“Dr. Frye,” Abby murmured.
Frye disappeared through the steel doors. Jenny gave Sam her own version of a professional smile.
“How can I help you, Mr. Coppersmith?”
“I’m looking for anything and everything you’ve got written by or about Marcus Dalton.”
Jenny frowned slightly. “The nineteenth-century researcher who became obsessed with alchemy?”
“That’s the one,” Sam said.
“I’m afraid we don’t have much. He was never considered a serious scientist. There is very little written about him in the literature, and as Irecall, most of his own writings were destroyed in a fire or an explosion. Can’t remember the details.”
“Let me see what you’ve got, Jenny,” Sam said.
“Certainly, sir.”
It did not take long to exhaust the library’s holdings on the subject of Marcus Dalton. An hour after Jenny produced a short stack of books, all secondary sources, Abby and Sam left the lab and walked across the parking lot to the SUV.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Sam said. “I had a feeling it would be, but I had to be sure.”
“Jenny O’Connell was right,” Abby said. “Marcus Dalton was not taken seriously in his own lifetime or by any of the historians of nineteenth-century science. Too bad so much of his own work was lost in that explosion.”
Newton was waiting right where they had left him, his nose pressedtothe partially open window in the rear seat of the SUV. Abby knew that he had probably been sitting there, his whole attention riveted on the entrance of the Coppersmith Inc. lab, ever since she and Sam had disappeared inside. He greeted them with his usual enthusiasm.
Sam got behind the wheel and drove out of the parking lot. “Not that it’s any of our business, but did you get the impression that there was something personal going on between Frye and Jenny?”
Abby smiled. “Yep. We interrupted an office romance.”
Sam looked thoughtful. “I hope it works for both of them. Jenny has been alone since her husband died a few years ago.”
“What about Dr. Frye?”
“As far as I know, he’s never been married.” Sam took the interstate on-ramp, heading north toward Anacortes. “I saw Jenny’s expression when you explained that you were a freelancer in the private market. Do you get that a lot?”
“Only if I deal with people like her, who work the academic and scholarly end of the market.”
“How often does that happen?”
She smiled. “Not often. It’s almost impossible for any of them to get a proper referral. Thaddeus held a major grudge against the academic world in general, because it disdained his insistence that the paranormal should be taken seriously. As a result, he almost never referred anyone from that world to me. On the rare occasion when I do agree to take on a client from any of the established institutions in academia, we rarely reach an agreement on my fees.”
Sam grinned. “They can’t afford you?”
“I always jack up my fees when someone from academia comes calling. Petty, I know, but we all have to have our standards.”
“Guess I should be feeling lucky that you agreed to take me on as a client.”
“Got news for you, Sam Coppersmith. Like it or not, you’re from my world.”
“I’m okay with that.”
20
THE URGE TO CONFIDE THE FULL SCOPE OF THE DISASTER TOher special friend was almost overwhelming, but Orinda Strickland had resisted, at least until today. Some things simply could not be spoken of outside the family. Not that she didn’t trust Lander Knox. He was a very discreet young man. He was the only one who really understood her. She looked forward to these luncheons so much. Nevertheless, one had one’s pride. The loss of the family fortune and the possibility that Dawson might be facing bankruptcy, perhaps even prison, was simply too devastating to reveal. That sort of thing had to be kept secret.
“You look lovely today,” Lander said. He held her chair for her.
She managed a light, gracious chuckle and sat down at the table. “You always say that. But thank you, anyway.”
