Silver Master (3 page)

“The very expensive version,” he agreed neutrally. “In the same way that a matrimonial consultant is a real pricey version of what most people call a matchmaker.”

Okay, no mistaking the icy sarcasm in that comment.

She smiled coolly. “Pricey is right. But we only do Covenant Marriages here at Promises, Inc. The way we look at it, the stakes are high, so our fees should be, too.”

The marriage laws had been relaxed slightly in the past two centuries, but they were still extremely stringent. There was a lot of talk about loosening them up, but everyone knew that, realistically speaking, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

The rigid rules governing marriage had made sense two centuries ago when the colonists had found themselves marooned on Harmony. Survival had been the first and most important objective. The philosophers, social scientists, and political leaders who had framed the new Constitution had known that the key to keeping the fragile flame of civilization alive was the family unit. They had, therefore, cemented the sanctity of marriage in both law and tradition, ensuring that families remained intact regardless of the price that had to be paid.

The laws applied to everyone. Society put just as much pressure on gay people to form Covenant bonds with their partners as it did on heterosexuals.

The institution of the Covenant Marriage was a contract that, with very few exceptions, could be severed only by death. Getting out of a CM was a legal and financial nightmare that very few could afford.

But the Founders had also understood the need to provide an alternative for those who were not ready to undertake the commitment of a lifelong marriage. The Marriage of Convenience was a legally recognized arrangement that had to be renewed at regular intervals. It could be terminated by either spouse at any point unless a child was born into the marriage, in which case the contract was immediately converted into a permanent Covenant Marriage.

Families frequently encouraged their offspring to experiment with Marriages of Convenience before entering the far more stringent Covenant Marriage. Most Marriages of Convenience were, in reality, short-term affairs. Tradition afforded such arrangements an aura of respectability, however. MCs were several notches above what was often referred to as shacking up.

There were matchmaking agencies that worked with people seeking Marriages of Convenience, but Promises, Inc., was not one of them.

“Do you give refunds if the match proves to be a bad one?” Davis asked, gravely polite.

This definitely sounded personal. He was challenging her for some reason.

She went behind her desk, sat down, and folded her hands on the surface. She rezzed a bright, professional smile for him.

“Do you get paid regardless of whether or not you solve the case?” she retorted.

He raised dark brows a little, acknowledging the hit.

Alice looked faintly amused. Satisfied, even a little exhilarated by her successful parry, Celinda turned back to her.

“What is it you want from me, Detective?”

“Mr. Oakes is pursuing an investigation on behalf of his client,” Alice said, businesslike now. “This morning, in the course of that inquiry, he came across a dead body. We in the Cadence PD have an interest in that sort of thing.”

Celinda swallowed hard. The small sense of triumph she had just experienced evaporated in a heartbeat. Davis had discovered a dead person, and now he and the detective were sitting in her office. The situation was deteriorating rapidly.

“I see.” A fresh wave of alarm swept over her. “Are you here because you think I knew the victim?”

“Good question,” Alice said. “His name was Alvis Shaw. He was a longtime drug addict and small-time thief. Rez any bells?”

“Good grief, no,” Celinda said, shocked. “I assure you I'm not acquainted with anyone who meets that description. What in the world brought you to my door?”

Davis's silvery eyes were as unreadable as mirrored sunglasses. “I found Shaw's body in the alley just outside a small, low-end antique shop that specializes in cheap colonial knockoffs. The name of the place was Jackson's Old World Finds.”

Startled, Celinda unclasped her hands. “I was in that shop yesterday afternoon.”

“I know,” Davis said. “The owner of the shop showed us a receipt for an object that you purchased from him.”

“I don't understand,” she said. “What does that have to do with Mr. Shaw's death? The item I bought wasn't valuable. The owner couldn't even remember when or where he got it. He said it had probably come in with some things he picked up in an estate sale. He only charged me five dollars for it.”

