Page 113 of The Lady Has a Past

“I’m Willa,” she said. She gave Simon a cheerful smile. “Amalie said to bring you a tea tray. I added some freshly baked shortbread. It’s my specialty.”

“Please set the tray on the coffee table,” Simon said.

“Yes, sir.”

Willa whisked into the room. She set the tray down and arranged the cups and saucers. When she straightened she saw the detector.

“Is that your paranormal energy detector, Dr. Tinsley?” she asked.

“Yes, it is,” Otto said.

“Amalie said you found all sorts of paranormal energy here at the inn.”

“An unusual amount, yes,” Otto said.

Willa brightened. “That is very exciting and quite helpful.”

Simon eyed her warily. “How is it helpful?”

“We can use Dr. Tinsley’s findings for marketing purposes,” Willa explained. “People will love the notion of staying at an inn that has been scientifically proven to have a lot of paranormal energy in the atmosphere. It’s even better than the ghost. Excuse me. I’ve got to run. Got another batch of shortbread in the oven.”

Willa vanished out into the hall. Simon closed the door behind her and looked at Otto.

“You’ve always been right about one thing, Otto,” he said. “People are fascinated with the paranormal.”

Lyra sat down on the couch and picked up the teapot. “I think the widespread curiosity about the paranormal stems from the fact that everyone dreams and everyone has had a flash or two of inexplicable intuition. Neither can be easily explained, so we are forced to consider the notion that there is a great deal about the natural world that we do not know, let alone comprehend.”

Otto lowered himself into a chair, crossed his legs, and accepted a teacup. “I congratulate you on your sophisticated approach to the subject, Miss Brazier.”

Simon began to prowl the room. “Get to the point, Otto. What do you want from me?”

Otto contrived to look hurt. “Why must you always leap to the conclusion that I only visit when I want something from you?”

“Isn’t that the way it is?”

Otto sniffed in a pathetic manner. “If that is the case it is because I don’t feel terribly welcome when I do visit.” He looked at Lyra. “Simonis like a son to me. He was an orphan, you see. He was about to turn thirteen and they were going to toss him into an asylum. They said he was delusional.”

“She knows about my past,” Simon said evenly. “There’s no need to explain that I owe you a debt I can apparently never repay. So let’s just skip to the end game. From the looks of your clothes and your choice of hotels, it seems you did well for yourself on your East Coast tour. Have you gone through all the money you made?”

Anger and something else—something that might have been pain—sparked in Otto’s eyes. He got the strong emotions under control in a matter of seconds but Simon was oddly flummoxed by the small revelation. Otto rarely displayed any genuine emotions. He was always,alwaysunder control.

In search of enlightenment, Simon glanced at Lyra. She had just popped a small slice of shortbread into her mouth.

“Now I know why you’re so hard to read, Simon,” she said around a mouthful of shortbread. She dusted crumbs off her hands, picked up the plate of shortbread, and offered it to him. “You learned from a master, didn’t you?”

Simon glared at her and then at the tray of cookies. Unable to think of anything else to do, he picked up a slice of shortbread and took a bite. It was excellent.

Otto smiled at Lyra. “Are you implying he learned that trick from me?”

Lyra set the plate on the table and gave him a serene smile. “Simon is very good at concealing his emotions. I believe you taught him that skill, didn’t you?”

Otto raised one shoulder in an elegant, modest shrug. “The ability to project a certain image is vital if one hopes to control—”

“The audience,” Simon concluded. “You taught me that a long time ago, and I will admit that it has proven useful from time to time. Now if you would just tell me what the hell you want—”

“As it happens, I don’t need to borrow any money from you,” Otto said. “Not this time. I’m still flush from the tour.”

Simon stopped by the coffee table long enough to pick up another slice of shortbread. “Don’t keep me in suspense. There must be something you think I can do for you.”

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