Free Midnight Crystal by Jayne Castle Page A

cookie jar and looked hopeful. After replacing three broken lids, Rick had devised a wire closure that thus far had withstood Gibson’s attempts to get at the contents of the jar on his own. Marlowe knew that Gibson had not given up, but until he figured out how to undo the wire lock, he was forced to wait for Rick to open the treasure chest for him. Rick had given Marlowe a similar device to lock the cookie jar on her kitchen counter.
    “Here you go, little biker dude,” Rick said. He unfastened the wire lock and lifted the lid. “You probably need a couple of energy bars. Looks like you had a hard night up there in those mountains.”
    Gibson chortled agreement and hopped up onto the rim of the jar. He surveyed the mound of High-Rez Energy Bars inside. The bars were identical as far as Marlowe could tell, but Gibson always dithered a bit before making his selection. When he found the perfect bar, he tumbled back down to the desk and began to unwrap it.
    Marlowe tossed the Beacon aside. “The rain ruined my new leather jacket.”
    “That’s all you’ve got to say?” Rick demanded. “You’re the head of J&J, charged with the noble responsibility of investigating crime. You’re having a secret affair with the boss of the most corrupt Guild in the four city-states, and all you’re concerned about is your new leather jacket?”
    “I suspected the guy who picked us up had taken a couple of shots with his cell phone.” Marlowe peeled off her old leather jacket. “He recognized Adam, of course. I didn’t realize he would manage to sell the shots to the Beacon . Enterprising soul. Wonder how much he got for that picture.”
    “It’s the Beacon , and it’s an exclusive. Trust me, he got a lot for it. What’s more, he took more than one photo.” Rick held up another paper. “Sold this one to the Examiner . I think Gibson looks especially dashing in it, don’t you?
    She glanced at the second newspaper and winced at the picture. It showed her getting out of the pickup on a narrow street in the Quarter. She was wrapped in the old, tattered blanket that the driver had given her, and her hair was hanging in damp tangles. The finishing touch was the bright, psi-green sign of the sleazy tavern on the sidewalk behind her. The name of the establishment was Fallen Angel . The headline read, “Bad Date for New Guild Boss?”
    “Oh, geez,” she muttered. “I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t realize just how bad.”
    Rick eyed the picture with a critical eye. “Winters looks good. But then, he’s a Guild boss. You, on the other hand, look like a professional dominatrix who fell into a swimming pool. Bet all that leather got tight as it dried, huh?”
    She shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”
    “Cheer up,” Rick said. “As far as I know, there’s no video.”
    “I’ll cling to that.” She headed toward the inner office. “Anything from Pete on those alibis he’s checking out?”
    “Yes, but you’re not going to like it.” Rick got out of his chair and came to stand in the doorway. “He called this morning to say that everyone on the museum staff can account for his or her whereabouts at the time the artifact was stolen, but he also said that some of the alibis were less than airtight. He’s digging deeper as we speak.”
    She sank down into the old chair behind her desk. It squeaked beneath her weight. The chair had been purchased by Jeremiah Jones at the end of the Era of Discord, one of several items of furniture that had been replaced after the rebels had torched the place. Every Jones who had taken over the Frequency office of J&J following Jeremiah had kept the chair, faithfully sending it out for repair as needed. No one had ever been able to get rid of the squeak.
    “Would Dr. Lewis’s alibi be one of those that isn’t solid?” she asked.
    “I’m afraid so,” Rick said.
    “I just can’t believe he took the artifact.”
    “You’re the one who said his dreamprints were the