Hidden Talents Read online

  Serenity didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. That was one of the problems she was having with Caleb lately, she thought. Her emotions seemed all mixed up around him.

  “I'm down here. In the basement.” She hastily plucked the single large envelope out of the folder, tucked it under her arm and closed the drawer.

  Caleb's footsteps echoed as he approached the basement door. A moment later he appeared at the top of the stairs. “I should have figured you'd try something like this. Tell me, just as a matter of idle curiosity, are the laws concerning breaking and entering different here in Witt's End than they are in Seattle?”

  “I wouldn't know.” Serenity decided that what she was feeling now was definitely annoyance. Extreme annoyance. “I've never compared the legal codes. As a free-spirited child of the universe, I don't feel the need to pay much attention to man-made laws.”

  “A convenient philosophy.” Caleb started down the stairs. “Did you find the photos?”

  She gave a start. “How did you know?”

  “I may not be a child of the universe, but I'm not an idiot.”

  She clutched the envelope tightly to her side and glared at him. “I'm not stealing them, you know. They belong to me. Ambrose once told me that if I ever wanted them, I could have them.”

  “Did he?” Caleb's gaze went to the large envelope under her arm. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “I don't know. Tear them up and throw them away, I suppose.” She scowled at him. “They've caused me enough trouble as it is.”

  “I thought you said they were high art.”

  “They are art. But they've also proven to be trouble. So I'm going to get rid of them. I certainly don't have any use for them.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed Caleb's hard face. “You do realize that the fact that you found those photos here implies that Asterley was the blackmailer, after all. It's obvious now that he didn't give or sell those negatives to someone else.”

  “Yes, I know.” Serenity felt another twinge of sadness. “I still can't believe Ambrose would have done something like this. I suppose he must have had his reasons.”

  “Hell, you'd make excuses for the devil himself.” Caleb came to a halt on the bottom step and surveyed the room. He whistled softly. “I see Asterley liked photography equipment. Looks like he only worked with the best.”

  “Ambrose cared passionately about his work.”

  “Yeah, sure. A real artist. Come on, let's get out of here.”

  Serenity smiled coolly. “Surely you don't want to be seen leaving here with me? If we're caught, you might be implicated in my criminal activities.”

  “As your partner and business consultant, I'll just have to risk it. Part of the job, you know. Let's go, Serenity.”

  She was genuinely amused now. “You're really nervous about being down here, aren't you?”

  “Is that so strange? Where I come from, people get arrested for doing things like this.”

  “Relax, Caleb. Ambrose was a friend. He wouldn't mind my being here.” Serenity started toward the stairs. “But I'm ready to go now. There's something very depressing about this basement.”

  She was less than a yard away from where Caleb waited impatiently on the bottom step when she heard the muted sound of an automobile engine.

  “Damn it to hell,” Caleb muttered. “Someone's out there.”

  “It's probably just Jessie or someone else from Witt's End,” Serenity said, hoping that was the case.

  “What if it's one of his relatives come to collect his things? Or the cops? If you don't mind, I'd just as soon not get caught taking stuff from a dead man's house.” Caleb went back up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and quickly closed the basement door. Then he returned to the bottom of the steps, reached out, caught hold of Serenity's arm and urged her toward the wall.

  “What in the world are you doing?” she gasped.

  “Quiet.” Caleb flipped the second light switch, which was located at the bottom of the steps. The basement was instantly plunged into total darkness. “Maybe if we get real lucky, whoever it is will simply go away.”

  “I'm sure it's someone I know,” she grumbled.

  “Not another word,” Caleb breathed in her ear.

  Serenity was genuinely nervous now, in spite of her brave assertion that there was nothing to worry about. She listened as the cabin door was opened in the room above. Footsteps quickly crossed the floor. Whoever it was seemed to know his or her way around, she thought. A friend of Ambrose's, then. Jessie, perhaps.

