Elias Winters had opened the doors of Charms & Virtues three days ago on Monday, the first day of August. Thus far she had caught only brief glimpses of him as he came and went down the central walkway between the pier shops. She had been left with disturbing images that intrigued her and aroused her curiosity.
For some reason she was pleased that he was not too tall, just under six feet. A rather nice height for a man, Charity reflected. He was not built like a side of beef, either. There was, however, a disturbing aura of elegant, lean strength about him. He did not walk, he paced.
Each time she had seen him he had been wearing a dark, long-sleeved pullover and a pair of jeans anchored at the waist by what appeared to be a leather thong. His nearly black hair was a little too long for a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties.
Yesterday Charity had assigned her counter assistant, Newlin Odell, the task of foisting off Hayden Stone’s obnoxious parrot, Crazy Otis, on the new owner of Charms & Virtues. The excuse she had instructed Newlin to give to the unsuspecting Winters was that Crazy Otis missed his old, familiar surroundings. It was true, as far as it went. Otis had fallen into a serious depression when Hayden had failed to return from his last trip to Seattle. It was Charity who had nursed the ungrateful bird through the trauma.
She had held her breath while Newlin ambled down the length of the pier to deliver Crazy Otis and his cage. She had fully expected that Elias would refuse to accept the responsibility. But to her unmitigated relief, Newlin had returned empty-handed.
Newlin’s only comment on Elias was that he was “kinda strange.” Newlin tended to be a young man of few words. Luckily he could sell books and magazines.
“I’d also like to talk to you about some business matters that concern all of us here on the Landing,” Charity continued crisply.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Tea?”
“I just made a pot.” Elias set two round, handleless cups on the grimy counter. “A very fine grade of China keemun. The Abberwick Tea & Spice shop in Seattle imports it especially for me.”
“I see.” Charity did not know any men who drank tea. All the men she knew in Seattle were into espressos and lattes. Here in Whispering Waters Cove, they tended to favor plain coffee. Or at least they had until Bea Hatfield, owner of the café a few doors down on the pier, had installed the town’s first espresso machine three months ago. “Yes. Thanks. I’d appreciate a cup.”
“Please come back here and join me.” The deep voice echoed in the cavelike surroundings.
Feeling uncomfortably like a small, very reckless fly, Charity made her way through the cluttered shop. Elias seemed to be alone. She glanced around to be certain, but there definitely were no customers to disturb the tomb-silent atmosphere. She frowned. This was just the way things had been when Hayden Stone had run Charms & Virtues.
The curiosity shop had been closed since Hayden’s death two months ago. Hayden had been away in Seattle when he had collapsed from a heart attack. A quiet funeral had been arranged by some unknown associate in the city. It had all been over before Charity or any of the other shopkeepers on the Landing had even learned of their odd landlord’s demise.
There was no question but that Hayden would be missed by the Crazy Otis Landing crowd. He had been a little strange, but he had also been a sympathetic landlord.
No one had ever gotten to know him well. Hayden had lived in his own world, detached and remote from those around him, but he had never been rude or unfriendly. Everyone had accepted him as a harmless eccentric.
His death had precipitated a potential financial catastrophe for the shopkeepers of the pier, however. The threat had roused Charity’s executive instincts, which had lain dormant for months. Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, she had shaken out her wings and allowed them to dry in the sun. She was determined to head off disaster before it overtook her newfound friends.
Her plans required that the shop owners form a united front. That meant that the new proprietor of Charms & Virtues had to be convinced to get with the program.
She went forward determinedly between the aisles formed by the sagging, disorganized counters. What little summer sunlight managed to filter into the room through the high, narrow windows was dimmed by the years of grime on the glass.
Charity wrinkled her nose at the sight of the heavy shroud of dust that covered the assortment of bizarre goods heaped on the display tables. She was dismayed to see that the new proprietor had made no effort to tidy the premises. The goods were still stacked willy-nilly on the counters. There was no organized pattern to the displays.
Odd little carvings were piled high in one corner. A jumble of brass bells and whistles overflowed a nearby packing crate. Small, colorfully dressed dolls with exotic faces painted with startlingly grim expressions tumbled from a box. Plastic masks leered down from the walls. Below was a counter laden with invisible-ink pens, little magic smoke-producing tubes, and puzzles composed of interlocking metal rings.
And so it went throughout the shop. Oddities and imports from far-off lands filled the shelves of Charms & Virtues. Handwoven straw baskets from the Philippines sat next to a hoard of mechanical toy insects manufactured in Hong Kong. Miniature plastic dinosaurs made in Southeast Asia occupied shelf space with rubber worms produced in Mexico. Cheap bracelets, music boxes, imitation military medals, and artificial flowers littered the countertops. Most of it looked as if it had been sitting in the same spot for years.
The wares sold in the dusty import shop could be described in a single word so far as Charity was concerned. And that word was junk. The new owner would have to apply some energy and enthusiasm if he wanted to revive his newly purchased small business. She made a mental note to present him a feather duster as a welcome gift. Perhaps he would take the hint.
