Doubt lilted his voice, but Catalina smiled, though whatever emotion hid behind the soft curve of her lips didn’t reach her eyes. Her gaze darkened with an innate sadness—one he’d seen in his father’s gaze more times than he could count.
“Isn’t that a song?” she teased.
“Not from my era. Or yours.”
“Still,” she said, humming as she walked the length of the porch, the flute cradled in her hands.
Ben tried to ignore that he knew nothing about this woman except that she’d charmed Morton Gilmore, a known rapscallion, but otherwise brilliant man.
“He’s worried,” she said finally.
“Worried? Not afraid?”
She shook her head. “No, not afraid.” Looking up from the flute, she grinned. “Your father isn’t an easy man to intimidate.”
Ben stood up straighter. Man, she got that right. He supposed a man couldn’t reach the ripe old age of ninety-five without possessing a great deal of grit, which his father had in spades. He’d run with the French Resistance during the war. He’d traveled off the beaten path all over Europe. He’d moved his entire life, from France to Texas, and took up a whole new career when most men were wasting away in nursing homes. He could live through this.
Shutting his eyes, Ben willed away the wave of emotion threatening to break him down. He was made of the same tough stuff as Paschal. And his mother hadn’t exactly been a hothouse flower, either. Damn if he was going to lose it now.
“Can you find him?” he asked.
Catalina shot over to a bench, sat down and clutched the flute lightly. After a long, tense minute, she looked up and handed him the instrument.
“Not from this. I’m sorry. I have a natural ability, but I don’t practice much. If my grandfather were here, he’d likely be able to conjure a street address, but I’m not nearly as talented.”
“Can you call your grandfather?”
“Yes,” she answered ruefully, “but since he’s been dead ten years, I don’t think he’d be much help.”
Ben looked at her oddly, and the tiny smile on her lips revealed nothing about her level of seriousness. He couldn’t question her further, though, since the detectives had arrived. Their interrogation was much more thorough and took nearly half an hour. Ben answered their questions with as much honesty as he thought prudent. He told them about the phone message from Amber Stranton and the meeting on the quad. He provided the most accurate description he could of Amber’s mysterious cousin. With his laptop, he found Amber’s phone number on the class rolls. She was, right now, their only lead.
Or was she?
Catalina sat, quietly clutching the flute, the entire time.
Just as the detective was closing up his notebook, one of the beat cops poked his head out the door. “Detective, you need to see this.”
Ben stood, but Catalina caught him by the arm and kept him in place. After an interminable absence, the cop finally returned.
“Mr. Rousseau, we need for you to come with us downtown.”
“What?” he asked, enraged. The accusatory sound in the guy’s voice was unmistakable.
“Calm down,” the detective instructed. “We just found some evidence that requires further investigation.”
Ben’s insides clenched. “What kind of evidence?” The detective frowned and gestured toward the steps. “We can discuss the details downtown.”
The distinct scent of accusation hung heavy in the air. Cat sent him a fortifying smile and stepped forward. She wanted him to go. And she was going with him.
Ben pressed his lips tightly together, well aware that his actions were being scrutinized. He nodded to the detective and followed him to his squad car, Catalina touching him lightly on his arm the entire way. He pushed all supposition out of his brain and concentrated on one goal—satisfying the police so he could get back to the task of finding his father.
***
Blood. Four drops on the back porch near the driveway, fresh enough to have come from a wound on his father. Luckily, between Cat vouching for Ben’s whereabouts at the college campus (admitting that she’d secretly watched his car all day and then followed him home) and a neighbor reportedly seeing Paschal in his garden that morning, Ben was cleared of suspicion and immediately released. He and Cat didn’t arrive back at Paschal’s house until the next morning, but by then, the police had released the crime scene and they were free to venture inside.
Ben slid the remains of his father’s knickknacks and collectibles out of their way as they walked. The house echoed with emptiness. Paschal was gone, and it was up to Ben to get him back.