  She was about to voice her conclusion to Caleb and tell him that there was no cause for alarm when she heard the footsteps move directly overhead, heading toward the basement door. She groaned silently and nudged Caleb with her elbow. She hoped he realized that there was no place to hide if someone opened the door at the top of the stairs.

  “Hell,” Caleb muttered. “Guess we'll have to play this by ear. Try for the casual touch. Just an old friend tidying things up or something.”

  “Honestly, Caleb, you worry too much.”

  “All of us big-time consultants worry. It's why we're so highly paid.”

  “I wish you'd stop bringing up the subject of your outrageous fees.”

  “It's a subject that's very dear to my heart. Here, let me have that.” He whisked the envelope she had been holding out from under her arm.

  “Caleb, that's mine.”

  “I'll give it back later.” He snapped the wall switch again. The overhead bulb lit up the windowless room. “All right, we're going to take the offensive. Act like we have every reason to be here.”

  “We do. Sort of.”

  The door opened at the top of the stairs. A man appeared. “What the hell? Who's down there?”

  “Who are you?” Caleb demanded with the sort of natural arrogance that one tended to associate with cops and other authority figures. “This is private property.”

  The stranger at the top of the stairs gave a visible start. He gazed uncertainly down into the basement.

  He appeared to be in his late fifties, thin and wiry, with a narrow, smoker's face and sunken eyes. Dressed in an old sweater and a pair of slacks, he had the restless, twitchy look of someone who ran largely on nervous energy. He was clearly alarmed to see that the basement was occupied. His mouth opened and closed and then opened again.

  “Now just a damned minute,” he finally said forcefully. “I've got a right to be here.”

  “Hello,” Serenity said brightly. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that the envelope containing her photos had disappeared inside Caleb's jacket. “Didn't mean to startle you. Are you a member of the family?”

  “Family?” The man stared at her. “What family?”

  “Ambrose's family,” Serenity explained gently. “Sorry if we're intruding. We didn't think he had any close kin. He never mentioned his relations.”

  “I'm not a relative, I'm a friend.” The man hesitated. “I mean, I was a friend. My name's Gallagher Firebrace. I'm a photographer from Seattle. I've known—I mean I knew Ambrose for a long time. Last night a photographer I know in Bullington called me. He told me he'd heard that there'd been an accident. I drove up here to see if there was anything I could do.”

  “Caleb Ventress,” Caleb said easily, as if he was accustomed to being discovered skulking around other people's basements. “This is Serenity Makepeace. She was a friend of Asterley's, too. We just came by to straighten things up a bit.”

  “I see.” Gallagher glanced down at Serenity. “You're right. Ambrose doesn't have any family.”

  “I wonder who will inherit all this stuff?” Serenity said.

  “I have no idea.” Gallagher's eyes swept the array of expensive equipment stored in the basement. “He owed me a lot of money.”

  “Is that right?” Caleb watched him.

  “Probably owed money to a lot of people.” Gallagher sighed heavily. “He was a hell of a photographer. Too bad he couldn't get his perso
nal life under control. It was the drinking that ruined his business.”

  “The drinking seems to have ruined everything for Ambrose over the years,” Serenity said softly.

  “And in the end it finally killed him.” Gallagher came slowly down the steps. “No surprise, I guess. Still, he was a pal, a fellow pro in the field, and I had been kind of hoping he'd climbed on the wagon to stay. Well, that's neither here nor there now. I wonder what will become of all his equipment. He spent a fortune on it, you know. A lot of it was my money.”

  “There's some valuable-looking items in here and in the room above,” Caleb observed.

  “Ambrose didn't care much for people, but he loved camera equipment,” Gallagher said. “Poor, dumb bastard. He was always so certain that if he just bought a new camera or the latest high-tech lighting gadget, he'd finally get his career back on track.”

  Serenity frowned. “I hadn't thought much about it until now, but Ambrose must have spent a lot of money on equipment over the years.”

  “Tell me about it,” Gallagher said with a rueful smile. “God knows how much I gave him. No telling who else he talked into loaning him a few bucks.”

