The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) Page 4

  “Good God, man, you’ve got to get yourself a life.” H. Gideon Nath, Sr., bellowed over the phone lines. “How the hell do you think you’re ever going to find a woman to marry if you’re at the office every day till midnight?”

  Gideon shook his head at the old man’s familiar diatribe. If his grandfather would learn to call him on his cell phone, at least he wouldn’t know where he was. “We’ve been through this before—you’ve been married enough times for both of us so I don’t need to worry about that. Besides, marriage is not in my five-year plan. By the way,” he added, determined to change the subject back to something he was more comfortable with, “did you get my message about Nevio Valente?”

  “What? Is he in there trying to change his will around again?” barked Gideon Senior. “I’ll have a word with him—”

  “No, it’s too late for that. He died over two weeks ago. We’ve already had the probate hearing.”

  “What? Valente’s dead?”

  Gideon rolled his eyes. “You didn’t get my message.” Of course he didn’t get his message. Gideon Senior refused to use a BlackBerry, an iPhone, or anything resembling a phone that was “smart.”

  “You left me a message—where the hell—you mean on that damn little phone I can’t figure out how to use? All those little buttons and—well, blast it all. Next time call Iva if it’s something important. She knows how to use hers. Anyway, doesn’t matter now. So Valente’s dead, eh? I should’ve known the bastard would find a way to ruin my honeymoon, damnation!”

  “What do you mean?” Gideon asked, looking out his office window at the moonbeam-washed street. It was too late to go somewhere for dinner. He’d have to settle for a frozen pizza—if he had any left from the last time he’d gone to the market.

  There was a muffled noise on the other end of the line and the static got worse for a moment, then his grandfather’s voice came through clearly. “…Cut the trip short. I hate to do that to Iva, but I know she’ll understand. We’ll try to be home within a week—depending on the weather.”

  “What are you talking about, Grandfather?” Gideon sat straight up in his chair. “There’s no reason for you to come home! The heirs have already signed off and it’s being probated—”

  “Now, Gideon, it has nothing to do with you—it has to do with that bastard Valente. There’s a lot going on that you don’t know about and I’m going to have to get back there before all hell breaks loose. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

  “Grandfather—” Gideon began, but the dial tone that greeted him interrupted his words. “Damn.” He slammed the receiver down onto its cradle in an uncharacteristic display of temper.

  Gideon Senior had left him in control of the practice for his entire three-month honeymoon, and now the first thing that came up with one of his clients, he had to rush home.

  Gideon’s lips curved into a frown as his eyebrows tightened, and he glared at the phone. Damn. He’d been practicing law for nearly ten years, and an equal partner in the small firm for three of them—what made his grandfather think he couldn’t handle a simple estate?

  He closed the laptop and rose to his feet. Just because his father was a screw-up didn’t mean that he’d follow in his footsteps. No, indeed, Gideon had taken great pains that his life be as opposite his father’s as possible.

  He shoved a few files into his briefcase and zipped up his laptop inside. Then he rearranged a stack of papers on his desk so they were aligned neatly, replaced his fountain pen in its gold-plated holder, and turned off the desk lamp. He started toward the door, his gaze sweeping the office one last time to be certain nothing was awry—for even the cleaning service didn’t work on Friday night. He noticed a glint on the floor under the small conference table.

  Stooping, he reached beneath it and picked up the flat, circular object. It was a small, gold compact with a Celtic design etched on it, and he realized it must belong to Fiona Murphy. No doubt it had fallen out of that huge bag she carried. He flipped it open and found himself staring at his own steel grey eye in the unsmudged mirror inside.

  He snapped it closed, dropping it in his pocket, suddenly remembering the spark in her amber eyes and the thick auburn hair that gave her a tousled, rumpled look. She was definitely an interesting person. While she seemed on the verge of being scatterbrained, she’d actually been very organized and bright in a naive sort of way.

  Gideon closed his door behind him, walking into the hallway toward the front of the office. He paused at Claire’s desk to put a stack of papers in her in-box, and hesitated. His fingers slipped over the smoothness of the gold compact in his pocket. He could have his assistant call Fiona and drop it in the mail to her.

  The memory of her mellow lips, puckered in concentration during his explanations earlier that day and the way they quirked in a smile of enthusiasm at the end of their meeting flashed into his mind, surprising Gideon. He hadn’t realized he’d taken such note of her features, other than the objective realization that she was uncommonly striking.

  He rubbed a thumb thoughtfully over the compact. Maybe he’d return it himself.

  ~*~

  It was Monday before Fiona managed to return to her store.

  Over the weekend, she’d talked herself out of the fright she’d experienced on Friday—all the while making up excuses not to return quite yet. She realized after leaving the shop, and her heart settling back into its regular rhythm, that she hadn’t checked to see if there was a battery pack on the light.

