Moonstone Shadows Read online

  “Let me know when you need a psychic,” Amber said cheerfully. “Shall I hand out free tarot reading flyers to all our suspects?”

  “That might not be a bad idea.” Fee stood up. “And then you send the guilty ones to me.”

  “No poisoning of suspects,” Teddy admonished. “But you’re free to make them sick for a week.”

  Hannah laughed and rose with the rest of them. Following the example of the others, she left cash on the table for her drink. She’d need to find a bank soon, but right now, she had no paycheck to deposit in it.

  She was almost glad she didn’t feel evil or any other weirdness as the others did. Strolling down the boardwalk under the single light from the parking lot, she enjoyed the warm night. She thought it might be fun to spend the night under the stars without shivering, but not tonight. The day had been draining.

  Letting herself in the front door of the antique shop, Hannah wandered through the shroud of shadows illuminated only by nightlights.

  She almost wished the Eversham painting were still there. That brief glimpse of the commune hadn’t been enough. She wanted the thrill of traveling back in time.

  Losing her mind wouldn’t be fun though. What if she had already lost it? Except Aaron had seen what she had, she was positive.

  So mostly, she wanted an active gift as the others had. She would have to be content being an encyclopedia.

  She was halfway across the shop before she saw the glowing crystal of a Lucy staff.

  At the same time as she noticed it, a shadow rose from the stairs. “Before you hunt crystals, Library Girl, you need to know what you’re looking for.”

  Fifteen

  Aaron wasn’t certain if he felt relief or disappointment when he unlocked his shop the next morning and knew Hannah had already left.

  He’d slept restlessly, reliving those odd episodes inside Hannah’s head—or his own. He was unclear how just touching her could set off a trip down someone else’s memories.

  If Hannah the Encyclopedia couldn’t find similar examples, they really were up a creek.

  He got caught up on his bookkeeping, sold a lamp, and was working on his website when Walker entered.

  “I need you to go with me to search Francois’s room before the Lucys do it,” Walker said sourly. “Wan Hai said she could cover for you, but she’ll probably arrange the whole shop under the principles of feng shui before we return.”

  “It would be worth it.” Aaron closed out the computer.

  He hadn’t realized he’d been bored out of his skull until Walker entered. Hannah was right. He’d turn to dust here. Guardians should guard, not be shopkeepers.

  Walker’s feng shui expert arrived not long after. A neighbor of Walker’s mother, Wan Hai had offered her services to Hillvale as a wedding gift to Sam and Walker. So far, she’d only succeeded in rearranging Walker and Sam out of one home and into another and persuading Pasquale to organize his grocery store.

  “The women are conspiring?” Aaron asked as Walker drove his official vehicle up to the lodge.

  “You had any doubt? The sheriff knows damned well about Mariah’s hacking skills, half the western world does. But he’s taken no action on protecting his network, so I’ve washed my hands of it. I can keep her out of my head, but that’s my limit. Even having a baby can’t slow her down.” Walker parked at the rear of the lodge, near the kitchen.

  “And what has Mariah learned from the sheriff that has the women wanting to search the room of a dead man?” Aaron unfolded from the SUV and tested the energy with his staff. The lodge always vibrated with unpleasantness, but Mariah’s ghostcatchers had settled most of the restless spirits. He didn’t detect an elevation of forces.

  “She apparently didn’t learn enough,” Walker said grimly. “Hence, the search. The coroner hasn’t done his job yet, so we have no way of knowing that Francois was even murdered. But the Lucys are right. If anyone knew anything about Carmel, it was her toady.”

  The lodge manager, Fred Roper, met them at the door to Francois’s room. Slightly balding, with a middle-aged spread unconcealed by his tailored suit, he’d taken over the management of the lodge after Kurt Kennedy decided to return to architecture. Aaron knew Roper came with impressive credentials for managing high-end resorts—and that he conducted a shady side business for a few of the lodge’s privileged guests. Carmel had liked the man, however, and finding someone she liked had been a requirement.

