Page 92 of It takes a Psychic

He took the lock pick out of his jacket pocket and eased it into the hundred-year-old keyhole. Cautiously he pulsed a little energy. There was a distinct click when the lock gave way. He slipped the pick back into his pocket and took out his flamer.

He cracked the trapdoor. Light—the familiar kind used by humans to illuminate their homes and offices—appeared in the narrow opening.

“Who’s there?” Norton Thacker yelped. “What’s going on? This is a private residence. No trespassing. I’ve got a flamer.”

Great,Oliver thought. The mansion was crammed with flammable materials—a real tinderbox—and the owner had a flamer.

“It’s Rancourt,” Oliver said. “Dr. Griffin is with me.” He opted not to mention Roxy. “Sorry to intrude like this, but things got complicated last night.”

“Rancourt?” Thacker pulled the trapdoor open and looked down at them. “And Dr. Griffin. I wasn’t expecting you. Do come up.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said. He stepped off the ladder and into the library vault. “About the flamer.”

Thacker chuckled. “Not to worry. I was afraid you were an intruder bent on raiding my collection. I wanted to scare you off. I wouldn’t think of having a flamer around so many valuable books and documents and papers.”

“That is very good to know.”

Leona climbed up to the top of the ladder and moved into the vault. Roxy bounced up behind him and chortled at Thacker.

“You must be the dust bunny,” Thacker said, chuckling. “Ms. Harp mentioned you. Evidently you caused a bit of a to-do in the kitchen. Best behave yourself. My housekeeper was in quite a state after you left last time. It’s never a good idea to upset Ms. Harp.”

Roxy blinked her blue eyes and chortled. She was in full adorable mode, Oliver thought, and Thacker looked charmed.

Leona smiled. “I’m starting to feel like Alice in Amberland. Another day, another dust bunny hole. You never know where you’ll end up.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Thacker beamed. “Lovely to seeyou again, Dr. Griffin.”

He did, indeed, appear happy to see her, she thought, but his expression switched immediately to one of concern.

“I must admit I’ve been a bit anxious all day. Ms. Harp was acting rather strangely yesterday evening and she did not show up for work this morning. I had to make my own breakfast. Tell me, did you find the Vortex machine?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did,” Leona said.

“Oh, dear, I was afraid of that.” Thacker sighed. “I don’t suppose you were able to open it?”

“I did,” Leona said.

“I was even more afraid of that.”

“No need to worry,” Oliver said. “There was a dead body inside but it wasn’t Vance. Things got complicated, and in the end, Vortex melted down into a slag heap.”

Thacker appeared greatly relieved by that news. “Excellent, excellent.”He tut-tutted. “And not the least bit surprising. Old technology can be extremely problematic. Well, that takes care of the rumors about Vance’s return. I really ought to offer you both tea, but as I said, Ms. Harp did not show up today.”

“Hard to get good help, isn’t it?” Leona said.

“Just as well,” Oliver said quickly. “No time for tea, I’m afraid. We need to get on the road. Long drive.”

Leona ignored the unsubtle hint. She had been lucky enough to get another crack at Thacker’s collection and she was not about to surrender the opportunity.

She rezzed up her most polished smile and turned it on Thacker. “The last time we were here—yesterday—you mentioned you had a journal written by someone named Willard.”

Thacker brightened. “Willard. Yes, indeed. I found it years ago and moved it in here because it referenced some Old World theories concerning the prediction of outcomes associated with various approaches to paranormal enhancement. Predicting the results has always been the problem, you see. Methods of enhancement have been developed over the years but the vast majority have failed.”

“We know,” Oliver said. He checked his watch. “We’re under a time constraint here.”

Leona pretended she hadn’t heard him. “Any chance I might examine the Willard journal?”

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