  “His friend Jessie probably gave him some,” Serenity said. “And I know Julius gave him a little cash from time to time. So did Montrose and Quinton. So did I, for that matter.”

  “No matter how much anyone gave him, he always seemed to need more,” Gallagher said. “Face it, the guy was a mooch. Still, there was something about Ambrose that you had to like, you know?”

  “I know,” Serenity said. “It was his passion for his work, I think. People responded to it.”

  “I guess that was it.” Gallagher hesitated. “Ambrose had talent. But he got a reputation in Seattle for showing up drunk on one too many shoots, and that was the end of the line for him. He moved up here to Witt's End and more or less fell off the face of the earth as far as the rest of us were concerned. Still, when I heard the news, I had to come up and check it out.”

  “And maybe help yourself to a few pieces of photo equipment from Asterley's collection?” Caleb suggested. “At a rough estimate, I'd say that Nikon lens over there on top of the last file cabinet is probably worth a thousand, maybe fifteen hundred.”

  “Now, see here,” Gallagher began angrily. “I told you, the guy owed me money. A lot of it. I've got a right to collect one way or another.”

  “The county sheriff might have a few things to say about that,” Caleb said. “If there's no immediate family or heir to claim this cabin and everything in it, the state will step in to handle the property of the deceased.”

  Gallagher compressed his lips into a thin, disgruntled line. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “Bet on it,” Caleb advised. He took Serenity's arm and started purposefully up the stairs. “I think all of us had better be on our way. Doesn't look like there's much we can do around here.”

  Serenity looked at Gallagher as she and Caleb reached the top of the stairs. “We'll probably have a wake for Ambrose sometime soon. I'll be glad to phone you and let you know the time and place.”

  “Thanks, but I've got to go down to Portland for a shoot tomorrow,” Gallagher said. “An annual report for a major firm. I'll be busy for several days.”

  “We understand. Business is business.” Caleb turned off the light and closed the basement door. He gave Gallagher a mockingly polite nod. “After you.”

  Gallagher took one last, frustrated look at the closed basement door and then shrugged. Without a word, he led the way out through the living room and onto the front porch.

  “See you around.” Gallagher took a package of cigarettes out of his pocket as he went down the steps toward a nondescript green sedan.

  “Drive carefully,” Serenity called automatically.

  Gallagher jerked open the car door. “Shouldn't be any problem. The fog has finally lifted.” He got in behind the wheel and slammed the door closed.

  Another car, a familiar, aging Chevrolet, pulled into the drive just as Gallagher started his engine and began to back out.

  “For a dead man, Asterley is sure getting a lot of callers this morning,” Caleb muttered.

  “That's Jessie Blanchard,” Serenity explained. “She was closer to Ambrose than anyone else.”

  Jessie, starkly, artistically elegant at the age of forty-nine, got out of her car. She was dressed, as usual, all in black; sweater, jeans, and high boots. She had on a black jacket and she wore an abundance of silver and turquoise rings on her long-fingered hands.

  The style, which Jessie had perfected years ago and which never varied, accented her silver and black hair and her exotic bone structure. She turned to glance at the green car as it disappeared down the road. Then she looked at Serenity.

  “Who was that?” Jessie asked in her husky voice.

  “His name's Gallagher Firebrace. He said he was a friend of Ambrose's,” Serenity explained.

  “Firebrace.” Jessie's brows drew together. “I think Ambrose did mention him from time to time. He's from Seattle, isn't he?”

  “Apparently.” Serenity went down the steps to give Jessie a quick hug. Jessie looked weary but calm, almost resigned. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm doing all right.” Jessie gave her a tired smile. “Part of me always knew it would end like this. Poor Ambrose never could stay away from the bottle long enough to get his act together. But lately I really had begun to let myself believe he might actually make it this time. He was trying very hard.”

  “We all hoped he was going to make it,” Serenity said gently.

  “Yes.” Jessie looked at Caleb. “You must be Serenity's new business consultant. The man who spent the night in Julius's cabin.”

