Zinnia by Jayne Castle

muttered.
    “Morris said that when they were dating, he and Polly had gone to an agency where the syn-psych counselors warned them that it wasn’t a good match, just barely passable. But they went ahead and got married, anyway.” Zinnia closed her eyes. “Good lord, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
    “Let the police notify Mrs. Fenwick,” Nick suggested with surprising gentleness. “It’s their job.”
    “Yes. Poor Morris.”
    “Do you think you could stop calling him ’poor Morris’?”
    “He was irritable and eccentric and secretive, and he was forever concocting conspiracy theories the way matrix-talents are inclined to do, but I got to know him. I was fond of him. At heart he was just a harmless little man who loved old books. I can’t imagine anyone killing him. Unless—”
    “Unless what?”
    She glanced around uneasily. “I wonder if this is connected to the Chastain journal.”
    “Not likely.” Nick surveyed the room with a single assessing glance. “For one thing, as far as I know, I’m the only one who wanted the journal badly enough to do something this drastic.”
    She felt as if she had just stepped into an empty elevator shaft. “My God, are you saying that you would have murdered someone in order to get your hands on the journal?”
    His mouth curved with deep cynical amusement, as if he had expected her to make the accusation.
    “Only as a last resort,” he said.
    “If that’s a joke, it’s in extremely poor taste.”
    “I’m noted for my lousy taste. But that’s another matter. Bottom line here is that I prefer to pay for what I want and Fenwick knew that. He had assured me that he would let me top any offer he got and I believed him. As I told you, we had an understanding.”
    “A gentlemen’s agreement, you mean?”
    “I’m flattered that you classify me as a gentleman, Miss Spring. I had the distinct impression that you thought I was one of the lower life forms.”
    Guilt assailed her. She knew that she had been very rude. “I’m sorry. I certainly did not mean to imply that I thought you were a, uh, lower form of life.”
    “It’s difficult to accuse a man of kidnapping without insulting him in the process,” he observed.
    “Yes, I suppose so.” She was thoroughly mortified now. “I beg your pardon. I’m afraid that I jumped to some unfortunate conclusions.”
    He inclined his head in a graceful manner. “Apology accepted. If you want to know the truth, I found your concern for Fenwick rather touching. Not many people would go that far for a business client. Especially one who was an irritable, eccentric, secretive matrix.”
    The satisfaction in his words disturbed Zinnia. It occurred to her that Nick Chastain was a man who probably preferred to hold the high cards in any situation. Making her feel guilty and coaxing an apology from her were subtle ways of shifting the balance of power in their relationship.
    This was a man who knew how to manipulate and intimidate others and did not hesitate to do so when it suited his purposes.
    Fortunately their association was fated to be extremely brief, Zinnia thought. She knew that if she had any sense she should be profoundly relieved by that fact. And she was relieved. Definitely. No two ways about it. The last thing she wanted to do was get mixed up with Nick Chastain. She had problems enough in her life.
    So why was she feeling a small wistful twinge of regret at the thought that she would probably never see him again after tonight, she wondered. Too much stress. That was the key. Her emotions were all over the board at the moment. After all, she had just stumbled into a murder scene.
    She took a firm grip on over-stressed nerves. “Whoever did this must have been looking for something.”
    “Maybe. But I don’t think it was the journal. It would have been too valuable to hide here in his main sales room. He was a matrix. He would have concealed it in a more clever fashion.”
    She peered at him, wondering why he