Page 46 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“I was at the morgue. I had to claim her body.”
The smile disappeared. Lynch opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again.
“How did you find me in Portland, then?” I wondered.
He steered around an old-growth cedar. “Your friend, Reina West. Penny provided her information long ago. I stopped by the house, and by some luck, saw the two of you walking to the pub.”
I frowned. “Gran didn’t give out people’s information. She was incredibly private.”
“Then the fact that she gave me yours as well as your friends should tell you something about how much she trusted me.”
The car stopped, and Lynch waited until I was out before following me to the front door, where I fished the house key out of my shorts pocket. The thick wooden door creaked as I let us in, and I felt the house draw back into itself as a new person crossed its threshold. I stood there for a moment, sensing it. No, the house definitely didn’t remember Jonathan Lynch, particle physicist and sometimes attorney-at-law.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked as Lynch followed me into the kitchen.
“Tea would be lovely if you have it.”
“Make yourself comfortable,” I said as I went into the kitchen to put on the hot water.
Lynch paced slowly around the living room, eyes shining as if they were catching the sunlight, though none of the crystals were catching anything was now that the rain had started again. His gingery brows were furrowed, and every now and then, his nose twitched, like he could smell something wrong. I didn’t have to touch him to know that he also sensed something had happened here.
I set out a tray with Gran’s chipped Coronado pot, some cream and sugar, and some of the strong oolong she favored in the mornings.
“I’m just going to wash up,” I said, eager to be rid of my sweaty running clothes. Particularly when my company was so impeccably neat.
Lynch nodded and took a careful seat on the faded couch, from which he could look out the windows and watch the surf. I forgot, sometimes, how hypnotic the view could be.
Fifteen minutes later, I was showered and changed into a clean pair of jeans and one of Gran’s old sweaters. The familiar wool made me feel closer to her as I was briefly blessed with an image of her knitting the thing when she was pregnant with my mother. I tied back my wet hair and pulled a pair of Gran’s silver hoops through my earlobes. Though she hadn’t worn them in a very long time, tiny pulses of her energy and grit sparked.
I considered what she might do if she were in my shoes. She was always suspicious of strangers and private to the extreme. Even if Lynch’s story were true—along with his argument that his very knowledge of me and my friends demonstrated Gran’s trust—she would still have been careful. So would I be.
When I returned, Lynch was crouched by the fireplace, running a finger through the ashes that had drifted onto the hearth.
“Would you like to start a fire?” I asked. “It is a bit chilly in here, and that will warm it right up.”
When he looked up, his eyes shone in that strange, iridescent way as before, then faded as he shook his head.
“I was just…looking,” he said as he tugged a linen handkerchief from his jacket pocket to clean his fingers. “It’s a unique large fireplace. Much bigger than the standard size. Wood-burning, I see?” He replaced the handkerchief with a grim smile.
I nodded on my way back to the kitchen. The water had boiled, I poured it into the pot and watched the tea leaves swirl, their deep brown essence seeping into the water. I placed two cups and saucers onto the tray and brought them to the coffee table in front of the couch. Lynch took a seat next to me while I poured out.
“The house was designed to accommodate it,” I said. “It was before I came, but Gran told me the story. Apparently, she insisted on having that stone cut from the local quarry and carted down here for the hearth, then found a metalworker in Eugene to forge the hood out of pure copper. She loved this fireplace.”
Lynch seemed lost in thought for a moment, and when his hand brushed mine again as he took his cup of tea, a snatch of fondness for a woman with dark eyes and bright red hair snuck through his defenses. A very young version of Gran, whom I only recognized from brief memories I had caught from her clothes over the years. She ran down the beach, collecting rounded stones from the rocky gray shoreline, and playing tag with her playmate, the viewer.Come on, lovey, darlin’ Jonny, catch me if you can!For a brief moment, I scampered after her with a grace unusual for one so small.Jonny.
Lynch took his cup, and the memory ceased. He grimaced as if slightly embarrassed, then opened his briefcase and removed the will.
“Let’s get down to business, then. Now, one of Ms. Monroe’s conditions for hiring me was the requirement that I would make absolutely sure that you were indeed the person receiving the estate before escorting you through the steps required to inherit. If you don’t mind.”
He held out his hand, which I examined blankly.
“If I don’t mind what?”
Lynch sighed impatiently, thrusting his hand out further. “You know what I am, Ms. Whelan. And you’ve already read some of my thoughts, access to which you were not explicitly granted. That’s considered very poor manners, by the way. Now I need some of yours in order to ascertain that you are, in fact, Cassandra Whelan, and not simply a very good imitation.”
My jaw dropped. “You can…do that?”
“I’vebeendoing that,” he said through his teeth. “Rather against my will, as it were. My mind is quite occupied enough without all of your thoughts and feelings thrust upon me every time we touch.”
