Read Canyons Of Night for Free Online

serpent.
    “Charlotte thought she had a break-in last night,” Slade said. “I went to her shop to check it out.”
    “Yeah?” Hank looked up, eyes faintly narrowed in concern. “Anything stolen?”
    “Who knows?”
    Hank snorted. “Good point. That place is crammed with junk. Beatrix Enright was a very strange woman and she got more eccentric toward the end. She was obsessed with those antiques of hers.”
    Slade remembered the talk he had overheard that long-ago summer when he had worked at the marina. “I remember. Everyone thought she was a little weird fifteen years ago.”
    “She got even more odd as time went by, and that’s saying something around here. Rainshadow attracts a lot of eccentrics. We know the type well. The thing about Beatrix was that she was always buying antiques from estate sales and the like but she never seemed to worry much about selling the stuff, leastways not as far as I could tell.”
    “She managed to keep the business going,” Slade pointed out.
    “That’s a fact. Sometimes I got the feeling that she was searching for some particular object but whatever it was, I don’t think she ever found it. What happened to make Charlotte think that she’d had an intruder?”
    “She found the back door of the shop unlocked this morning. It made her nervous. But as far as she can tell, nothing is missing.”
    “City girl.” Hank nodded in a knowing way. “Glad it was nothing serious. But then, we don’t have a lot of trouble around here.”
    “I’ve noticed that,” Slade said.
    “Once in a while we have a few problems with some of the boating crowd on the long summer weekends. A little local drunk and disorderly stuff. And there are always a few hot-weed dealers operating in the islands, as you discovered this week.”
    “Right.” Slade glanced at his watch.
    “The Amber Sea Islands have always been popular with smugglers, drug runners, and pirates.” There was a note of pride in Hank’s voice. “Long history of that sort of thing around here. Fifty years ago, Captain Harry Sebastian himself sailed these waters. Legend has it he buried his treasure somewhere on Rainshadow.”
    “And then disappeared, presumably murdered by his former business partner who felt he had a claim to the treasure. I know the story. Heard it fifteen years ago.”
    Hank winked. “They say Sebastian’s ghost walks the Preserve at night.”
    “If I see him, I’ll arrest him.”
    Hank laughed. “You do that.”
    Slade took another look at the portion of the tattoo that was visible on Hank’s arm. He’d seen similar tats, mostly on old smugglers.
    “But generally speaking, the Bay is a real quiet place,” Hank continued with satisfaction. “Yes, sir, I’d say it’s the perfect little town for a man in your profession.”
    “So people keep telling me.” Slade reached for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”
    “Nineteen ninety-five. I gave you the local rate.”
    “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
    Hank handed over the package of fish and lounged against the counter. “No, sir, don’t have any of the usual big-city-crime problems here on Rainshadow.”
    “I’ve noticed.”
    No rogue psychics to profile, Slade thought. No serial killers. No investigations of murder by paranormal means. And it was just as well because he was no longer able to handle that kind of work.
    “Got to admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect when that Reflections business opened up at the old lake lodge a few months back,” Hank continued. “But so far the folks coming in for the retreats seem like a quiet, well-behaved bunch. They spend money in the shops. The chef at the lodge buys his fish from me, so I’m not complaining.”
    “Given what it costs to attend one of those flaky weekend meditation seminars, I doubt that Reflections will attract the kind of crowd that is prone to break into the local shops and businesses,” Slade said.
    Hank chuckled. “You’re right about that.” He glanced through the front