“Want me to help you clean up?” she offered.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Actually, I think I do. I’m a firm believer that life isn’t random. I think I’m supposed to help you.”
“Perhaps you’re the reason my father was taken.”
“Excuse me?”
He’d offended her, but he didn’t care. He was angry, scared and tired. So far, Catalina had been indispensable, but he had to know now if he could trust her completely—and this was the only way.
“My father lived a perfectly anonymous life until people came around asking about Valoren. You’re one of those people.”
She removed a collection of boxes from a velvet chair, then collapsed into it. “You’re right.”
“And maybe you know that he hasn’t been hurt not because of some psychic ability, but because you’re in on the whole thing.”
She nodded. “Makes sense.”
“So you don’t deny it?”
“Of course I deny it! You can check me out, Ben. You’ll find that the woman I’m working for is above legitimate and beyond reproach.”
“Who is she?”
“Alexa Chandler.”
Ben had to think. He’d heard the name before but wasn’t sure where.
“Of the Crown Chandler hotels?” she prodded.
“You work for an heiress?”
Cat rolled her eyes. “Alexa isn’t just an heiress. She’s more Ivanka Trump than Paris Hilton, I assure you. She’s also my best friend. Trust me, her interest in Valoren is completely legitimate, and while she’s widely known as a shark in the boardroom, she’d never resort to kidnapping an elderly man to get the information she needs.”
Before he’d become his father’s assistant, holed up in a tiny office poring over undergraduate research papers and flipping through maps and course material, Ben had lived an entirely different life. He’d learned then to rely on his instincts—and his instincts told him Catalina Reyes was telling the truth.
He stepped over the remnants of a collection of vases and sat in front of her on an ottoman. “You heard what I told the police. It can’t be an accident that some stranger in a trenchcoat came looking for my father to ask about Valoren, and then he’s kidnapped.”
Cat smirked. “I’m no longer a suspect?”
He cleared his throat, wondering if he was making a huge mistake. “For the time being, no, you’re no longer a suspect.”
“And you think Amber’s so-called cousin took your father?”
“Seems like the most likely lead. My father doesn’t run with a dangerous crowd.”
“But you told the police your father was quite wealthy. Wouldn’t that make him an ideal target for all sorts of criminals?”
“His wealth is hardly common knowledge. Nearly all his money is in foreign banks. To the world, he’s an eccentric college professor who teaches a few classes a week in topics most students wouldn’t be interested in, except he’s known as an easy A.”
“Easy A? Why is that?”
Ben agreed with Morton Gilmore’s assessment that Catalina Reyes was a smart woman. Most professors at the university would hate the designation, while his father enjoyed his popularity.
“He’s not interested in teaching, really. He likes talking and the kids like listening. He’s actually quite a good storyteller. But he works with the college because his association with the university allows him access to sources he needs in his mission.”
“Mission?”
Ben paused. Since his mother’s death, Ben had discussed his father’s true calling in life with no one, just as Paschal had barely discussed the matter with his own son. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out what his father meant to do with all his collecting and research and trips around Europe, mostly in Germany and England. His father was trying to prove Valoren once existed—and the quest compelled him to the point of near obsession. Now his interests might have cost him his freedom. And if Ben didn’t act soon, perhaps his life.
“Why are you looking for information about Valoren?” he asked.
“Alexa inherited an island called Isla de Fantasmas, complete with a Gothic castle, from her father.”
“Isla de Fantasmas? That’s Spanish.”
“The island is off the coast of St. Augustine.”
“And how is this related to Valoren?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. The place name was written on the letter bequeathing the property to Alexa. The castle was reportedly moved to the island sixty years ago, possibly from Valoren.”
Ben’s chest tightened. Sixty years ago? His mind flashed to the paperwork he’d found among his mother’s things shortly after her death. Bills of lading. Customs forms. Deeds and documents from the state of Florida. At the time, his parents had still been living in France and he’d assumed the documents had simply been a part of his father’s research. All the names and most of the contents of the cargo had been blacked out.
“What can you tell me about this castle?” he asked.