  That had to be the explanation for the strange experience. It had been foolish of her to dash out of there like a bat out of hell…but maybe it had really been a symptom of her own insecurity, owning the store and being responsible for it, that had caused her to react so strongly. At any rate, she was back and was not about to let herself be spooked away.

  It was a very sunny day, and the result was that the shop did not seem as dim and still as it had on Friday. As well, the tenant’s shop next door was also open, and as Fiona fit her key into the lock of her own store, a pair of customers let themselves into Glad’s Rags, the fashionable clothing boutique that adjoined Antiques Shoppe.

  Fiona frowned. She really did have to change the name of the establishment. Could it have a more boring name?

  The little bell jingled overhead as she pushed the door open, and again that aged smell assailed her senses. Quickly turning on as many lights as possible in the front area, Fiona looked around, her heart thumping steadily in her throat.

  Nothing seemed amiss, nor did the strange lamp appear to be illuminated in the back of the store. She walked further in, turning on more lights automatically, and soon the shop was aglow in the same manner it had been the first time she’d entered it.

  Fiona left her heavy leather bag on the huge desk that was located partway back into the shop. It was still cluttered with papers, writing utensils, and the telephone, just as it had been the day she’d entered the store, seeking refuge from a storm. Clearing that off was one task she promised herself she’d handle today.

  Strolling purposely past the desk, now, she continued to turn on lights without pause—to keep from thinking about that weird lamp. Even though she’d talked herself into several different explanations for it—a battery pack, most likely—Fiona still felt odd about the store and the light. There had to be an explanation for it. Her mother would say that it was just the energy from the shop, or her own aura…but, as much as she was her mother’s daughter, Fiona didn’t believe it was that simple.

  When she made her way past the staircase and into the low-ceilinged portion of the shop, Fiona fixated on the lamp that squatted like an old toad.

  It was an unexceptional piece. Stocky and white, the base had small nodules texturing its milk glass curves. The shade had faded to a yellowish satin, but the fringe that edged it was still white.

  Fiona didn’t take her eyes from the lamp and was watching breathlessly to see if it would come on again when a faint jingle from the front of the store star
tled her.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Fiona pivoted in surprise, banging her shin on a heavy chest, and paused, wincing in pain. Stifling a groan, she called back, “I’ll be right with you!”

  Limping slightly, trying to ignore the throb of pain in her leg, she hurried back to the front. On the way, she noticed the shards of porcelain from the clock she’d broken on her last visit, and knew she’d better find a broom somewhere soon.

  When she reached the front, she was surprised to see the tall figure of Gideon Nath looming in the aisle. As usual, he was wearing a tie and an expensively cut suit, and he stood leaning casually against the doorway. He must have noticed that she favored her leg, for he asked, “Are you limping?” in that cut-to-the-chase, professional way of his.

  “When you called out, you startled me so that I slammed my leg into the corner of a chest,” she told him, wondering what he was doing here. “Do you have more papers for me to sign?”

  Gideon shook his head, then turned his gaze from her to span it around the shop. “I’ve only been in here once before. It looks like a fascinating place.”

  Fiona looked at him in surprise. He seemed to be the last person who would find an old, musty shop like this fascinating. Antiques would be out of place in his life: he’d be all chrome and black and white decor, with smooth lines, sleek leather furniture, and perhaps red or cobalt accents throughout. The illumination in his high-rise condo, she imagined, would consist not of interesting lamps, but of recessed lighting, wall sconces, and halogen bulb lamps hanging from narrow black cords.

  Abruptly, he returned his attention to her and caught her staring at him. Fiona looked away, controlling a smile, and jammed a hand through her thick hair to push it back from her face.

  “I think you dropped something at my office the other day,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out her gold compact, proffering it to her.

  Relief surged through her as she reached for it. “Oh, thank you so much for finding this! This was a gift from my grandmother—and I didn’t even know I’d lost it.”

  She took the compact from his long fingers, noticing how warm it was from being in his pocket, and clutched it to her chest, heaving a sigh of relief. Her grandmother had died five years earlier, and this was her favorite keepsake from the fiery, outspoken woman.

  “You didn’t have to come all the way here to return it, though.” She raised her eyes and found that he was looking at her with more than cordiality, and an unexpected warmth rumbled through her.

  Gideon shifted his gaze away and straightened his stance—as if he could stand any taller—and said, “How about a tour of your place while I’m here? Are you open for business yet?”

  “No. That’s why I was so startled when you came into the shop. I thought the sign said it was ‘Closed Due to Death’.” She smiled teasingly.

  “I figured you’d be here, and I wasn’t sure the compact was yours.” He didn’t even crack a smile.

  Fiona looked at him, tilting her head to one side. She wondered why he was so uncomfortable. “It was certainly nice of you to take the time from your busy schedule to stop by. I’d be happy to show you around, although, honestly, I haven’t seen the whole place myself yet. Come on back with me, won’t you?” She turned, gesturing for him to follow her toward the rear of the store.

