Eye of the Beholder

caught up in the fantasy."
    "Since when have you ever known me to get sucked into a fantasy?"
    "Hey, I'm just spouting off words of wisdom from my esteemed elder brother."
    "Give my best to Sarah." Very deliberately Trask disconnected the phone.
    After a while he got up and went out onto the balcony. He sank down into one of the loungers and brooded over the spectacular scenery. What the hell was the matter with him? It took a while for the truth to surface. But when it did he knew he had a serious problem. This time he wanted the fantasy to be real.

    At four-thirty that afternoon Alexa sold the last gargoyle from the display, an engagingly ugly little creature with pointy ears and a lolling tongue.
    She went into the stock room to fetch another supply. For some inexplicable reason, the little monsters had been selling like hotcakes all day.
    She selected a box of small gargoyles that were each about the size of a man's fist and carried it back to the display table.
    Opening the box, she began arranging the surprisingly heavy little statues in a whimsical design. Little monsters.
    She paused, a gargoyle in hand, and glanced into the stock room.
    After a moment she set down the gargoyle and walked slowly back into the cluttered room.
    She came to a halt and stared at the boxes full of gargoyles stacked against the far wall. From out of nowhere fragments of a dream shimmered in her mind.

    The monsters surrounded her . . . as if they were all frozen...

    An eerie sensation crawled up the skin of her arms and stirred the hair on the nape of her neck.
    Jaws gaped, eyes gleamed, teeth protruded, tongues lolled.

    She glanced through the doorway that connected the stock room to the front portion of the shop. There were no customers in sight.
    Reluctantly she turned back to study the boxes of gargoyles. Joanna had tried to tell her something about monsters.
    ... It's with the monsters ...
    Impossible.
    Ridiculous.
    But what if Joanna had not been entirely out of her head that day when she had nearly died from the pills and gas. What if there had been some truth mixed with the hallucinations?
    Talk about a fantasy. It was a crazy notion, but there was no help for it. She would not be able to put the bizarre thought out of her mind until she had satisfied herself that Joanna's strange words had had nothing to do with the little "monsters" in the boxes.
    She waded through the ranks of winged lions, gothic dragons, and ancient Egyptian mummy masks to where the gargoyle boxes were heaped against the wall.
    She reached up, took down the nearest carton, and unsealed the lid. She glanced inside. Cheerfully menacing little gargoyles gazed up at her out of their nest of plastic packing material.
    She shut the lid and opened another box. This time lascivious gargoyles laughed at her, mouths open in rakish grins. She tried a third carton. Gargoyles with sly expressions winked at her.
    A small sound from the outer room startled her. She nearly dropped the box of gargoyles.
    "I'll be with you in a minute," Alexa called loudly.
    "There's no rush, dear."
    The warm, grandmotherly voice chilled the blood in Alexa's veins. She put down the heavy carton and turned very slowly to look at the petite, silver-haired woman with the sparkling blue eyes who hovered in the doorway.
    "Well, shoot." Alexa fitted her hands on her hips. "I should have known you'd turn up sooner or later."
    "How lovely to see you again, dear." Harriet McClelland glowed with pleasure. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
    "Not long enough, Mac. Not nearly long enough."

34

    "I thought we should talk, Trask." Webster rubbed the bridge of his nose in a world-weary gesture as he paced back and forth in front of the balcony window. "Compare notes, as it were. You risked your neck and saved Radstone's life last night. Thought you'd like to know what my accountants have discovered so far."
    Trask looked up from pouring his unexpected guest a cup of coffee. Webster was in his trademark black clothes this afternoon. His silver and turquoise jewelry gleamed as brightly as ever. But the lines at the corners of his mouth appeared more deeply etched, and his eyes did not glow with the usual expression of benevolence and deep-seeing perception. It was obvious he'd gotten little sleep in the past twenty-four hours.
    "I'll admit I'm interested in the details." Trask handed Webster the coffee. "But, first, how is Joanna feeling?"
    "She still won't talk to me. All she wants to do is sleep.