“There is a possibility that Shaw's death is connected to the object you bought,” Davis said.

“
What?
That's impossible.” Horrified, Celinda leaped out of her chair, seized her tote, and placed it gingerly on top of her desk. She rummaged around inside. “I'll show you, it's just a chunk of old red plastic. Probably a knob or handle from some Colonial-era machine. It's pretty, but I don't see how it could be valuable. I bought it as a toy for Araminta. She got very excited about it.”

“Who's Araminta?” Alice asked.

A fluffy ball of tatty gray fur studded with two baby-blue eyes appeared from inside the tote. The small beast hooked a pair of paws over the edge of the bag and peered at Davis and Alice with great interest.

“This is Araminta,” Celinda said.

“A dust bunny,” Alice said in the tones of someone who is resigning herself to the inevitable. “Should have known, what with the way my luck has been running lately.”

“What's wrong?” Celinda demanded, offended. “Are you allergic to dust bunnies?”

“Not yet,” Alice said with a long-suffering air. “But I'm thinking of developing an allergy to them.”

“Why?” Celinda picked up Araminta, lifted her out of the tote, and set her on the desk. “What can you possibly have against a sweet, innocent little bundle of fur like this?”

Araminta drifted across the desk to a glass bowl containing individually wrapped candies. She seemed to float because her six paws were concealed by her fluffy gray fur. She hopped up onto the rim of the candy jar and helped herself to one of the little bundles inside.

Alice watched her use her sharp little teeth to unwrap the candy. “Lately it seems there's been a dust bunny involved in every screwy case I get. And from what I've heard, the little suckers aren't all that sweet and innocent. They say that by the time you see the teeth, it's too late.”

“Only if they're provoked,” Celinda assured her.

Araminta blinked her blue eyes at Alice and then enthusiastically crunched the candy.

“I don't understand how she can still be hungry,” Celinda said. “She just had lunch, a couple of them, in fact. She used to be a dainty eater, but lately she's developed the appetite of a sumo wrestler.”

Araminta polished off the candy and tumbled across the desk. She stopped at the edge and leaned forward, balancing precariously on her hind paws. She chortled at Davis.

“Do you happen to have some snacks on you?” Celinda asked, embarrassed. “I think she smells food.”

“I've got some crackers left over from the lunch I grabbed on the way here,” Davis said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small packet. He removed the plastic wrapper and handed the crackers to Araminta.

They all watched Araminta take the offering in one paw and start munching energetically.

Celinda shook her head. “You'd think she hadn't been fed in days, but she just swiped, ah, I mean she just
ate
two sandwiches, several olives, and a bag of fries. And that was after she helped herself to most of my salad.”

“About the item you purchased from Jackson's shop yesterday,” Davis said, looking at the tote.

“Oh, right.” Celinda reached back into the tote and took out the small antique. She held it up so that Davis and Alice could see it. “It's obviously just a chunk of old plastic off some Colonial-era gadget. It's not like it's a really valuable alien relic or anything. It's not even made of green quartz.”

It was common knowledge that, with one notable exception—a substance called dreamstone—the relics and artifacts left behind by the mysterious alien civilization that had first colonized Harmony were all made of a nearly indestructible, acid-green quartz that glowed in the dark.

The aliens were long gone by the time the human colonists arrived, but they had left behind the ruins of at least four large, startlingly ethereal cityscapes and an unknown number of smaller outposts scattered around the planet. There was a lot of Harmony left to be explored. No one knew how many more archaeological sites remained to be found.

In addition to their walled cities and assorted outlying ruins, they had also constructed a maze of underground tunnels, most of which remained unexplored and uncharted. The catacombs, too, were fashioned of the green quartz.

Celinda tossed the small chunk of plastic into the air and caught it in her hand. “There's no way this could be worth much.”

She watched Davis's and Alice's faces covertly, trying to tell if either of them realized that she was lying through her teeth.

