Heaven and Earth, Page 3

  He knew who Nell was. The former wife of Evan Remington. A man who had once wielded considerable power and influence in the entertainment industry. A man who had been found to be a violent abuser. And who was now deemed legally insane and under lock and key.

  It had been Sheriff Todd who’d arrested him, right here on Sisters Island, after what were reputed to be strange events on Halloween night.

  The Sabbat of Samhain.

  It was something Mac intended to explore in more depth.

  Even as he started to bring it up, something in Mia’s expression warned him to bide his time there.

  “Looks great. Thanks,” he said instead to Nell as she served their lunch.

  “Enjoy. Mia, is tonight still good for you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’ll come up about seven, then. Let me know if you need anything else, Dr. Booke.”

  “Nell’s just back from her honeymoon,” Mia said in a quiet voice when she was alone with him again. “I don’t think questions about certain areas of her life are appropriate just now.”

  “All right.”

  “Are you always so cooperative, Dr. Booke?”

  “Mac. Probably not. But I don’t want to make you mad right off the bat.” He bit into his sandwich. “Good,” he managed. “Really good.”

  She leaned forward, toyed with her soup. “Lulling the natives into complacency?”

  “You’re really good, too. Do you have psychic abilities?”

  “Don’t we all, on some level? Didn’t one of your papers explore the development of what you called the neglected sixth sense?”

  “You’ve read my work.”

  “I have. What I am, Mac, isn’t something I neglect. Neither is it something I exploit or allow to be exploited. I agreed to rent you the cottage, and to talk with you when the mood strikes me, because of one simple thing.”

  “Okay. What?”

  “You have a brilliant and, more important, a flexible mind. I admire that. As far as trusting that, time will tell.” She glanced over and gestured. “And here comes a bright enough, and very inflexible, mind. Deputy Ripley Todd.”

  Mac looked over, saw the attractive brunette stride on long legs to the café counter, lean on it, chat with Nell. “Ripley’s another common surname on the island.”

  “Yes, she’s Zack’s sister. Their mother was a Ripley. They have long ties, on both sides of their family, to the Sisters. Very long ties,” Mia repeated. “If you’re looking for a cynic to weigh in on your research, Ripley’s your girl.”

  Unable to resist, Mia caught Ripley’s attention and motioned her over.

  Ordinarily Ripley would merely have sneered and walked in the opposite direction. But a strange face on the island usually bore checking out.

  A good-looking guy, she thought as she strolled over. In a bookish kind of way. As soon as the thought hit, her brows drew together. Bookish. Mia’s doctor of freakology.

  “Dr. MacAllister Booke, Deputy Ripley Todd.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He got to his feet, surprising Ripley with his length as he unfolded himself from the chair. Most of his height, she judged, was leg.

  “I didn’t know they gave out degrees for the study of crapola.”

  “Isn’t she adorable?” Mia beamed. “I was just telling Mac that he should interview you for your narrow, closed mind. After all, it wouldn’t take much time.”

  “Yawn.” Ripley hooked her thumbs in her pockets and studied Mac’s face. “I don’t think I’d have much to say that you’d want to hear. Mia’s the goddess of woo-woo stuff around here. You have any questions about the practicalities of day-to-day life on the island, you can usually find me or the sheriff around.”

  “Appreciate it. Oh, I’ve only got a master’s in crapola. Haven’t finished my thesis on that one yet.”

  Her lips twitched. “Cute. That your Rover out front?”

  “Yes.” Had he left the keys in it again? he wondered, already patting pockets. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. Nice ride. I’m going to grab some lunch.”

  “She isn’t abrasive and annoying on purpose,” Mia said when Ripley walked away. “She was born that way.”

  “It’s okay.” He sat again, picked up his meal where he’d left off. “I get a lot of that kind of thing.” He nodded at Mia. “I imagine you do, too.”

  “Now and then. You’re awfully well adjusted and affable, aren’t you, Dr. MacAllister Booke?”

  “Afraid so. It’s pretty boring.”

  “I don’t think so.” Mia picked up her tea, studied him over the rim. “No, I don’t think so at all.”