Charity had never figured out just how Hayden Stone had managed to make a living from Charms & Virtues, or the pier rents, for that matter. He had lived a life of stark simplicity, but even eccentrics had to pay real estate taxes and buy food. She had finally concluded that he’d had a private income from some other source.
“I don’t have any milk or sugar,” Elias said.
“That’s all right,” Charity said hastily. “I don’t take anything in my tea.”
“Neither do I. Good tea should be as clear as a pool of pure water.”
The comment brought back memories. “Hayden Stone used to say the same thing.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. He was always muttering weird little Zenny comments about water.”
“Zenny?”
“You know, Zen-like. He once told me that he was a student of some sort of ancient philosophy that had been forgotten by almost everyone. He said there was only one other person he knew who also studied it.”
“Hayden was more than a student. He was a master.”
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Charity forced herself to a more confident pace. She held her clipboard in front of her as though it were a talisman and summoned up what she hoped was a bright smile. “Well, on to business. I realize that you haven’t had a chance to get settled here on the Landing, but unfortunately the lease problem can’t wait.”
“Lease problem?”
“The shopkeepers have decided to band together as a group to deal with our new landlord, Far Seas, Incorporated. We’d like you to join us. We’ll have a great deal more negotiating power if we go in as a united front.”
Elias lifted a simple brown teapot with a curiously precise but fluid motion. “What do you intend to approach Far Seas about?”
“Renewing our leases.” Charity watched, fascinated, as Elias poured tea. “As you no doubt know, this pier was owned, lock, stock, and barrel, by Hayden Stone, the former proprietor of this shop.”
“I’m aware of that.” A muted shaft of sunshine from one of the ceiling-high windows slanted briefly across the right side of Elias’s face. It revealed a bold, haw
klike nose and savage cheekbones.
Charity drew a deep breath and tightened her grip on the clipboard. “From what we can gather, at the time of Hayden’s death, the ownership of the Landing was transferred automatically to a company called Far Seas, Incorporated.”
A low hiss interrupted Charity before she could continue. It was a familiar sound. She spared a brief glance for the large, brilliantly plumed parrot that was perched arrogantly atop a fake tree limb on a stand behind the counter.
“Hello, Otis,” Charity said.
Crazy Otis shifted from one clawed foot to the other and lowered his head with a menacing movement. His beady eyes glittered with malice. “Heh, heh, heh.”
Elias examined the bird with interest. “I sense some hostility here.”
“He always acts like that.” Charity made a face. “He knows it irritates me. And after all I’ve done for him, too. You’d think that bird would show some gratitude.”
Otis cackled again.
“I took him in after Hayden died, you know,” Charity explained. “He was extremely depressed. Moped around, let his feathers go, lost his appetite. It was terrible. He was in such bad shape I was afraid to leave him alone. During the day he sat on the coatrack in my back room office. I kept his cage in my bedroom at night.”
“I’m sure he’s grateful,” Elias said.
“Hah.” Charity glared at the bird. “That bird doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”
Crazy Otis sidled along the tree limb, muttering with evil glee.
“You don’t know how lucky you were, Otis,” Charity said. “No one else on the pier was willing to take charge of you. More than a couple of people suggested that we try to sell you to some unsuspecting tourist. And one individual, who shall go unnamed, wanted to call the pound and have you taken away. But I was too softhearted to allow that. I gave you shelter, food, free rides on Yappy’s carousel. What did I get in return? Nothing but nasty complaints.”
“Heh, heh, heh.” Otis flapped his clipped wings.
“Take it easy, Otis.” Elias reached out with one long-fingered hand and scratched the bird’s head. “An obligation exists until it is repaid. You owe her.”
Crazy Otis grumbled, but he stopped chortling. He half-closed his eyes and promptly sank into a contented stupor as Elias stroked his feathers.
“Amazing,” Charity said. “The only other person that bird ever treated as an equal was Hayden Stone. Everyone else is just so much old newspaper beneath Crazy Otis’s grubby claws.”
“Otis and I had a long talk after Newlin brought him over here yesterday,” Elias said. “He and I have decided that we can share this shop together.”
“That’s a relief. To tell you the truth, when I sent Newlin down here with that nasty beast, I expected you to refuse to take him. In all fairness, Crazy Otis isn’t your responsibility. Just because you took over Charms & Virtues doesn’t mean you have to take charge of him.”
Elias gave her a long, considering look. “Otis wasn’t your responsibility either, but you took him in and gave him a home for the past two months.”
“There wasn’t much else I could do. Hayden was very fond of Otis, and I liked Hayden, even if he was a little weird.”
“The fact that you liked Hayden didn’t mean that you had to take care of Otis.”
“Unfortunately, it did.” Charity sighed. “Somehow, Crazy Otis has always seemed like one of the family here on the pier. A particularly unpleasant relative, I admit, one I’d prefer to keep stashed out of sight in the attic, but, nevertheless, a relation. And you know what they say about your relations. You can’t choose them. You have to take what you get.”
“I understand.” Elias stopped rubbing Otis’s head and picked up the teapot again.
“You don’t have to keep him, you know,” Charity said in a burst of rash honesty. “He’s not a very lovable bird.”
“As you said, he’s family.”
