In Too Deep

me.”
    “Chatting
at
you? Chatting is generally considered an occupation that two or more people engage in together.”
    “I’m not a chatty type.”
    “Of course you are. We’re chatting right now.”
    “No,” he said, very certain. “We’re having a conversation.”
    “Oddly enough, people sometimes resent being ordered around, especially by a person who is not even their official boss.”
    “You think I was brusque with Rafanelli?” Fallon sounded offended now. “I was doing him a favor. He’s been fascinated by Bridewell’s work for years. Taking charge of a cache of her inventions will be a huge thrill for him, not to mention a major career boost. He’ll write the definitive paper for the
Journal of Paranormal and Psychical Research
and become a legend in the Society’s research circles.”
    “I understand,” Isabella said.
    They walked a little farther.
    “Well?” Fallon said. “What the hell should I have said to Rafanelli?”
    “It’s often helpful to insert a few friendly comments into a business conversation. Asking about a person’s health or their children is always good.”
    “Are you kidding? Get people started on their health and their kids and you never get them back on track.”
    “Okay,” Isabella said.
    They walked a few more steps. Fallon muttered something under his breath and reached back into the inside pocket of his jacket. He snapped the phone open and punched in some numbers.
    “Rafanelli? Jones here again.
Fallon
Jones.
Please
bring a team to Scargill Cove tomorrow to pick up the Bridewell artifacts. You’re the leading expert on para-weaponry, and I wouldn’t trust those gadgets to anyone else but you. How’s the wife? See you tomorrow.”
    He snapped the phone closed.
    “What did he say?” Isabella asked.
    “Nothing. Not one word.”
    “Probably stunned.”
    “I outchatted him,” Fallon said proudly.
    “I think so, yes.”
    “Told you that personal nattering is a waste of time.” He flipped the phone open again. “That reminds me, I’d better call Zack. He’ll want to know about those curiosities.”
    He punched in a code.
    “Zack, it’s Fallon. Found a bunch of Bridewell’s inventions here in Scargill Cove. Rafanelli is bringing a team here tomorrow to dismantle them and transport them back to the L.A. lab. Thought you’d like to know. Give my best to Raine. I heard she was expecting. Congratulations. Bye.”
    He closed the phone and waited for the verdict with an air of expectation.
    “Better,” Isabella said. “But it strikes me that it might be a good idea if I handled more of J&J’s routine business communications. That would leave you free to concentrate on your investigative work.”
    “Is that a polite way of saying I don’t have people skills?”
    “Not everyone is management material, Fallon.”
    “You’re right,” he said decisively. “In future, I’ll let you do the personal chitchat.”
    She smiled. “Who says you can’t delegate?”
    They reached Toomey’s Treasures and went up the outside stairs to her apartment above the shop. She was intensely aware of Fallon watching her take her key out of her pocket. He was in what she had come to think of as his brooding zone. In the dim light of the bare, low-watt bulb that lit the doorway, his hard face was cast in the light-and-shadow of film noir. The dark passions that burned deep inside him would have made it possible for him to play either the hero or the villain, but whichever role he chose, he would follow his own code.
    She got the door open, moved into the apartment and flipped the light switch. She turned to face him.
    “What you did tonight,” she said. “Proposing that we dump that skeleton into the ocean.”
    He watched her with a shuttered expression. “What about it?”
    “You knew that if you gave the body to the authorities, it’s possible that there would be a murder investigation.”
    “Unlikely. No one in this county will care about what happened here in the Cove twenty-two years ago. Nobody outside of town gives a damn about this place. Few people even know it exists.”
    “I’m aware of that. Nevertheless, if there ever was an inquiry into Lasher’s death, everyone who attended the meeting at the tavern tonight would be a suspect.”
    He shrugged. “Sounds like they all had motive.”
    “So you didn’t suggest a convenient burial at sea because you’re afraid that some secret CIA black-ops agency will take over the Cove. You did it to