  “I’m keeping the key code for this room and Mrs. Kennedy’s under my own password,” Roper said, unlocking the outside entrance with his key card. “As you requested, the maids aren’t able to access them. Do you have any idea when we’ll be able to open them up again?”

  “Up to the sheriff at this point,” Walker said noncommittally, ducking under the police tape. “I’ll take it up with him after we’re done here.”

  Roper sniffed at the odor emanating from the room and grimaced. “The sooner, the better. I’m afraid there may be mice in the walls.”

  Aaron ducked under the tape without commenting. The room did smell musty, and he wasn’t particularly sensitive to smells. “Mildew in the walls?” he asked.

  “Mr. Kennedy said he’d have the place cleaned out so workmen can look for leaks,” Roper acknowledged from the other side of the tape. “Lock it up when you leave, please.” He strode off.

  Walker stood back, leaving Aaron to drift around the room in search of the strongest vibrations. “I’m inclined to believe Fee and think it just smells of Francois,” Walker said. “The man was scum. I won’t give you a dossier until you have a look around.”

  The bed had been made by the lodge’s maids the day Francois had died and looked untouched now. The carpet had probably been vacuumed at the same time. Francois took good care of his fancy livery, which hung in an orderly fashion in the small closet. A heavy scent of fresh marijuana emanated from the desk. Ancient avarice clung to the dresser. Wearing gloves, Aaron pulled open a few drawers. Thin gloves were no protection against the slime coating the furniture. “Sheriff take any diaries or anything from here?”

  “Yup. Francois did a little blackmail on the side. He kept notebooks of potential victims, along with photos, stolen letters, and whatnot. He had access to the entire lodge and all Carmel’s wealthy city friends. The word unsavory was invented for him. I’ve made a few calls. The only reason he’s never been caught is that his demands were small and easily paid off like a generous tip—in cash, of course.” Using gloves, Walker checked behind picture frames.

  “Just enough to pay for the weed and his gold buttons and not cause complaint, I’m guessing. Is the sheriff looking at Francois as a suspect in Carmel’s death?” Aaron pulled out a drawer and turned it over. An envelope was taped to the underside.

  Walker snapped pictures of the drawer before prying off the envelope. “Of course. They can wrap up both cases with no further effort, as long as the coroner rules no foul play.”

  “Life would be simpler that way. That envelope has Lance’s impressions on it. You probably don’t want to open it. The guy’s life has already been ruined. Doesn’t help to drag him into his own sister’s murder.” Aaron backed off, wishing he’d searched this place on his own, without officialdom breathing down his neck.

  He didn’t do illegal these days.

  He kept searching while Walker pried open the ancient paper. The vibrations in the room were so thick with. . . Aaron didn’t know if he could call it malum. Francois had been too lazy for evil. Ugly was the best word he could summon. But there was evil here. The crystal in his staff flickered with it.

  “It’s a love letter to Val, written decades ago. Must have happened right after she was disfigured. She may even have been in the hospital. Sounds like she was refusing to see him.” Walker tucked the paper back in the envelope. “Doesn’t look like the letter ever reached her.”

  “Carmel probably intervened. At the time, Val was a bankrupt Ingersson and a scarred actress with no future, not high on the l
ist of wealthy and powerful Carmel favored.” Aaron crouched down beside the bed. Surely the cops had searched the mattress? He was really, really reluctant to touch it with his senses open.

  “Francois was with Carmel that long? And he kept this letter why?” Walker sounded disgusted.

  “Ammunition would be my guess. Against Lance or Carmel or maybe even Val, should an occasion rise for its use. Will you turn over this mattress? I don’t want to touch it, even with gloves.” Aaron stood back, away from the vileness he sensed.

  Insensitive Null that he was, Walker flung the top mattress, comforter and all, to the far side of the bed.

  They both studied the box springs. Francois had covered them with newspapers and a yellowing sheet.

  “I’m guessing the maids don’t vacuum the mattresses,” Aaron said.

  “Or Francois told them to leave it alone. You want me to lift the papers too?” Walker leaned over to read the dates and articles. “They don’t look relevant to anything.”