“Parrots like Otis have long life spans. You’ll be saddled with him for years.”
“I know.”
“Okay,” Charity said, cheered by the fact that Elias was not going to change his mind on the subject. “Otis is settled. Now about this situation with Far Seas.”
“Yes?”
“All of the rents on the pier are due to be renegotiated before the end of September. Today is the fourth of August. We’ve got to act quickly.”
“Just what action do you plan to take?” Elias set down the teapot.
“As I said, we want to approach Far Seas as a united front.” Charity realized with a start that she was staring at his hands. They were very interesting hands, powerful hands imbued with a striking, utterly masculine grace.
“A united front?” Elias watched her as she hurriedly raised her gaze from his hands to his face.
“Right. United.” She noticed that his eyes were the color of the sea during a storm, a bleak, steel gray. Her fingers clenched around the clipboard. “We intend to contact Far Seas immediately. We want to lock in long-term leases at reasonable rents before the corporation realizes what’s happening here in Whispering Waters Cove.”
“What is happening here?” Elias’s mouth curved faintly. “Aside from the impending arrival of our visitors from outer space?”
“I see you’ve already met some of the Voyagers?”
“It’s a little hard to miss them on the street.”
“True.” Charity shrugged. “They’re quite an embarrassment to the town council. Most of the members think the Voyagers give Whispering Waters Cove a bad image. But like the mayor says, one way or another, the cult should be gone by the middle of August.”
“What happens then?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Charity grinned. “Gwendolyn Pitt, the leader of the group, has told her followers that the alien spaceships will arrive at midnight on the fifteenth to take them all away on an extended tour of the galaxy. During said tour, everyone will apparently be treated to a lot of pure sex and philosophical enlightenment.”
“I’ve been told it’s difficult to mix the two.”
“Yeah, well, evidently the aliens have mastered the problem. As you can imagine, the town council is hoping that when nothing happens that night, the Voyagers will figure out that the whole thing is a hoax and will leave Whispering Waters Cove bright and early on the morning of the sixteenth.”
“In my experience people tend to cling to a belief even when they are confronted with clear evidence that it’s false.”
“Well, it won’t bother me or anyone else here on the pier if some of them decide to stay in the area,” Charity admitted. “Most of the Voyagers seem pleasant enough, if a little naive. A few have become good customers. I’ve made a killing during the past two months with paranormal and New Age titles.”
The long blue and white tunics and bright headbands worn by the members of the Voyagers cult had become familiar sights in and around the small town. Gwendolyn Pitt and her followers had arrived early in July. They had parked their motley assortment of trailers, motor homes, and campers on a patch of prime-view land that had once been an old campground.
The town’s mayor, Phyllis Dartmoor, had initially been as hostile toward the group as the council members, but after a short flurry of fruitless efforts to force the Voyagers out of town, she had become surprisingly sanguine about the situation. Whenever the local newspaper produced an editorial denouncing the newcomers as a blot on the landscape, she reminded everyone that the cult would likely disintegrate in the middle of August.
“The Voyagers do add some local color,” Elias said as he handed Charity one of the small, handleless cups.
“Yes, but they don’t enhance the new upscale image that the town is trying to create to draw tourists.” Charity took a sip of tea. The warm liquid rolled across her tongue, bright, subtle, and refreshing. She savored the feel of the brew in her mouth for a few seconds. The man did know his tea, she thought.
“Like it?” Elias watched her intently.
“Very nice,” she said as she put the cup back down on the counter. “There is something very distinctive about keemun, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“Well, back to business. Actually, it’s the town image thing that makes it necessary for those of us here on the pier to move quickly on the lease issue.”
“Go on.” Elias sipped tea.
“The mayor and town council would like to see this pier converted into a boutique art mall filled with cutesy shops and antique galleries. They want to attract high-end tenants. But in order to do that, they have to convince the owner of the landing to remove the current shopkeepers. We’re not exactly trendy, you see.”
Elias glanced around at his own gloom-filled store. “I get the picture. And you think Far Seas will go along with the council’s plans to kick us out?”
“Of course. Far Seas is a big corporation in Seattle. Its managers will be interested only in the bottom line. If they think they can lease these shops to a lot of up-market art dealers who can afford sky-high rents, they’ll jump at the chance to get rid of us. Or, they may try to sell the landing itself.”
“What do you know about Far Seas?”
“Not much,” Charity admitted. “Apparently it’s some kind of consulting firm involved with the Pacific Rim trade. A couple of weeks ago all of us here on the pier received a letter from Hayden Stone’s attorney instructing us to start paying our rents to Far Seas.”
“Have you spoken to anyone at Far Seas?”
“Not yet.” Charity smiled grimly. “It’s a question of strategy.”
“Strategy?”
“I decided it would be best to wait until the new owner of Charms & Virtues arrived before we made our move.”
Elias took another meditative sip of tea. “So at this point you’re operating on a lot of assumptions about Far Seas?”
The hint of criticism irritated her. “I think it’s safe to assume that Far Seas will react in the same way that any large company would in this situation. As the new owner of a piece of commercial real estate, the company will naturally want to get the highest possible rate of return. Or the best offer, if it chooses to sell the pier.”