White Lies (The Arcane Society #2)(14)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

The waiter appeared, bearing a cup and saucer.

“Your green tea,” he said to Clare.

Clare looked at the bag perched on the saucer. The tea was a generic brand, and she was pretty sure the water was going to be lukewarm.

“Thank you,” she said. She unwrapped the little bag and lowered it into the cup.

She had been right about the water.

Elizabeth chuckled. “You ought to know better than to order green tea in Arizona. This is coffee country.”

“Unlike the Desert Dawn Motel, this is a high-end resort that caters to affluent travelers from around the world. You’d think they would be able to provide a decent cup of tea.”

“You remind me of Jake. He’s the only other person I know who drinks tea. I think he likes the green stuff, too.”

Clare pondered that while she dunked the tea bag up and down in a desperate effort to extract some flavor and caffeine.

“What do you think of him?” she asked.

“Jake?” Elizabeth raised one shoulder in an elegant little shrug. “He seems nice enough. He must be competent or Dad wouldn’t have hired him.”

“Do consultants always get invited to Glazebrook cocktail parties?”

“It’s not so unusual.” Elizabeth forked up a bite of her eggs Benedict. “Dad has always made it a practice to invite his upper management team to social functions. He gives them memberships at the Stone Canyon Country Club, too.”

“But Jake is an outside consultant, not a vice president.”

“Dad wants him treated with respect at the office,” Elizabeth said. “That means he has to get the perks of upper management.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Elizabeth smiled. “What’s with the curiosity about Jake Salter?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Clare said. “He just struck me as a bit unusual, that’s all.”

Talk about a bald-faced lie. Jake wasn’t just a bit unusual. He was off the charts, at least as far as she was concerned. No other man had stirred the hair on the nape of her neck or aroused her feminine instincts the way he had last night.

“That’s funny,” Elizabeth said. “Jake always strikes me as being just what he is. A pleasant, somewhat dull business consultant.”

Were they talking about the same man? Clare wondered.

“He’s registered with the Society, you know,” she said.

“Yes.” Elizabeth stirred her coffee. “But what’s so odd about that? It’s not surprising that Dad would look for a sensitive when he decided to employ a consultant.”

“No,” Clare agreed.

“My understanding is that Jake is a mid-range talent. Maybe a level five or six. No more.”

Clare went still.

“What?” Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Don’t tell me he hit on you last night?”

“No.”

She did a quick rerun of her conversation with Jake. It occurred to her that he had never actually mentioned his level of sensitivity. She had just assumed it was very high; no, she had known that it was high with every intuitive fiber of her being.

What was going on here? Were her instincts that far off or had Jake lied to Archer and the rest of the Glazebrooks about the strength of his psychic abilities? If so, why?

Maybe he thought it would make things awkward for him, she reflected. Heaven knew her high Jones number had never served her well, socially or in her career. Members of the Society, who understood the significance of it, tended to put some distance between her and themselves. It wasn’t uncommon for people to feel uncomfortable around level-ten sensitives of any kind. Then, too, there were always those at the opposite extreme who were attracted to power in a sick kind of way.

Upon reflection she had to admit that advertising a high-level talent could complicate Jake’s professional life.

Give the man a break, she thought. Jake had a right to his privacy.

“You were correct about Valerie Shipley,” she said to change the subject. “She’s got a serious drinking problem.”

“Yes, and it’s getting worse. Valerie always liked her cocktails but after Brad was killed she really started to hit the bottle. Poor Owen. I think he’s at his wit’s end. Mom said he talked to her about putting Valerie in rehab.”

“Did she encourage him to do that?”

“Of course. But it’s easier said than done. Valerie won’t even discuss her problems. If she doesn’t quit the heavy drinking, I think Owen will probably divorce her.”

“Who could blame him?” Clare said quietly. “But I’m not sure Valerie will find what she needs in a rehab clinic, even one run by the Society. She’s a mother who lost a son to an act of violence, and as far as she’s concerned, justice has not been done. I doubt if that kind of thing can be resolved with a twelve-step program.”

“As far as I’m concerned, justice was done,” Elizabeth said, abruptly fierce. “I just wish Valerie knew what a bastard Brad really was. I wish the whole world realized it, not just you and me.”

“How do you tell a mother that her dead son was a sociopath? Your own parents wouldn’t even believe it when you tried to explain to them that you had married a handsome monster. Archer and Myra thought you were having some sort of mental breakdown.”

“Brad could be unbelievably convincing.” The fork in Elizabeth’s hand trembled a little. “He always had evidence of my craziness to show people. He was even able to convince Dr. Mowbray that I was a nutcase.”

“The creep really did a number on you. All that stuff about how you were suffering fugue states during which you tried to kill yourself. It was like something out of a horror film.”

Elizabeth made a face. “He seemed so perfect at the beginning. It gives me chills every time I realize how wrong I was about him.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Clare said. “You weren’t the only one who thought he was wonderful. Archer and Myra and Matt and all your friends bought into his phony persona, too.”

“I honestly believe that I would have been dead by now if it hadn’t been for you, Clare.” Tears glittered in Elizabeth’s eyes. “And the worst part is that everyone except you would have been convinced that I committed suicide.”

Clare touched her arm. “It’s all right. It’s over. Brad is the one who is dead. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “He’s gone. That’s the important thing. But no one realizes how evil he truly was. I just wish we could find a way to let everyone know the truth. After the funeral, the more I tried to talk about the situation, the more Mom and Dad tried to make me keep quiet.”