the victim of a scheming hussy who seduced him from his duty and responsibility. My grandfather blames himself for being too indulgent and too lenient with his son. He thinks that's why my father was vulnerable to someone like Crystal Brooke.”

  “So Roland determined not to make the same mistake with you.”

  “That's about it. My family history in a nutshell.”

  Serenity cradled the jewelry box in her hands. “At least you have a family history that dates back more than one generation. I never even knew my grandparents. My parents were both left alone in the world at an early age. Julius said my mother once told him that she and my father both grew up in foster homes. I don't really know anything more about them than that, but I've often thought that the fact that they each understood loneliness was probably one of the things that drew them together.”

  “Maybe it was,” Caleb said.

  Serenity hesitated. “I wonder what it was that drew your mother and father together?”

  “I think it's obvious what drew them together. My mother was a sexy centerfold model who wanted to be a film star, and my father was a wealthy up-and-coming politician. Hell, they were made for each other.”

  “Don't judge them too harshly, Caleb. After all this time, there's no way of knowing the truth about their feelings for each other. Whatever happened, it was between the two of them. You certainly don't have any responsibility in the matter.”

  “Don't I? Sometimes it feels as if I've spent my whole life paying for what they did.”

  “We all have pasts and we all have futures. All we can do is choose to live in one or the other. It doesn't seem to me that there's much point living in the past.”

  Caleb said nothing.

  After a moment Serenity leaned over the backseat to replace the jewelry box in the carryall.

  The farewell celebration for Ambrose Asterley proved to be a major social event for Witt's End. At eight o'clock Sunday evening everyone in town poured into the Sunflower Café to drink a toast to Asterley's memory. As soon as Serenity and Caleb arrived, Serenity headed for the kitchen. There she joined Ariadne and a handful of other people who were supervising the food and beverage preparation.

  Caleb found himself alone on the fringes of the crowd. He was surprised by the turnout. From what Serenity had told him, he'd assumed that no one except Jessie had been close to Asterley. But there was no shortage of people wanting to say farewell. He wondered privately if the size of the crowd had more to do with the lack of evening entertainment options in Witt's End and the free food than it did with the community's fondness for Asterley.

  Whatever the reason, the entire population of the tiny town was present. Caleb knew several of the locals now because he had begun evaluating the products they wanted to sell in Serenity's catalog. He nodded pleasantly at several people as he dunked a wholewheat cracker into a curried yogurt dip. Absently he listened to bits and pieces of the Asterley anecdotes.

  “Remember the day Ambrose thought he'd finally got himself a show in a Seattle gallery, and the gallery owner up and croaked before he got his pictures hung?” A man dressed in black leather and chains shook his head mournfully and downed a corn chip smeared with an eggplant and tahini concoction.

  “I remember.” A woman with short, cropped hair, a plaid shirt, and skintight jeans shook her head sadly. “Jessie said he got drunk and stormed around threatening to destroy everything he'd ever done.”

  “That was Ambrose for you,” Quinton said as he joined the small group near the corn chips. “Things always seemed to go wrong for him. He was forever getting caught between cosmic planes. The mathematics of the universe are like a deck of cards in some ways. That deck was always stacked against poor Ambrose.”

  “Yeah, a real loser in the karma department, all right,” the denim and chain man said. “But he was okay in his own way.”

  “He wasn't mean-spirited or anything. Just kind of a loner,” a woman dressed in a gown made out of several layers of scarves noted. “The victim of a lot of bad luck. He was a wonderful photographer, you know.”

  “I know,” Quinton said.

  “Janine and I keep the photo he took of us together hanging over our bed,” the woman with the very short hair confided. A tear trickled down her cheek. “It's beautiful.”

  Jessie drifted over to the buffet table. “He did have talent,” she said quietly to Caleb. “Some of his photos are incredible. Did Serenity ever get around to showing you those shots he took of her?”

  “No.” Ca
leb thought of the envelope Serenity had taken from Asterley's files. “She didn't.” A question of trust.

  “You ought to take a look at them,” Jessie urged. “They're excellent examples of some of his best work. I'd like to see them hung one of these days. It would be a fitting tribute to Ambrose.”