  Aaron reluctantly touched the top layer, then removed a glove to pick up the folded pages from a San Francisco newssheet dated a dozen years ago. “Not picking up anything useful. At best, it could mean he laid this nest back then and hasn’t added to it.”

  They carefully sorted through the layer, stacking the newspapers in order of date, until the yellowed linen was uncovered.

  “If he’s hidden anything under here, he’s not touched it in years,” Aaron warned. “It’s what’s in here that’s giving off the bad vibrations.”

  “I’m still disgusted the sheriff’s men didn’t uncover it. Go ahead, rip it off.” Walker caught one corner of the sheet and tugged.

  “The deputy thought he had a heart attack victim. He was only after the prescription bottle.” Aaron tugged off the other end of the sheet. Together, they flung it to join the top mattress and comforter on the far side of the bed.

  Reluctantly, Aaron touched the box spring cover. It produced no distinct images other than avarice, much like Carmel’s closet. Feeling safer, he ran his hands over every square inch. When he reached the side, he hit the jackpot. “Here.” He removed a penknife from his pocket and cut threads. “Francois mended his own uniforms?”

  “Probably. He once worked for a clothing designer, got fired for getting high and molesting a clothing dummy,” Walker said in disgust. “Francois was never the brightest light in the fixture.”

  “Not if he fried his brains. He should have been born twenty years sooner so he could have joined the hippies at the commune.” The seam of the box spring opened. Aaron continued cutting at the neat, almost invisible threads. “Although I think most of the hippies actually had brains and talent before they fried them.”

  “We all do dumb things when we’re young. It’s not learning from our mistakes that’s the dividing line between ignorant and stupid. Francois had a history of stupid, until Carmel took him in. His mother was an old family servant. Kurt says Francois worshipped Carmel and would do anything for her, hence, the long tenure.” Walker snapped pictures of the opening in the box spring.

  “If she hadn’t taken him in, he’d have ended up OD’d in a homeless camp. Not sure which finale is preferable.” Aaron reached cautiously into the interior, finding a thick 8x10 envelope, testing it before drawing it out. “Francois’s retirement plan, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Walker muttered something in Chinese that Aaron was glad Hannah couldn’t hear. He thought a few Latin obscenities himself as he tugged the envelope out and presented it to the chief of police. “I can feel enough of the contents to know I don’t want to acknowledge their existence. I can only hope Francois was a really bad photographer and used bad paper to print the shots.”

  Unfazed, Walker pulled out a handful of professionally printed photographs. “Jeez, the man was a real sleaze ball. And Carmel wasn’t a sight better.”

  “I think I’ll go home and take a shower now.” Aaron stood up and headed for the door.

  He didn’t want to be in Walker’s shoes. How did one show pornography of a dead woman and her lovers to her grieving sons?

  Yawning after too few hours of sleep, Hannah followed Teddy down the trail toward the old church and well. She’d hung her staff on her backpack, carried a shovel, and wore her practical hiking boots and jeans.

  Teddy had pulled her thick auburn hair in a knot and topped it with a ball cap covered in sequins. In deference to the heat, she accented her curves with a bright yellow halter top, blue jean shorts, and high platform sandals. Hannah felt like a pencil stump beside her. Or a nun.

  “So Harvey showed you his hoard?” Teddy asked as they passed the track to Aaron’s place. “Are they all polished gems or uncut ones?”

  “Polished by his predecessors, apparently. Some, he buys. I don’t think he knows how to cut them. And they’re mostly quartz as far as I can determine, nothing valuable. But I can’t feel anything on them.” Hannah reined in her frustration. How was she supposed to identify evil or good when she only saw pieces of glittery rock?

  Harvey had been as disappointed in her as she was with herself.

  “He let me see them once. I wasn’t certain if that was all he had. Harvey’s secretive. What made him trust you?” Teddy stopped to pull a weed from between her toes.

