Hidden Talents

your door, Serenity.”
    “It must be someone I know.” Serenity hurried up the steps with Quinton right behind her.
    The front door of the cottage swung open just as she reached the top step. Caleb Ventress stood there looking as if he had every right to occupy her home.
    It was the first time Serenity had seen him dressed in anything other than a formal suit and tie. Caleb was wearing black, neatly creased trousers, and a dark green, long-sleeved shirt that almost matched the Jaguar. His emotionless gray gaze swept over Serenity and then settled intently on Quinton.
    Serenity came to an abrupt halt, her mouth open in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
    “I came to see you.” Caleb did not take his eyes off Quinton.
    “Do you know this man, Serenity?” Quinton asked quietly.
    “I know him,” she said. In spite of everything, a small flame of hope flickered to life within her. Perhaps Caleb had changed his mind, she thought. Perhaps once he'd had a chance to calm down, he realized that the blackmail attempt had been a trivial matter after all and that he'd completely overreacted. “This is Caleb Ventress, the business consultant I've been dealing with in Seattle. Caleb, this is Quinton Priestly. He's a friend of mine.”
    “Priestly.” Caleb held out his hand with a cool, deliberate air, as if he didn't expect Quinton to observe the formalities and didn't really care one way or the other. It was a minimally polite gesture, nothing more.
    Quinton shook the proffered hand once and released it immediately. “So you're Ventress.”
    “Yes.”
    “You're very much of the outside world, aren't you? A man who has absorbed the steel and concrete of that other universe into his bones. A man who has not touched other planes of existence in a long time, if ever.”
    Caleb's brows rose. “It was a long drive from Seattle, if that's what you mean.”
    Quinton gave Serenity a sidelong glance. “Do you want me to hang around for a while?”
    Serenity shook her head. “It's okay, Quinton. I can deal with this.”
    “All right. But remember, merely because two points appear on the same plane at the same time, it does not necessarily mean that they are intended to connect with each other. Sometimes one is just passing through one level of reality to the next.”
    “I'll keep that in mind,” Serenity promised.
    Quinton nodded brusquely at Caleb and went back down the steps.
    Caleb watched him leave. “Does he always talk like that?”
    “Yes.”
    “What were you doing with him?”
    “A friend of ours died last night,” Serenity said quietly. “I found his body a few hours ago. Quinton helped me deal with the authorities and all the rest that goes with a death.”
    “Hell. I'm sorry about that.” Caleb looked at her. “Close friend?”
    “You could say that. Everyone here in Witt's End is a close friend.” Serenity walked past him into the small living room. The walls were lined with books, as were most of the other walls in her cottage.
    Some of the volumes were left over from her youth. Until the day she left home for college, Serenity had never been inside a formal classroom. Julius, together with the rest of the residents of Witt's End, had home-schooled her. They had done such a good job that she had aced the college entrance exams.
    Much of the rest of Serenity's personal library was comprised of relics of her short-lived career as an instructor in Sociology at the small college in Bullington. Her teaching days and her unfinished Ph.D. all seemed very far away now.
    “Who was he?” Caleb asked quietly.
    “His name was Ambrose Asterley,” Serenity said. She held her breath, wondering what Caleb's reaction would be. “You probably recall the name. He's the photographer who took those nude pictures of me.”
    Caleb let the front door close slowly. There was calm speculation in his eyes as he turned to watch Serenity shrug off her beaded, fringed jacket. “How did he die?”
    Serenity lifted her chin. She confronted Caleb with her legs braced and her hands shoved into the deep pockets of the long, hand-knitted turquoise tunic she wore over white leggings. “It looks like he got drunk and fell down a flight of stairs. I believe I mentioned that Ambrose had a drinking problem.”
    “Yes, you mentioned it. You went to see him today?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “I would have thought that was obvious. I've always considered Ambrose a friend. But friends don't try to blackmail each other. I