The Sinister Touch Read Free Page B

because you broke our date last night."
    "He made you pay for the rolls?"
    "Speaking of broken dates," Guinevere continued stoutly, "how was your little business meeting last night?"
    "All business. Elizabeth is a very impressive executive. She focuses completely on the problem at hand and deals with it. Great business mind."
    "Does she know how much you admire her, uh, mind?"
    Zac looked at her steadily. "Are you by any chance jealous, Gwen?"
    She lifted her chin with royal disdain. "Do I have cause?"
    "No."
    Guinevere went back to the fish and chips she had been nibbling earlier. "Then I'm not jealous." The thing about Zac was that he had a way of dishing out the truth that made it impossible to doubt him. She couldn't ignore that tingle of relief she was feeling, though. It annoyed her. "Now that we've disposed of the personal side of this discussion, perhaps we could get back to business."
    "What business?"
    "Well, I told Mason I'd mention his little problem to you."
    "Guinevere." He rarely used her full name. When he did, especially in that soft, gravelly voice, it usually meant trouble. "What exactly did you tell Mason Adair?"
    She concentrated on sprinkling vinegar on the French fries. "I just said I'd mention to you the incident in his studio last night. He's going to report it to the police, of course. But, as he said, they won't be able to do much. Just another small case of vandalism as far as they're concerned. They might even write it off as a case of professional jealousy. Mason's going to have his first show tonight. It could be that not everyone wishes him well. At any rate, Mason's fairly sure it isn't something one of his acquaintances would do. And there was something odd about that particular kind of vandalism, Zac. I mean, that business with the pentagram and the bolt of lightning in the center. It wasn't just malicious or nasty. It was weird. Pentagrams are associated with the occult."
    "You're rambling, Gwen. Get to the point. What exactly did you tell Mason Adair?"
    "I told you," she said with exaggerated patience. "I said I'd mention the matter to you."
    "And?" Zac prompted ominously.
    "And maybe see if you had any advice for him," she concluded in a mumbled rush as she munched a French fry.
    "Advice?" Zac ate the last of his clams and pushed the plastic bucket out of the way. He leaned forward, his elbows folded on the table, his hard, blunt face set in a ruthless, unrelenting expression that seemed to slip all too easily into place. His dark, rough voice was softer than ever. "No, Gwen, I don't have any free advice for your starving artist. But I do have some for you."
    "Now, Zac—"
    "You will stay clear of him, Guinevere. You will not get involved with pentagrams, slashed canvases, or artists who run around wearing only a towel while they wave good morning to their female neighbors. Understood?"
    Guinevere drew a deep breath. "Zac, I was asking for advice, not a lecture. If you're not willing to help—"
    "But I am willing to help, Owen. I'm helping you stay out of trouble. Or have you already forgotten what happened the last time you tried to involve me in a case I wasn't interested in handling?"
    "Now, Zac, you collected a nice fee for that business in the San Juans. You can hardly complain about my involving you."
    "Hah. I can complain and I will complain. Furthermore ..."
    Zac was warming to his topic now. The lecture might have continued unabated for the remainder of the lunch hour if a small toddler dressed in a designer-emblazoned polo shirt and shorts hadn't come screeching down the aisle between tables and made a lunge for Zac's empty plastic clam container. The child, giggling dementedly, scrambled up onto Zac's lap, grabbed for the container, and spilled the contents across Zac's trouser leg. Empty clam shells and the accompanying juice ran every which way, splattering the restrained tie and the white shirt Zac was wearing with the trousers. There was a shriek of delight from the