  Mac left histhings in the Rover and did a solo walk-through of the yellow cottage. He’d assured Mia he didn’t need her to come along. The fact was, he wanted to get a feel of the place without her. She had a strong and distracting presence.

  It was small, charmingly quaint, and heads above the majority of accommodations he usually had on a research jaunt. He knew a lot of people thought he was a man more suited to a dark and dusty library. He often was, but he was just as much at home in a tent in the jungle, so long as he had enough battery power for his equipment.

  The living room here was small and cozy, with a sofa that looked comfortably broken in and a little fireplace already set for lighting. He decided to take care of that first and patted his pockets absently before he saw the box of wooden matches on the narrow mantel.

  Grateful for small favors, he got the fire going and continued on his tour. Because he talked to himself habitually, his voice echoed a bit.

  “Two bedrooms. That one’ll do for a sub-office. I think I’m going to set up primarily in the living room. Kitchen’ll do if I get desperate enough to cook. Nell Todd.”

  He dug in his pockets again, came up with the business card for Sisters Catering that he’d taken from the café counter. He laid it in the middle of the stove where he would see it if he thought about cooking.

  He looked out the windows, appreciating the woods that tucked in close and the lack of other houses. He often worked odd hours. Here he didn’t have any neighbors close enough to complain.

  He tossed the single bag he’d brought in with him on the bed in the larger of the two bedrooms, dropped his butt on the bed to give it a test bounce.

  The image of Mia drifted into his mind. “Down, boy,” he warned himself. “No carnal thoughts about a woman who might be able to pluck them out of your head, and who’s also your primary research target.”

  Satisfied with his living arrangements, he headed outside to unload the Rover.

  On his second trip he stopped to watch the sheriff’s cruiser pull up, and Ripley climb out.

  “Deputy Todd.”

  “Dr. Booke.” She was feeling vaguely guilty about giving him a hard time on their first encounter. Which she wouldn’t have felt, she thought resentfully, if Nell hadn’t scolded her about it. “You’ve got a lot of stuff here.”

  “Oh, this is only part of it. I’ve got more being sent in tomorrow.”

  Nosy by nature, she looked in the back of the Rover. “More than this?”

  “Yeah. Lots of neat stuff.”

  She turned her head. “Neat?”

  “Lots of it. Sensors, scanners, and gauges and cameras and computers. Cool toys.”

  He looked so pleased with the idea that she didn’t have the heart to smirk. “I’ll give you a hand hauling what you’ve got inside.”

  “That’s okay. Some of it’s pretty heavy.”

  Now she did smirk, and hefted a large box out of the back. “I can handle it.”

  No question about that, he decided and led the way inside. “Thanks. You work out? What do you bench-press?”

  Her brows lifted. “I do twelve reps of ninety pounds in a set.” She couldn’t get a good gauge of his body type in the long coat and the thick sweater under it. “You?”

  “Oh, about the same, considering body weight.” He walked out again, leaving her following and trying to get
a sense of his shoulders. And his ass.

  “What do you do with all this . . . neat stuff?”

  “Study, observe, record, document. The occult, the paranormal, the arcane. You know, the different.”

  “Freak shows.”

  He only smiled. Not just his mouth, she noted, but his eyes as well. “Some people think so.”

  They hauled the rest of the boxes and bags in together.

  “It’s going to take you a week to unpack.”

  He scratched his head, scanned the piles now crowding the living space. “I never mean to bring so much, but then, you never know what you might need. I was just in Borneo and could’ve kicked myself for not packing my backup energy detector—like a motion detector, but not,” he explained. “You just can’t find one of those on Borneo.”

  “I bet.”

  “I’ll show you.” He shrugged out of his coat, tossed it carelessly aside before hunkering down to paw through a box.

  Surprise, surprise, Ripley thought. Dr. Weird had one excellent butt.

  “See, this one’s handheld. Completely portable. I designed it myself.”

  It put her in mind of a little Geiger counter, though she didn’t think she’d ever seen an actual Geiger counter.

  “It detects and measures positive and negative force,” he explained. “Simply put, it reacts to charged particles in the air, or in a solid object, even water. Except this one isn’t submersible. I’m working on one that will be. I can hook this up, when I need to, to my computer and generate a graphic printout of the size and density of the force and other pertinent data.”

