Copper Beach

steps.

    “Lab’s in the basement,” he had explained. “We can talk there.”

    She still could not believe that she had followed him downstairs into a windowless basement lab like some naive gothic heroine. Maybe she had been dealing with eccentric collectors for a little too long.

    The cavernous, dimly lit chamber below the house was unlike any lab she had ever seen. It was crammed with display cases and drawers filled with crystals and stones and chunks of raw ore. If it were not for the low simmer of energy in the room, she could have been in the hall of gems and minerals of a world-class natural history museum.

    But unlike the specimens in a museum, most of the stones around her were hot. The vibes in the atmosphere were unmistakable. She was no expert in the field of para-rocks, but like most strong talents, she could sense energy that was infused in objects, especially when there was a lot of it in the vicinity.

    In addition to the crystals and stones on display, there were a number of state–of–the art instruments on the workbench. There were also some devices made of iron, brass and glass that she was certain qualified as antiques. Several appeared to be from the seventeenth or eighteenth century, but a couple of the objects looked as if they had come from the laboratory of a Renaissance-era alchemist.

    The low lighting in the room added to the weirdness factor. Unlike most modern labs, there were no overhead fluorescent fixtures. The stone chamber was lit only by the desk lamp and the faint paranormal glow of some of the charged rocks. Abby got the impression that Sam preferred the shadows.

    She cleared her throat discreetly. “No offense, Mr. Coppersmith, but are you a real investigator?”

    “Depends on how you define real. ”

    “Do you have a private investigator’s license?”

    “No. But I do a lot of consulting work, if that makes you feel any better.”

    “What kind of consulting?”

    “Technical consulting.”

    That did it, she thought. Thaddeus had sent her on a wild-goose chase. She did not have time to waste on mad scientists and gothic mansions. She gave Sam a cool smile and got to her feet.

    “I’m afraid there’s been some mistake,” she said. “I need a real private investigator.”

    “You need someone like me. Webber wouldn’t have sent you here otherwise.”

    “You’re a technical consultant, for Pete’s sake.”

    “Trust me when I tell you that technical consulting covers a lot of territory. You’re here now; you may as well sit down and tell me about the blackmail threats.”

    She did not sit down. But she did not grab her shoulder bag and jacket and head for the door, either. As a compromise, she walked to stand in front of a glass display case and looked down at a chunk of what looked like blue quartz inside. With her senses still slightly heightened, she could perceive some of the energy locked deep inside the crystal. She wondered what the lab looked like to Sam. With his strong psychic sensitivity to para-rocks, the place probably glowed as brightly as if it was lit by sunshine.

    She made her decision. Sam was right. She did not know where else to turn. She had to trust Thaddeus Webber’s judgment. He had been her friend and mentor for years.

    “Here’s the situation,” she said. “I’m a freelancer in the underground hot-books market. Collectors in that market tend to be somewhat eccentric, especially those who possess some real talent.”

    Sam looked amused. “Are you saying those who collect paranormal books are crazy?”

    She gave him what she hoped was a quelling look. “What I’m saying, Mr. Coppersmith, is that there are some collectors who are obsessed to the point of being quite dangerous. Others are just plain weird. And then there are those who actually believe in the occult. Witches, demons, sorcery, that sort of nonsense.”

    “Your clientele must be very interesting.”

    “For obvious reasons, I have to be careful. At the start of my career, Thaddeus Webber advised me to work only by referral. I have stuck to that advice. I do not accept commissions from collectors I don’t know unless they are referred to me by someone I trust. And even then, I always check them out with Thaddeus. I go out of my way to keep a low profile. But word gets around in collectors’ circles. The result is that once in a while a determined person manages to get my email address.”

    “That’s how clients contact you?”

    “Yes.