  Caleb's smile was wry. “That's the thing about small towns, isn't it? Nothing goes unnoticed. I'm Caleb Ventress.”

  “Too bad Ambrose never got a chance to meet you,” Jessie said.

  Caleb caught Serenity's eye. “I'd like to have had a few words with him, myself.”

  Serenity hastened to change the subject. This was neither the time nor the place for Caleb to make accusations of blackmail against Ambrose. “Do you know what will happen to Ambrose's things, Jessie?”

  Jessie looked at her in surprise. “He left everything to me.”

  “Asterley had a will?” Caleb asked sharply.

  Jessie nodded. “He went to a lawyer in Bullington last year and had one drawn up. Ambrose was going through a period during which he convinced himself that his talent would never be recognized in his own lifetime.”

  “So he started hoping for a little posthumous glory, is that it?” Caleb asked.

  Jessie sighed. “I'm going to do my best to get his work some critical attention. He certainly deserves it. He really was very talented. I just wish that he…well, never mind. It's too late now, isn't it?”

  “Did Asterley leave you everything?” Caleb asked. “The cabin and his photo equipment, too?”

  “Yes. Once I get Ambrose's place cleared out, I think I'll turn the cabin over to a real estate agent in Bullington. He can either rent it or sell it, I don't particularly care. I suppose I'll try to sell the photo equipment. Maybe I'll put an ad in the Bullington paper.”

  “Better keep an eye on the equipment until it's sold,” Caleb said grimly. “There seems to be a lot of interest in it.”

  Jessie's eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Firebrace seemed to think he had some kind of claim on it because of the money he says he loaned to Ambrose over the years,” Serenity said.

  Jessie glanced over her shoulder in the direction Gallagher had disappeared. “Knowing Ambrose, it's entirely possible that he died owing money to quite a few people. If Mr. Firebrace wants to contact me, maybe we can work something out.”

  “Not unless he can produce some proof that he actually loaned money to Asterley and that it was not repaid,” Caleb said flatly. “Make sure Firebrace has a genuine IOU with Asterley's signature on it before you a
gree to turn over any of the equipment.”

  Jessie smiled faintly. “You are definitely a businessman, aren't you?”

  “It's what I do.”

  Jessie shrugged. “It shouldn't be an issue. Ambrose was obsessive about the files that pertained to his work. If he borrowed money from Firebrace in order to buy photo equipment, you can bet there'll be a record in one of those file cabinets.”

  “Speaking of Ambrose's files,” Serenity said, “I came by for the negatives of those photos that he took of me last spring. I wasn't sure who would get his things, so I thought I'd better grab them before any of his relatives showed up.”

  “Right. Did you find them?” Jessie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. They're yours, of course. Ambrose always said you could have them if you wanted them. I'd never send them off to a gallery without your permission.”

  “A gallery?” Caleb looked startled. “I should hope to hell not.”

  Jessie smiled. “Those photos are definitely some of Ambrose's best work, if you ask me. Have you seen them?”

  “No.” Caleb slanted a glance at Serenity. “I haven't.”

  “Have Serenity show them to you,” Jessie urged. “You'll see what I mean. Ambrose was brilliant from time to time. Those shots of Serenity were taken during one of his peak periods. He called the series ‘Spring.’ I think he had plans to portray her as Summer, Fall, and Winter, too, but he never got around to finishing the project.”

  “For which we can only be grateful,” Caleb muttered.

  “Caleb doesn't care for artistic photography,” Serenity said.

  “Is that right?” Jessie gave Caleb an odd look.

  “Jessie, if you're okay here alone,” Serenity said quickly, “I think we'll be on our way. I've got to get to the store. Let me know if you need any help sorting through Ambrose's stuff.”

  “I will.” Jessie inclined her head toward Caleb. “Nice to meet you. Serenity says you're going to do some great things for our little town.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Serenity said in a forbidding tone. “You know what they say about the best laid plans.” She jammed her hands into her jacket pockets and set off down the drive.