Deep Waters

wharf warehouse, but Charity heard every word. A tiny tingle of combined interest and alarm went through her. His voice was as deep as the sea, and it beckoned her with the same dangerous allure. She took a cautious step through the doorway and tried to shake off the strange mix of wariness and excitement that gripped her. She was here on business, she reminded herself.
    "Sorry to bother you," she said briskly.
    "It's not a problem."
    "I'm the owner of Whispers, the bookshop at the other end of the pier."
    "I know."
    An extraordinary quality underlay the very ordinary words. Charity had the feeling that she was being summoned. Uncertainty made her pause.
    When in doubt go into full executive mode, she told herself. She had been out of the intense, competitive corporate world for a year, but she could still tap the old skills when she needed them. The important thing was to take charge immediately. She cleared her throat.
    "As the President of the Crazy Otis Landing Shop keepers Association, I want to take this opportunity to welcome you to our little group," she said.
    "Thank you."
    Elias Winters did not sound particularly impressed. On the other hand, he did not sound unimpressed, either. There was something unnaturally calm about that dark, velvety voice. She wondered if he was tanked to the gills on tranquilizers and then decided that was highly improbable. No one who was stuffed full of sedatives could have managed to infuse so much subtle power into such softly spoken words.
    She took a step closer. A floorboard creaked. The gentle lapping of the waves beneath the aging pier was clearly audible in the solemn quiet. Another step produced a ghostly moan from a protesting timber. Dust motes danced in the air.
    Whenever she entered Charms & Virtues, she thought of haunted houses and old cemeteries. As she had occasionally pointed out to the previous owner, Hayden Stone, a little dusting and some decent lighting would do wonders for the place.
    Elias stood, unmoving, behind the counter. He was cloaked in the false twilight created by the weak lamps and the little slits of windows located high on the walls. She could not make out his face. In fact, she could barely distinguish him from the looming bulk of the antique fortune-telling machine positioned just behind the counter.
    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.