Over the years, he had learned that the crystal resonated with the energy of his talent. When he was really in the zone, the stone glowed like molten amber. The ultra-light it gave off, however, was from the paranormal end of the spectrum. Only someone who was sensitive to psi could perceive the heat in the crystal.

He’d noticed energy stirring on several occasions in the crystal. But until he had met Gwen, it had never heated with this unique color. It was the glow of sunlight, he thought, the same light that had guided him out of the flooded caves.

He opened the door, got behind the wheel, cranked the big engine and drove out of the small parking lot.

“Want to tell me what made you decide to give Thor the impression that you and I are sleeping together?” he asked.

There was a short, startled pause from the other side of the vehicle.

“Thor?” Gwen repeated, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly.

“Sorry.” He shifted gears. “I think it’s the hair.”

She smiled. “Wesley does have a certain sense of style.” She stopped smiling. “But I certainly never meant to imply that you and I were romantically involved. Are you sure that’s how it came across?”

He tightened his grip on the wheel. “Oh, yeah.”

“Are you positive?”

“Call it male intuition,” he said.

“I wasn’t trying to project that sort of impression, believe me. I just wanted him to know that I had—”

“Backup?”

“Yes, backup.” She was clearly pleased. “That’s the right word.”

“Why?”

“Wesley can be a trifle obsessive when it comes to his show. I don’t want him interfering with our investigation.”

“Do you think that he would?”

“Ha. In a heartbeat if he thought it might be fodder for an episode of Dead of Night. What could be more made-to-order than an investigation into the mysterious death of a woman who conducted research into the paranormal?”

“Is his series really popular?”

“It has attracted an audience on cable, but between you and me, I think it’s struggling,” Gwen said. “You can only do so many ghost stories, you know. After a while, they all tend to be alike. Evelyn and I did our best, but it’s hard to keep coming up with new angles.”

“Especially since there are no such things as ghosts.”

“That fact was the least of our problems,” Gwen said. “Between us, Evelyn and I did a good job of coming up with interesting locations and good scripts because we focused on genuine murders. We stuck with the really old ones, of course—historical mysteries.”

“The kind where everyone involved is long dead.”

“Right. The last thing we wanted to do was get sued by irate relatives of the deceased. Anyhow, once we had the mystery and the location, I just invented a ghost for the story. No problem.”

“Or have to wonder if you should go to the cops with whatever evidence you found?”

She glanced at him swiftly and then looked straight ahead through the windshield. “There would be no point going to the police in most cases. They wouldn’t pay any attention to a psychic counselor.”

“No, probably not. But you’re okay with the real cold cases?”

“Yes.” Gwen brightened. “I view them as fascinating puzzles. To tell you the truth, I think that Evelyn and I solved a lot of very old murders for Dead of Night, but of course there’s no way to prove it.”

“Because everyone involved is dead.”

“Yep.”

“Were you telling Wesley the truth when you said that you didn’t have any idea what Evelyn was working on recently?”

“That was the absolute truth,” Gwen said. “I’ve been busy with my clients and finishing an earlier script for Dead. I hadn’t heard from Evelyn in a while, but that wasn’t unusual. I just assumed she was consumed with her research. When she got caught up in a project, she became very, very focused.”

“Are you talking about her research for Dead of Night?”

“No,” Gwen said. “She just took that job to pay the bills. Her real passion was serious research into the paranormal. She set up an entire lab out at the old lodge near the falls. That’s where she spent most of her time.”

“When was the last time you heard from her?”

“I got a very cryptic e-mail message from her late last night telling me that she had stumbled onto something very important. She wanted to talk about it in person, not over the phone.” Gwen looked out the side window at the river. “But I didn’t read my e-mail until this morning. I tried to call her immediately, but by then it was too late.”

He caught the faint tremor in her voice.

“There was nothing you could have done,” he said quietly.

“I know.” Gwen trapped her hands between her knees and continued to stare out the window at the river. “I know.”

Brooding on what ifs never went well, he thought. He should know. The solution, he had learned, was to stay focused on the present.

“Let’s stick with what we have,” he said. “You’re thinking that if Ballinger was murdered, there may be a connection to whatever she was working on just before her death.”

“Yes.” Gwen turned back to look at him. “You heard me tell Wesley that her computer was missing. Her cell phone was gone, too.”

“I agree that under the circumstances that needs some explaining. You don’t trust Thor—Lancaster—do you?”

Gwen winced. “I wouldn’t say that, not exactly. It’s just that when you’re dealing with Wesley, you have to keep in mind that he always has an agenda and that he’ll do or say whatever it is he needs to do or say to get what he wants. The trick to dealing with him is to remember that the most important thing in his world is the future of Dead of Night. If you filter everything through that lens, you can work with him. He’s no worse than any other career-obsessed person, male or female. In fact, I’ve met worse.”

“Got any specific reasons for not trusting him?”

Gwen was silent for a few seconds.

“I guess I’ll have to go with the obvious answer,” she said. “Female intuition.”

“I respect intuition,” he said. “But I like hard facts, too. Correct me if I’m wrong, but earlier I got the impression that you and Lancaster have some history that involves more than a business association.”

“Two years ago, when we met here in Wilby, he tried to get me into bed.”

Judson’s gut tightened. “Do you distrust every man who wants to sleep with you?”

“Only when the man in question neglects to mention that he’s married. That tends to piss me off.”

Judson exhaled slowly and loosened his death grip on the wheel.

“Okay,” he said. “I get that. So, did you find out about the wife before or after?”

She gave him a cold glance. “It’s not really any of your business, is it?”

“No. But I am a trained psychic investigator. I tend to be curious by nature.” Especially when it comes to you, he added silently. “Sorry. You’re right. Not my business. Moving right along—”

“Before.”

“What?”

“I found out that Wesley was married before our relationship progressed to the physical stage,” she said stiffly.

“Is he still married?”

“No. Evelyn mentioned several months ago that Wesley and his wife were divorced.”

“Was Lancaster here in Wilby two years ago when the deaths occurred?”

“Yes,” Gwen said. “He was here.”

“Now there’s been another death and Lancaster is here again.”

“I noticed that amazing coincidence, myself,” Gwen said. “Here we are. That’s the Wilby General Store. You can park in front. We’re in time. Luckily Buddy doesn’t close much before five-thirty.”

Buddy Poole, proprietor of the Wilby General Store, leaned on the counter and peered at Gwen over the rims of gold-framed reading glasses.

“So, you took Evelyn’s cat, eh?” he said. “That’s mighty noble of you, but I’d better warn you up front Max is used to the expensive stuff. The high-end cat food, canned wild salmon and the good tuna fish. Evelyn always bought him the best—same brands that people eat. Gotta tell ya, my dogs don’t eat nearly as high on the hog as that cat.”