The truth was, she was very certain that the red object was neither Old Earth nor Colonial in origin. She was almost certain that it was an alien relic of some kind. No Old World or Colonial antiques gave off a faint trickle of psi energy the way this thing did. The red widget was most likely a rare and therefore extremely valuable find. She had fully intended to contact some of the upscale antiquities shops as soon as possible to see if she could get a good price for it. She did not want to turn it over to the police unless there was no alternative.

The artifact was about three inches long and an inch wide. It was slightly curved, making it easy to grip in one's palm. Although she sensed the energy coming from it, she had no clue to what it had been designed to do.

Alice frowned, head tilted slightly. “You're right. It looks like a cheap plastic drawer pull. Are you sure that's the only thing you bought at Jackson's yesterday?”

“Yes,” Celinda said, relaxing a little because now she was telling the truth again. “I'm positive.”

Alice took out a notebook. “I'd like to ask you a few questions. Just routine.”

Celinda went very still. “You said you're investigating Alvis Shaw's death as a possible homicide.”

“Yes.” Alice flipped open her notebook.

“Then your questions are not going to be routine, are they?” She tightened her grip on the relic. “At least not from my point of view.”

Alice ignored that. “Can you tell me where you were between midnight and three
AM
this morning?”

A sensation of impending disaster swept over Celinda. Great. Just great. She was a suspect in a murder. In the matchmaking business, that kind of thing was a guaranteed career-ender. Cold perspiration formed under her arms. Thank heavens she had not removed the jacket of her business suit. With luck, they wouldn't see that she was sweating.

“You think I killed Mr. Shaw?” she managed.

Alarmed by the sound of her too thin, too tight voice, Araminta tumbled across the desk and bounded up her arm to perch on her shoulder. Automatically, Celinda reached up to pat her, taking comfort, as she always did, from the contact.

“Like I said, this is routine.” Alice rezzed a pen and prepared to take notes.

“Am I the first person you've interviewed in connection with this murder?” Celinda asked warily.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you are,” Alice said.

Damn, it was happening all over again, Celinda thought. Her short career at Promises, Inc., flashed before her eyes. She would have to leave town and find another job, just as she had four months ago. There were only four large city-states on Harmony. Two down and two to go. At this rate, she would soon be running the kind of low-end dating service that advertised in the Personals section of cheap tabloids.

“Miss Ingram?” Alice's voice was sharp.

Davis did not move. He just stood there, watching her. Celinda forced herself to shake off the dread that threatened to demoralize her.
Stay focused
.
Maybe you can manage this. Maybe your life is not about to go to green hell again.

“Sorry, Detective,” she said politely. “What was the question?”

“You were about to tell me where you were last night between twelve and three,” Alice said.

Celinda moved one hand in a vague gesture. “Where I usually am at that time of night. In bed.”

There was a short beat of silence.

“Was there anyone else in the household?” Alice asked.

Probably diplomatic cop talk for
Are you sleeping with anyone who can give you an alibi?
Celinda thought.

“No,” she said. “Just Araminta.”

Alice looked up from her notes. “So there's no one who can vouch for the fact that you were home alone?”

Celinda started to say no and then stopped, brightening a little. “My landlady, Mrs. Furnell. She lives right downstairs. I have to walk past her front door to get outside the building. Trust me when I tell you that she would definitely remember if I went out late at night or if I came in at an odd hour.”

Alice did not look impressed, but she made a note. “Were you a frequent shopper at Jackson's?”

Celinda shook her head. “Yesterday was the first time. I was just browsing, but Araminta went straight to this widget and started playing with it. She seemed to want it, so I bought it for her.”

It was the truth as far as it went. Celinda saw no need to add that she would never have gone into the shop in the first place if Araminta hadn't made a great fuss when they walked past the window.

“Thank you.” Alice flipped the notebook shut and looked at Davis. “That does it for me. What about you? Is that the missing relic you were hired to find?”