“Not much. I haven’t seen it myself. One roadblock to the development of the island is that it is hard to get to. However, Alexa was able to reach the island yesterday by both helicopter and boat.”
“And she wants to develop the castle as a hotel?”
“That’s her plan. The castle is large enough for an exclusive, privacy-oriented resort, but she’ll need her big investors and stockholders on board for such an expenditure, so she needs more information. What she knows now is scant, at best, but since there are reportedly ghosts involved, she asked me to investigate.”
“Ghosts?” he asked skeptically. He’d seen odd things back in his adventurous days, but not much pointing to the existence of spirits of the dead.
“Alexa thinks so, but I have my doubts.”
“Well, ghosts didn’t kidnap my father and leave drops of his blood on the driveway. Tell me precisely what you know about Valoren.”
“Only that it is a legendary gypsy safe haven. There seems to be no definitive documentation, either modern or historical, that proves the place ever existed. According to my research, if Valoren was real, there is nothing left, artifact-wise, to give us any information.”
Ben shook his head, glancing at the detritus surrounding them. His father had gotten himself into a serious mess by keeping his knowledge and research about Valoren a secret. The time to bring things out into the open was now. He could send her away and get down to the real business of breaking his father’s code of silence. Or he could join forces with the determined and knowledgeable—not to mention psychic—Ms. Reyes and perhaps find his father before the old man met his maker at the hands of obvious thugs.
“Well, that part certainly isn’t true,” he said.
“What part?”
“That nothing is left. Look around you, Ms. Reyes. I suspect that everything you see here is connected to Valoren in some way.”
“Why?”
“My father’s entire life has been one long obsession with the place, though he worked hard to keep it all a secret from me for reasons I can’t begin to explain. He admitted, to others, that the so-called Gypsy safe haven was cursed. From what I gathered from his colleagues, sometime in the eighteenth century, the entire community vanished, along with everyone who lived there. All that was left were knickknacks and furnishings he found in private collections, secondhand shops and antiques stores all over Europe. Men of my father’s ilk aren’t the types to believe in curses and magic, but Paschal has always spoken with utter certainty that black magic exists. Yet despite his dire warnings of danger, he’s persisted in his quest to locate as many items associated with Valoren as he can. That’s why he’s never allowed me on his junkets. Why he never wants me to stay in his house with him or linger too long over his personal possessions. And judging from what’s happened today, I’d say his luck at remaining free of the Valoren curse finally ran out.”
Fourteen
Catalina waited, silent, marveling at what Ben had admitted so far. “Guarded” didn’t begin to describe the man’s aura, and yet she felt certain he’d told her everything he knew—or close to it. He didn’t trust easily. Wise man. But he trusted her. Also wise.
“Do you think the police will find your father?”
“I have no idea, but look around. The people who took my father want something, something I don’t think they found. I don’t know how much time my father has if he doesn’t give them what they want.”
“It could just be a robbery. For money. Maybe someone followed him home from the grocery store and wanted bank codes or some such.”
Ben shook his head. “The police found Paschal’s checkbook upstairs. My father doesn’t keep financial information for his accounts in Europe here in the house. It’s at the university office. And the police already contacted security at our building on campus. Nothing was disturbed after I left.”
“Maybe it’s a disgruntled student,” she hypothesized.
Impatience flared in his eyes, but Ben managed to keep his tone even.
“Students with As aren’t disgruntled. The only disgruntled student he’s had has been the one whose cousin wanted information about Valoren.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“I’m his assistant. Students talk to me before they talk to him. And the only clue we have is the phone call from Amber. In a situation like this, it’s best to have a working hypothesis. And so far, Valoren is the best we have.”
Exhaling loudly, Ben turned toward Cat, his knees knocking against hers. The contact jolted her, but she fought not to react, not to slide away. The atmosphere in the room instantly changed, just, like the emotion in his eyes. Where moments ago his gray eyes reflected guarded trust, now the curtains fell.
“It’s time to look for his secret room, and you’re going to help me.”
“What?”