  “He doesn’t journal. I think he wanted me to write up what he does with them. I told him I couldn’t write what I didn’t know, and it was his responsibility. Maybe he hoped I could identify their source since I’ve seen Keegan’s collection, but that’s on Keegan, not me. They’re all rocks to me.” Another source of frustration. She ought to be able to actively do something useful besides spouting what anyone could look up.

  “Let’s hope Walker is too busy at the lodge to rope off the well yet. Maybe we can all pretend Francois died of heart failure so reporters won’t be all over us again. I really want to lay this evil business to rest once and for all.” Teddy marched on through the dusty sage and up the back hill.

  Hannah snickered. “Right. Let’s just mutter a few chants and drive a stake through the heart of whoever is buried there and declare the land cured.”

  Teddy bestowed an evil look on her and continued on. “I have far better things to do than deal with a non-believer. A Null Lucy just does not compute.”

  “Librarian,” Hannah corrected. “I am supposed to observe and remain neutral. Even digging is probably against the rules, had anyone thought to write rules.”

  The wind whispered across the grasses as they reached the old cemetery, which is what Hannah called the land in her head. She pictured the Eversham painting as they approached. There was the shoulder-high boulder where several of the natives had crouched. The priest and the soldier had stood near an old stone well, against a backdrop of cottonwood. There had been no grass then, just dust and pebbles and the rock the priest was blessing.

  She hunted the spot where she’d slept the other day—higher up the bank in a level field.

  “Presumably, they wouldn’t have buried people by the well, right?” Hannah asked, studying the peaceful scene. A man’s body had lain there yesterday. The dry grass was crushed from gurney wheels and boots, leaving no other sign that Francois had existed.

  “As I understand it, an earthquake buried the well in the early 1800s, a century after the scene the Eversham depicts.” Teddy gestured in the direction of the old church. “The bluff crumbled and slid downhill, probably taking out any burial ground.” She crouched down to examine the soil. “Maybe the gold rushers or the ranchers didn’t know the history and planted their dead and built their church in the soft soil from the quake.”

  “The cottonwoods are a dead giveaway of the well.” Hannah examined the sunny boulder, wishing for markings or a map. In this dry heat, even moss didn’t cling to the rock’s rough surface. If anything had ever been carved in the stone, it had weathered away.

  “My crystal is reacting to something,” Teddy said worriedly, holding up her staff, which was visibly vibrating.

  Ha
nnah studied hers. Nothing. “Can you tell if it vibrates more strongly in one place than another?”

  Teddy waved the stick much as Aaron had the other day. “Maybe more strong near the boulder than where you found Francois. What are the chances he was burying something rather than digging it up?”

  Hannah crouched by the newly-dug shallow hole in the hard ground. “He didn’t get far either way. Maybe we’re going about this all wrong. Maybe we need a bulldozer.”

  She got out her hand shovel and peeled a layer of hard-packed earth from the edge of the hole. “Do you want to work on this one while I use the shovel over there where you feel it more?”

  “If I don’t need to be archeologically neat about it.” Teddy twirled her staff into the ground, indicating where she wanted to dig. “Mostly, I want to see if I can find any crystals, any indicator that the contents of that box were buried here.”

  “Good goal. Digging up bones isn’t high on my list.” Hannah switched places with Teddy, leaving her the hand tool while she shouldered the shovel.

  They worked silently for a while, then stopped to drink from their water bottles. Hannah eyed the bottle, then the shallow hole she’d pried from the ground. “This would be a damned sight easier if we had water to wet the dirt.”

  “It won’t rain until winter. Want to wait that long?” Teddy poured a little water in her hole and tried digging again. “Bulldozer,” she said in discouragement.

  “Magic wands. Why can’t we have real magic?” Hannah jabbed the shovel into the ground again, hitting more rocks. She hoped they were rocks. Bones should be deeper, right? She dug around the obstacle some more, then crouched down to see how far out the rock stretched.

  “Buried treasure?” Teddy called, glancing up from her own dig.

  Hannah sat down and used her work-glove-covered hands to dig around the gray mass. “It’s rock, but it’s sort of round. Is that natural?”