Hidden Talents

been found for days.” Serenity clasped her gloved hands on her lap and stared sadly out through the dirty windshield of Quinton's van. The mist had lifted slightly, but now the long shadows of early evening were bringing a deeper darkness to the mountains. “I hope he didn't suffer too long.”
    Quinton had been the first person she had called after dialing the emergency number to summon the sheriff and a medical aid car to Ambrose's cabin. She had known it would probably take nearly an hour for the authorities in Bullington to arrive, and she had no wish to wait alone.
    As the owner of the only bookshop and brewery in Witt's End, Quinton was the town's resident philosopher. In his early fifties, he was thin and wiry, with fathomless dark eyes and a bushy beard that was rapidly going gray.
    Quinton had studied philosophy and mathematics at a prestigious private college before leaving the establishment world behind to concentrate on developing his own philosophical system. During his early years in Witt's End he had actually written and published four slender volumes. The books, taken together, detailed a comprehensive, carefully crafted philosophical theory derived from mathematics, which had succeeded in creating a small cult following among the intellectual elite at major universities.
    His goal accomplished, Quinton had turned to other projects, namely the creation of a bookstore and a brewery. As he had once explained to Serenity, running a bookshop paid better than writing, and the quest to brew the world's finest beer was a far more certain route to philosophical enlightenment than the traditional, academic approach.
    “The medics said Ambrose broke his neck in the fall and probably died instantly.” Quinton slowed the van for the turn into Serenity's driveway. “Don't dwell on it. There was nothing you could have done. Life is a series of lines linking points on an endless number of mathematical planes. We all exist on different points of the planes at different times. Sometimes those points are momentarily connected through the planes by a straight line, and sometimes they aren't.”
    As usual, Serenity had no idea what Quinton was talking about. It didn't concern her. No one in Witt's End claimed to be able to understand Quinton when he went into his philosophical mode.
    “Jessie took the news better than I thought she would,” Serenity remarked. “I was worried about her reaction.”
    Jessie Blanchard was an artist, a longtime resident of Witt's End who'd conducted an on-again, off-again affair with Ambrose for the past three years. Lately the affair had been in an off phase, as far as Serenity knew, but she also knew that Jessie cared very much about Ambrose.
    “I don't think she was really surprised,” Quinton said. “Her artistic eye allows her to see beneath the surface of life to the second layer of reality. She knew that Ambrose was a deeply troubled soul.”
    “Yes, I suppose she did.”
    Quinton glanced at her. “What with one thing and another, we haven't had a chance to talk about how things went in Seattle. How come you returned ahead of schedule?”
    “As they say in business circles, Mr. Ventress and I were unable to reach a mutual agreement.”
    Quinton frowned. “What happened?”
    “It's a long story. I don't feel like going into it at the moment. I'll tell you all about it later, I promise.”
    “Whenever it feels right.” Quinton turned into Serenity's driveway. “Looks like you've got company. Who do you know who owns a green Jaguar?”
    “No one.” Serenity watched curiously as the sleek vehicle emerged from the swirling gray mists. It was parked next to her own red four-wheel-drive Jeep.
    “Maybe a lost tourist who stopped to ask for directions.” Quinton brought the van to a halt and switched off the ignition. “I'll come in with you. Make sure everything's okay.”
    “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
    “Can't be too careful these days,” Quinton said as he cracked open the van door. “Even here in Witt's End. The vectors of angles on other planes sometimes reach into our plane of existence.”
    “Uh-huh.” Serenity opened the door on her side and jumped down from the high perch. She went around the front of the van. Quinton fell into step beside her and together they walked toward her front door.
    Quinton eyed the empty passenger seat of the Jaguar. “Whoever it is apparently felt free to walk straight into your place. Maybe it's time you started locking