  “Uh-huh.” She gave a quick glance at his face. He looked so earnest, she thought, so pleased with his little handheld gadget. “You’re really a total geek, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” He flipped his unit on to check the batteries. “I’ve always been into the paranormal and electronics. I found a way to indulge myself on both levels.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” But she scanned the piles of boxed equipment. It looked like Radio Shack had exploded. “All this high-tech junk. Lots of dough, I bet.”

  “Mmm.” He wasn’t giving her his full attention. His activated sensor was giving off a low but definite reading.

  “Do they give you grants for stuff like this?”

  “Umm, maybe, but I never needed one. I’m a really rich geek.”

  “No kidding? Don’t let Mia know or she’ll jack up the rent.” Curious, she wound her way through the boxes. She’d always liked the little cottage well enough, and was still a bit steamed that she wasn’t the one moving in. But things with MacAllister Booke weren’t adding up for her.

  “Look, usually I’m big on minding my own business, and I’ve got less than no interest in the stuff you do, but I’ve just got to say, you just don’t seem to fit. Professor of strange, geeky rich guy, little yellow cottage. What are you after?”

  He didn’t smile now. His face went quiet, almost eerily intent. “Answers.”

  “What answers?”

  “All of them I can get. You’ve got great eyes.”

  “Huh?”

  “I was just noticing. Nothing but green. No gray, no blue, just intense green. Pretty.”

  She angled her head. “You coming on to me, Dr. Geek?”

  “No.” He very nearly flushed. “I just noticed, that’s all. Half the time I don’t realize I’m saying something that’s in my head. Comes from spending a lot of time on my own, I guess, and thinking out loud.”

  “Right. Well, I’ve got to get going.”

  He stuck the sensor in his pocket, neglecting to turn it off. “I appreciate the help. No offense before, okay?”

  “Okay.” She offered her hand to shake.

  The instant their fingers clasped, the sensor in his pocket beeped madly. “Wow! Wait. Hold on.”

  She tried again to tug her hand free, but his grip turned surprisingly strong. With his free hand, he dragged the sensor out of his pocket.

  “Look at this.” Excitement rippled through his voice, deepened it. “I’ve never had it measure anything this strong. Almost off the scale.”

  He began to mutter numbers as if memorizing them while he tugged her across the room.

  “Hold on, pal. Just what do you think—”

  “I need to record these numbers. What time is it? Two twenty-three and sixteen seconds.” Fascinated, he passed the gauge over their joined hands. “Jesus! Look at that jump. Is that cool or what?”

  “Let go. Right now—or I’m taking you down.”

  “Huh?” He looked back at her face, blinked once to orient himself. The eyes he’d admired were hard as stone now. “Sorry.”

  He released her hand immediately, and the sensor’s beeping began to slow. “Sorry,” he repeated. “I get caught up, especially with a new phenomenon. If you could just give me a minute to record this, then interface the portable with my computer.”

  “I don’t have time to waste while you play with your toys.” She shot the sensor a furious look. “I’d say you need an equipment check.”

  “I don’t think so.” He held out the palm that had clasped hers. “It’s vibrating. How about yours?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ten minutes,” he said. “Give me ten to put the bare essentials together, and let’s try it again. I want to test our vital signs. Body temperature, ambient temperature.”

  “I don’t let guys test my vital signs until they’ve bought me dinner.” She jerked her thumb. “You’re in my way.”

  He stepped to the side. “I’ll buy you dinner.”

  “No, thanks.” She headed straight for the door without looking back. “You areso not my type.”

  Rather than waste time on annoyance when she slammed the door behind her, Mac searched for his recorder and began relaying the data.

  “Ripley Todd,” he finished. “Deputy Ripley Todd, late twenties, I’d guess. Abrasive, suspicious, casually rude. Incident occurred on physical contact. A handshake. Personal physical reactions were a tingling and warmth along the skin, from point of contact, up the right arm to the shoulder. An increase of heart rate and a temporary feeling of euphoria. Deputy Todd’s physical reaction is unsubstantiated. Impressions are, however, that she experienced the same or similar reactions, which resulted in her anger and denial.”

