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Dixie! She’d been here! He sensed her presence and smelled her sweetness. His mouth watered at the thought as fast as his mind seized with horror. Half-transmogrified hands grabbed the scrubbed pine table. He watched the return of human skin and nails with a wonder that never ceased. Nothing would alter the thrill he always felt at the power within his own body. He splayed his re-formed hands on the table, leaning into it on wobbly shoulders. He had to rest.
His head felt like a cannonball as he raised it and looked across the table. His eyebrows tightened as he noticed the plate on the table. Neatly encased in cling film, the even squares of chocolate appeared like pieces of a puzzle—the conundrum of Dixie LePage. The paper shook in his hand. He recognized a sheet from his own writing tablet. “Christopher,” she had written in a hand as clear and open as her smile. “Forgive me for barging into your house but the door was unlocked. Here are some brownies, Gran’s recipe, a thank you for the wonderful lunch. Went into Guildford this morning and left your books. He promised me a price by Friday so I’ll get back to you. Take care and see you soon, Dixie.”
The note crumpled in his grasp. Too weary to even consider the implications, Christopher dragged himself upstairs to his shuttered study and let sleep swallow his confusion.
Dixie drove back from Guildford in a daze. She had a small fortune in books on the backseat. Her throat tied itself into a dry knot at the prospect of actually asking for a check that large. Had Christopher any idea of their worth? Could he afford that much? She’d find out soon and demand an explanation about her appointment book. It had better be good.
He was in. She knew it as she turned the corner and saw the moss growing on the uneven roof tiles. Of course he was in. He was expecting her.
He was waiting, leaning against the open doorway of his cottage, watching for her from the shade of the front porch. He filled the doorway, with his long, slim legs stretching in front, one broad shoulder propped against the frame, and his head almost touching the lintel. Of course it was a cottage. He hadn’t blocked her doorway quite the same way but he still had the smile that could melt permafrost.
As she opened the gate with one hand, balancing the box in the other, she sensed his excitement. He came towards her. Warm, rippling waves of anticipation came at her like a flowing tide. No one got this excited over a bunch of books. Well, he could want all he wanted. She had a deal to make and a bone to pick. He took the box of books from her. His arms shook as they hefted the weight. “Come on in and let me know the damage.”
She followed him into the kitchen and noticed how his shoulders sagged with relief as he set the box on the scrubbed table. “I’ve got the valuation.” She handed over the sheet of paper and waited for the shock to register.
He read every word and figure, his head moving from side to side as he scanned the paper. A slight crease of his brows and a little tightening of his mouth showed concentration, nothing more. He looked up and smiled, his eye gleaming with something like triumph. “Seems fair enough. I assume you’re satisfied with the valuation?”
Dry-mouthed, Dixie nodded. Satisfied? This was more than she’d earned in six months as a school librarian. “Of course, I said you could have them.”
He reached into the drawer in the table. “Check okay?” he asked, uncapping his fountain pen.
“Yes, I suppose.” She’d never seen anyone write a check that large. He did it as easily as paying for a tank of gas.
“It won’t bounce. I made sure I had enough to cover this.”
“You knew how much it would be?” What sort of job did he have to fling this sort of money around? Come to that, what did he do for a living?
“I had a rough idea. It was slightly more than I expected but inflation affects everything and collectibles particularly.”
“Is this a hobby, buying old books? Or what you do for a living?” She’d been dying to ask. Having done so, she felt like a pushy American.
He didn’t seem to mind. “It’s a hobby. With some old friends, I’m assembling a library on the occult and the paranormal. I offered to buy from your Aunt Hope, but she wouldn’t part with anything. I’m glad you agreed.”
His shirt was open at the neck, showing a vee of fair skin and a few stay curls of dark hair. She forced her mind back to her question. “What do you do for a living, then?” Nothing that she’d noticed so far.
“Some years back, I made a few lucky investments. I’m a layabout. I write when the muse strikes me, drive too fast, ride when the weather’s fine, and get on Caughleigh’s nerves.”
She couldn’t hold back the chuckle. “I’ve noticed.”
He shook his head. “Watch out for him, Dixie. The only person he’s ever helped was Sebastian Caughleigh.”
“I can take care of myself.” Was he pursuing her just to get at Sebastian? “I came by yesterday to see you. The door was open.”
His smile didn’t quite become a laugh. “You left a plate of little chocolate cakes.”
“They were brownies.”
“Brownies.” This time it was almost a chuckle. “You know the local meaning? Brownies are little people. They cause milk to sour, hens to stop laying and haystacks to self-ignite.” His mouth twisted in a way that almost mocked her. “But of course, you wouldn’t believe in them. You’d put them in the categories of witches and vampires.”
“An interesting local myth.” It came out sharper than she’d intended but the hurt look on his face caused a twinge of guilt. “You don’t share my skepticism. The occult interests you.”
He smiled, but not at her. “That’s why I’m building this library. Why not search for knowledge if it’s there to find?” He tapped one of the books. “There’s old lore here. Forgotten ideas. Old dreams and nightmares.”
“I prefer to stick with realities.”
“Everyone has different realities, my dear Dixie.”
That did it! She certainly wasn’t his “dear” anything. He had mentioned realities, she wanted one explained. She reached into her pocket book and closed her hand over her appointment book. “There’s something I want to ask you.” She pulled her hand out of her bag. “I noticed this when I brought the brownies and wondered if you’d explain.”
She placed it on the tabletop and watched his knuckles whiten as they clenched the table edge. She swore she wouldn’t speak first. He owed her the explanation.
“So, the kindly neighbor act was an excuse to come snooping.” An icy cynicism crackled through his words.
“It was not!” Dixie felt the tabletop under her fist. “I tore a sheet off your message pad to write you a note, and the whole stack fell to the ground. I picked it up and just happened to find the agenda I’ve been missing since I arrived.”
“And how did you get in?”
“I opened the back door. You left it unlocked.”
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