Copper Beach

hand-tailoring. His watch had cost as much as a European sports car. He carried an Italian leather briefcase in one well-groomed hand.

    But it was the anxious, edgy energy that shivered invisibly in the atmosphere that interested Sam. Dawson was nervous. It was clear he was not looking forward to the conversation ahead.

    Sam came up off the stool and offered his hand. “Strickland.”

    “Coppersmith.” Dawson shook hands briskly, frowning a little in polite concentration. “Name sounds familiar. Any relation to Coppersmith Inc.?”

    “Some.”

    “A pleasure to meet you.” Dawson bestowed a dazzling smile on Abby. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

    “Of course you didn’t.” She gave him a polite smile. “Why would you? It’s been a couple of months since we last met. How’s the engagement going? Have you set a date for the wedding?”

    “Next month.” Dawson affected an air of surprise. “Didn’t you get an invitation?”

    “No.”

    “Must have been an oversight. Carla is handling that end of things. I’ll make sure you get one.”

    “Don’t worry about it,” Abby said. “I think I’m going to be out of town on that date, anyway.”

    Dawson frowned. “How would you know that if you don’t know the date?”

    “Just a wild guess. Would you like some coffee?”

    “Sure, thanks. Had a latte down the street, but I could use some more caffeine.” Dawson set down the briefcase and took the stool that Abby had just vacated. “So how long have you two been seeing each other?”

    “Not long,” Abby said, before Sam could answer. She put the coffee in front of Dawson. “What is so important that you had to track me down at this hour of the morning?”

    Dawson stopped smiling.

    “Sorry about the timing,” he said. “I came in person because I don’t like to have these kinds of business discussions over the phone.”

    “You’re starting to scare me,” Abby said.

    But she looked irritated and maybe a little apprehensive, Sam thought, not frightened.

    “Relax.” Dawson flashed a closer’s smile. “I want to hire you.”

    Abby stiffened. “What are you talking about? You don’t collect books of any kind, let alone the type I handle.”

    “Let me explain,” Dawson said. He grew serious again. “I’m in the middle of some very high-level negotiations with a potential investor. This guy is hugely important to me and to my firm. Needless to say, I’ve got some competition. Evidently, the man has a thing for old books.”

    “Oh, crap,” Abby said very softly.

    She looked at Sam. He knew what she was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing. There are no coincidences.

    Oblivious, Dawson pressed on, very intent now. “It has been made clear to me that I can improve the odds of bringing this very heavy hitter on board if I can produce a certain book that is rumored to be coming up for sale in the paranormal books market. That’s your market, Abby.”

    Icy fingers brushed the back of Sam’s neck. He was suddenly jacked, all senses on alert. He knew that Abby was running a little hot as well.

    “What old book would that be?” she asked, without any inflection.

    “Not what I’d call a real antiquarian book,” Dawson said. “It’s only about forty years old. Hang on, I’ll get the details.” He got off the stool and hoisted the briefcase onto the counter. Opening the case, he took out a sheet of paper. “Let’s see. It’s a laboratory-style notebook containing the handwritten record of experiments that were conducted on various specimens of ore and crystals taken out of a mine in the Southwest. Exact location of the mine is unknown. Whoever kept the notebook evidently believed that the crystals possessed paranormal powers.” Dawson grimaced. “In other words, he was some kind of nut job.”

    Abby raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Why me?”

    Dawson put the paper back into the briefcase. “Because you’re the only expert on rare books dealing with the occult that I know.”

    Anger flashed across Abby’s face. “I do not deal in the occult. I’ve explained that.”

    “Paranormal, the woo-woo thing, whatever,” Dawson said quickly. “You’re not just the only paranormal–rare-books expert I know, you’re the only rare-books dealer I know. Naturally, I came to you.”

    “Sounds like the man you’re negotiating with is aware that you have a connection in the paranormal-books market,” Sam said.

    “Sure,”