  He sat on the arm of the sofa, considering. “Early hypothesis reached upon previous research, current observations, and recorded data is that Todd is another direct descendant of one of the three original sisters.”

  Pursing his lips, Mac switched off the recorder. “And I’d say the idea of that really ticks her off.”

  It took Macthe rest of the afternoon and all of the evening to unpack and set up. By the time he surfaced, the living room looked like a high-tech science lab, with monitors and keyboards and cameras and sensors arranged precisely to his preferences.

  It left very little room to maneuver, but he didn’t expect to be entertaining.

  He moved what little furniture there was into one corner, and tested every piece of equipment. When he was finally finished, the fire had long since burned out and he was starving.

  Remembering the pizzeria, he grabbed his coat and started outside.

  He was greeted by almost unrelieved darkness. There was a splinter of moonlight, a scatter of stars. The village, which according to his best memory was about a quarter mile south, was nothing more than vague silhouettes shadowed under the pretty march of streetlights.

  Baffled, he looked at his watch. Swore. It was after eleven at night, outside a small village on a knuckle of land.

  There would be no pizza tonight.

  His stomach, wide awake now, protested crossly. He’d gone hungry before, often because of his own forgetfulness. But he didn’t have to like it.

  Without much hope, he went back inside to search for crumbs in the kitchen. Maybe he had an old bag of trail mix or candy in his briefcase. But he hit the jackpot
in the freezer. He found a container labeled “clam chowder,” with instructions for heating. Compliments of Sisters Catering.

  “I love Nell Todd. I’m her slave.” Deliriously pleased, he set it in the microwave at the time and temperature directed. The first wisps of scent nearly had him crying.

  He ate the entire container, standing up.

  Sated, refreshed, and revived, he decided to take a walk down to the beach.

  Two minutes later, he came back and dug out a flashlight.

  He had always liked the sound of the sea, especially at night when it seemed to fill the world. The cold wind was bracing, the smooth velvet dark soothing.

  As he walked he made mental notes of chores and tasks he would need to see to the following day. The knowledge that most if not all of his list would be forgotten didn’t stop him from making it.

  He would need to stock up on supplies. Transfer some money to the local bank for convenience. Arrange for phone service. A post office box. He wanted to do more in-depth research on the Todd ancestry, and the Ripley family history as well.

  He wondered how much information he could pump out of Mia. Definite tension between her and the deputy. He’d be interested to know what caused it.

  He needed to spend more time with both of them, though neither one would be easily nudged.

  A prickling on the back of his neck made him stop, slowly turn.

  She was glowing. A faint aura of light outlined her body, her face, the long coils of her hair. Her eyes were green as a cat’s against the dark. And watched him, just as steadily, just as patiently.

  “Ripley.” He wasn’t easily spooked, but she’d managed it. “I didn’t know there was anyone else out here.”

  He started back toward her. A ripple of air shivered over him. The sand shifted under his feet. He saw a single tear, diamond bright, slide down her cheek. Before she vanished like smoke.

  Three

  Three Sisters Islandwas still and white and perfect, like, Ripley thought, one of the snow globes on the shelf at Island Treasures. The storm that had swept through during the night had covered the beach, the lawns, the streets. Ermine-draped trees stood still as a painting, and the air was church quiet.

  She hated to mar it.

  Even now Zack was calling Dick Stubens and telling him to start up his plow. Soon the world would move again. But for now it was still and silent. Irresistible.

  A few feet of snow was one of the only things that kept her from her morning run on the beach. She tossed her gym bag over her shoulder, took one last whiff of whatever it was her sister-in-law was baking, and slipped out of the house.

  For now, for the length of her walk to the hotel and its health club, the island belonged only to her.

  Smoke pumped from chimneys. Lights gleamed behind kitchen windows. Oatmeal was being stirred, she imagined, bacon was sizzling. And inside those warm, snug houses, children were doing a dance of joy. No school. Today was for snow battles and snow forts, for sledding and mugs of hot chocolate at the kitchen table.