  Caleb had a searing mental image of Serenity on public display in an art gallery, her beautiful, graceful body exposed to all and sundry. The cracker he had been holding crumbled between his fingers.

  “I don't think Serenity will go for the idea,” Caleb said.

  Jessie gave him a quizzical look. “Why not?”

  “Because I'll raise holy hell if she does.” He sought for a logical reason. “Witt's End by Mail doesn't need that kind of publicity.”

  “I don't see how it would hurt,” Jessie said thoughtfully. She started to add another comment but broke off as Blade came up. “Hello, Blade. How are things going? I see Witt's End is still relatively free of an invasion force.”

  “I'm not so sure about that.” Blade's perpetually narrowed eyes swept the room in a professional manner. “I think we've got trouble.”

  “What makes you think that?” Caleb asked, only mildly interested.

  “Zone's acting strange.”

  “Zone strikes me as the type who always acts strange,” Caleb said. “What's new about that?”

  “She's nervous. Scared maybe. Keeps talking about danger and turmoil.” Blade nodded toward Zone, who was standing by herself near the punch bowl. “I don't like the feel of it.”

  “Maybe she's just depressed,” Caleb said. “This is a wake, after all.”

  “Don't think it's that.” Blade helped himself to a handful of corn chips. “Think it's trouble. Big trouble.”

  “Have Serenity talk to her,” Jessie suggested. “She's closer to Zone than anyone.”

  “Maybe I'll do that.” Blade moved off, crunching corn chips with machinelike precision.

  Jessie smiled. “I'm beginning to wonder if Blade and Zone were made for each other. Something about the two of them seems to be clicking. What do you think?”

  “I hadn't thought about it,” Caleb admitted. “I suppose you could say they both share a common weirdness.”

  “Everyone in Witt's End is probably weird by your definition,” Jessie said. “If you don't approve of weirdness, what are you doing here?”

  “You know why I'm here. Business.”

  “Bullshit,” Jessie said. “I'm not an idiot. It's obvious this isn't your kind of consulting gig. You're here because of Serenity, aren't you?”

  “She hired me, remember?” Before Caleb could change the topic, someone else changed it for him.

  A big, bushy-haired man dressed in a red flannel shirt and a pair of grimy coveralls surged forward with a purposeful air. He halted directly in front of Caleb.

  “You Ventress?”

  “I don't believe we've met,” Caleb said.

  “Name's Webster. Missed the product evaluation on Friday. I was busy.”

  “I see.”

  “Brought my product with me tonight. Thought maybe you could take a look at it. Tell me whether it's good enough for Serenity's catalog.”

  “Sure, why not? I'm sure Asterley would understand if we do a little business at his wake.”

  Webster reached into a voluminous pocket and brought out a palm-sized rock. He displayed it proudly on his dirt-stained hand. “There it is. What d'ya think, Ventress? Sell like crazy, huh?”

  Caleb gazed at the rock. It looked like a very ordinary rock. “What, exactly, is it?”

  Webster frowned. “It's a rock. What's it look like?”

  “A rock.” Caleb picked it up. “Interesting.”

  Webster brightened. “Thought you'd like it. Plenty more where that came from. How many you think I should have on hand when the first catalog goes out? Hundred, maybe?”

  “Webster, I've got to be honest with you,” Caleb said diplomatically. “I don't really think there's a big market for rocks like this.”

  Webster scowled. “My rocks are beautiful.”

  Serenity materialized at Caleb's elbow. She looked anxious. “What a lovely rock, Webster.” She gave Caleb a bright smile. “Webster is a connoisseur of rocks. He collects them. I'm sure we'll be able to market them through our catalog.”

  “I don't think so,” Caleb said.

  Webster began to look alarmed. “What's wrong with rocks?”

  “Please, Caleb,” Serenity said. “You're a marketing genius, remember? You can find a way to sell Webster's rocks.”

  “I'm telling you, there's no demand for ordinary rocks,” Caleb said patiently.

  Webster snatched his rock out of Caleb's hand. “You want fancier rocks? By God, I'll get 'em for ya. You'll see.” He swung around and stomped off through the crowd.

  “Now you've hurt his feelings,” Serenity complained.

  “You're trying to start a business, not a charity,” Caleb said. “We are not featuring rocks in the catalog.”

