Hidden Talents

cooked dinner for him earlier and we'd talked for a while.”
    “I'm told he died around midnight. He must have done a lot of hard drinking right after you left.”
    “When Ambrose got going on the booze, he could really put it away in a hurry.” Jessie walked away to join a group of people on the other side of the room.
    Caleb started to reach for another corn chip and found the path blocked by Blade, whose eyes were mere slits. Quinton stood to the left of him, looking almost as forbidding as his companion. A man with a balding head and a gray ponytail flanked Blade on the right. He wore a long black cape and a single gold earring.
    “This here's Montrose,” Blade said without preamble. “Runs the service station. Plays music. You met him yet?”
    “Yes,” Caleb said. “We've met.”
    Blade squared his already square shoulders. “The three of us been talking. Decided it was time we had a little chat with you, Ventress.”
    Caleb glanced at his watch. “You've left it a bit late, haven't you? It's nearly ten o'clock at night. High noon was a long time ago.”
    Blade scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “Cut the high noon jokes,” Montrose said quietly to Caleb. “We're serious.”
    “Montrose is right,” Quinton said. “We'd like you to join us for a private farewell to Ambrose.”
    “How private?” Caleb asked skeptically.
    “Just us and you. Up at the springs.”
    “Why not?” Caleb said. “You know, considering the fact that I never even met the man, Asterley has certainly had a major impact on my life.”

10

    A CLOUD OF SILVERY VAPOR HOVERED OVER THE CRYSTAL clear pools. Caleb watched the steam as it swirled gently above the hot spring water. There was something oddly fascinating about the mist's slow dance.
    The huge cavern that sheltered the hidden springs was open to the icy night at one end, but the cold outside did not reach very far inside the rocky chamber. It was as though an invisible glass wall sealed the entrance. The heat from the pools transformed the cave into a balmy grotto.
    At some point in the history of the springs, an enterprising soul had strung electrical wiring along one stone wall of the cavern. A handful of small bulbs glowed dimly, illuminating the interior in an eerie light. Quinton had shown Caleb the switch that controlled the interior lighting. It was located just outside the entrance.
    Caleb and his three companions had the springs to themselves. Styx and Charon were out in the darkness waiting patiently for Blade. Occasionally Caleb saw a gleaming canine eye hovering at the entrance.
    “Dogs won't come in here,” Blade explained.
    “Why not?” Caleb asked.
    “Don't know. Just won't.”
    It was as good an answer as any, Caleb thought. He didn't blame the rottweilers for staying out of the cavern. He had a few doubts about being inside, too, considering the company in which he found himself.
    The hike to the caverns had been a cold one lit by a bright, white moon. The path led straight past Serenity's cottage and up into the woods behind it. Once inside the caves, each man had taken a seat leaning against one of the stones around the largest of the pools. Quinton produced a carton of his home-brewed beer and handed the bottles around.
    “Here's to Ambrose.” Quinton took a swallow from the bottle in his hand. “Good luck to him on his journey into the Big Darkroom.”
    “Hope he finally went someplace where they appreciate good photographers with unpleasant personalities.” Montrose hoisted his bottle in a farewell salute.
    “Ambrose,” Blade muttered as he downed a swallow. “Knew a guy like him once. He was okay.”
    Caleb dutifully raised his bottle. He considered and then rejected a comment on the irony of drinking a beer toast to a man who'd died because of a serious drinking problem. He searched for something more appropriate.
    “To Ambrose,” he finally said. “May he find himself someplace where the light from the National Endowment for the Arts never shines.”
    Silence descended again.
    Blade stared into the depths of the pool. “Supposed to be able to see visions here, you know.”
    “Yeah?” The beer wasn't bad, Caleb decided, somewhat surprised. He glanced at the label on the bottle in his hand. Old Hogwash.
    “That's what they say,” Quinton murmured. “Folks here in Witt's End call these springs vision pools. It's an old legend.”
    “How old?” Caleb asked.
    “Dates back to the earliest days of Witt's