  Gideon shoved his hands into his pockets and walked behind her. He found that he was more interested in watching the shift and sway of her hips in the long, flowing skirt than in examining the shop’s wares.

  That surprised him, because Fiona wasn’t at all the type of woman who normally caught his eye. She wasn’t polished or professional, her auburn hair looked like it reeked of static electricity. He’d never seen it sleek and styled, and she wasn’t a sharp, ambitious businesswoman. She was as different from Leslie as a White Zinfandel was from an oak-barrel Chardonnay—or more like a fruit punch compared to a blush Moscato: colorful, sweet, and punchy—but not what one would serve to guests.

  Yet, she had been drifting into his mind more often than she should…and he felt as though he had no choice but to try and figure out why.

  Pulling his mind from those unfamiliar thoughts, Gideon forced himself to look around the shop more closely. It was rather intriguing, he admitted, with the glow of light and the ambience of history and age. Fiona led him past a large desk, where papers and writing utensils were scattered, and a telephone sat buried among them.

  “What happened here?” he asked when he noticed a pile of ceramic shards scattered over the floor about three-quarters of the way back into the store.

  Fiona stopped to see what he meant, and he fancied she looked a bit uncomfortable. “I—uh—backed into that table and knocked it off,” she explained. “I haven’t located a broom yet, so there it sits.” She gave a little laugh, then continued to walk along the aisle into the rear of the shop, where the lighting became dimmer and the ceiling lower.

  “It’s like a cave back here,” Gideon commented, watching her turn on lights as they went. The sleeve of her casual blouse fell back to the elbow as she reached for a pull-cord. He admired the long, graceful line of her arm and allowed his gaze to continue its logical path over her shoulder, then to wander over the swell of her breasts. In the low light she looked elfin and ethereal with her halo of burnished hair, flowing clothing, and tall, slender build.

  “It is,” she agreed, and for a moment, he forgot what it was she was agreeing to. “It’s a little nerve-wracking coming back here alone in the dark when you don’t know where you’re going,” she continued after a pause.

  “I can imagine.” He followed as she turned a corner, and noticed a large desk with three lamps on it, sitting just at the juncture of the bend in the aisle. Something about the walnut secretary caught his attention, and he paused, peering at the wall behind it. Fiona had only switched on one of the lights. He reached to pull the cord of the middle one, the one with the cream-colored shade decorated with fringe.

  He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from Fiona, and when he glanced at her, she was staring at him and the lamp as though waiting for them to draw swords.

  Her eyes seemed fixed on his hand. “Is something wrong?” he asked, yanking the lamp cord. The cord clicked, and nothing happened.

  She puffed out the breath she’d been holding, making him even more confused. “Is this some kind of rare light?” he asked. “It’s not working.”

  “Why don’t you check to see if it’s plugged in.” Her voice sounded thready.

  “All right.” Still confused by her sudden change of demeanor, Gideon shifted around the massive desk and followed the cord, which, sure enough, dangled to the ground. He found a plug, shoved it in, and pulled the cord. The light glowed.

  “Thank you.” Her words were fervent, and the expression on her face still appeared drawn.

  “Are you all right?” he asked again.

  “I’m fine. Fine now. What were you looking at back here?” Indeed, she sounded more like her easy, informal self.

  “I just was looking at this desk a bit more closely.” He couldn’t explain why he was interested in the ugly piece of furniture. It wasn’t his style at all. Heavy-featured walnut with tarnished silver pulls and nicks throughout did not turn him on.

  But Fiona did.

  Gideon stepped away from her abruptly, wondering if she sensed his suddenly raging testosterone. Good Lord, he hadn’t felt this randy just standing next to a girl since he was fifteen.

  “When I came here last Friday, that same desk caught my attention too. Maybe it’s because of where it’s situated, here in this little corner, kind of under the stairs.” She smiled up at him, and for the first time, he noticed the tiniest little dimple near the corner of her full lips. His mouth went dry. “I found what looks like a storage room back here—the door is locked, but I bet the key is in that mess you gave me the other day. I’m hoping to find a broom in there so I can clean up that porcelain. I just have to go b
ack to the front and get the keys.”

  Gideon allowed her to pass by him in that narrow aisle way, and he caught the same spicy scent that seemed to filter in and out of his office since Friday—which was ridiculous. There was no way her perfume still permeated his office. He was imagining things.

  He followed her on along the aisle toward the rear of the store. Along the way, the shop morphed from the neatly cluttered arrangement of merchandise into the disorganized array of a back room. There was no door that led to the behind-the-scenes area, nor even any indication that one had left the store and entered a domain available only to the proprietor—but this part of the establishment was clearly not for the eyes of the customer.

  Boxes and crates were stacked against the walls and on top of pieces of furniture, most of which were old tables or chests with nicks in them, or broken legs. The lamps were fewer, but he noticed work lights hanging over a long counter that held everything from screwdrivers, nuts, bolts, and hinges to Styrofoam cups, paper towels, papers, and masking tape.