  Serenity glowered at him and went back to the kitchen.

  “She worries about everyone in this town,” Jessie said softly. “And I should warn you that we worry about her. You went away with her this weekend.”

  “I thought this was a town where everyone minded his or her own business,” Caleb said dryly.

  Jessie's smile was cool. “I've got news for you. This is a small town, and all small towns, even places like Witt's End, share a few common traits.”

  “I know all about small towns. I grew up in one.”

  “Then you know that people in small towns talk.”

  “Yes,” Caleb said. “I do. It's called gossip.”

  The old gossip about his parents had never really died in Ventress Valley. It had been resurrected from time to time while he was growing up.

  The tale of how the scion of the town's leading family had been seduced by a centerfold model was never mentioned in Roland's hearing. Caleb, however, had gotten into several fistfights in the schoolyard and out behand a few barns because of the taunts of various classmates who had overheard their parents discussing the past.

  Caleb had fought those youthful battles with the same relentlessly focused anger and determination that he used to win prizes and blue ribbons for Roland. His grandfather had noticed the occasional black eye and bloody nose, but he had never asked what the fight had been about. He only wanted to know if Caleb had won.

  Jessie studied Caleb closely. “I wasn't talking about gossip. At least not in the way you mean. What I meant was that in a small town people look out for each other. Serenity is one of us. She's got this dream of creating a mail order business, and she seems to think you can help her do it. That's fine as long as she's happy. But if you hurt her or use her, a lot of people are going to get real mad.”

  “I'll keep that in mind.”

  “You do that.” Jessie turned to walk away.

  “Jessie?”

  She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “What?”

  “I never knew Asterley, but Serenity told me that you and he were more than friends.” Caleb met her eyes. “I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry about what happened.”

  Jessie's gaze softened. “Thanks.” She looked out over the room full of surprisingly cheerful mourners. “You know, I really thought he was going to stay sober for a while. When I left him that night he was doing okay. A little depressed, but I didn't think he was feeling bad enough to open a bottle. He stuck to coffee while I was there.”

  “When did you leave him?” Caleb asked curiously.

  “Around eleven. I had cooked dinner for him earlier and we'd talked for a while.”

  “I'm told he died around midnight. He must have done a lot of hard drinking right after you left.”

  “When Ambrose got going on the booze, he could really put it away in a hurry.” Jessie walked away to join a group of people on the other side of the room.

  Caleb started to reach for another corn chip and found
the path blocked by Blade, whose eyes were mere slits. Quinton stood to the left of him, looking almost as forbidding as his companion. A man with a balding head and a gray ponytail flanked Blade on the right. He wore a long black cape and a single gold earring.

  “This here's Montrose,” Blade said without preamble. “Runs the service station. Plays music. You met him yet?”

  “Yes,” Caleb said. “We've met.”

  Blade squared his already square shoulders. “The three of us been talking. Decided it was time we had a little chat with you, Ventress.”

  Caleb glanced at his watch. “You've left it a bit late, haven't you? It's nearly ten o'clock at night. High noon was a long time ago.”

  Blade scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Cut the high noon jokes,” Montrose said quietly to Caleb. “We're serious.”

  “Montrose is right,” Quinton said. “We'd like you to join us for a private farewell to Ambrose.”

  “How private?” Caleb asked skeptically.

  “Just us and you. Up at the springs.”

  “Why not?” Caleb said. “You know, considering the fact that I never even met the man, Asterley has certainly had a major impact on my life.”

  10

  A CLOUD OF SILVERY VAPOR HOVERED OVER THE CRYSTAL clear pools. Caleb watched the steam as it swirled gently above the hot spring water. There was something oddly fascinating about the mist's slow dance.

  The huge cavern that sheltered the hidden springs was open to the icy night at one end, but the cold outside did not reach very far inside the rocky chamber. It was as though an invisible glass wall sealed the entrance. The heat from the pools transformed the cave into a balmy grotto.

  At some point in the history of the springs, an enterprising soul had strung electrical wiring along one stone wall of the cavern. A handful of small bulbs glowed dimly, illuminating the interior in an eerie light. Quinton had shown Caleb the switch that controlled the interior lighting. It was located just outside the entrance.