Azure Secrets Read online

  All she had to do now was figure out who the Lucys were, right?

  She knew what Lucys were. Besides Peggy’s recommendation, they were the reason she was here. Lucys were weird, like her.

  When she pushed open the café door and entered the brightly lit café, women crowded the window. An orange-haired one with bangles turned and hugged her. Unaccustomed to inhaling strangers up close, Fee slipped away in discomfort.

  Thankfully, the café was so full that she didn’t have to sift through individual odors.

  A hawk-nosed woman with a long black braid and brown skin who looked Hispanic or Native American remained watching as the others took action. A tall pale woman with hair the shape and color of a dandelion going to seed was on the phone—one of the cordless landline kinds. Cell phones didn’t work up here.

  “Sit,” a short black server with nappy curls ordered from behind the counter, pointing at an empty stool.

  Fiona wasn’t entirely certain if the server with an Adam’s apple and rough voice, wearing a dress, was woman or man and didn’t really care. She sat. Despite—or maybe because of—her roiling stomach, the exquisite smell of perfectly cooked eggs and cinnamon rolls had her tongue hanging out. She hadn’t eaten much more than toast since Sunday night.

  Knowing the Yorkie’s stomach had to be as empty as hers, Fee stole a bread crust from an abandoned plate and fed it to Sukey, who wisely stayed in the backpack where she belonged.

  What did she do now?

  Try not to revisit the moment the Jag had sent Peggy flying like a trapeze artist through the air. Fee was grateful for the darkness that had prevented the image of Peggy’s expression being imprinted on her brain for all time.

  Peggy had been her social worker when Fee had been booted out of her final foster home at age seventeen. She’d even helped Fee get that last job. But mostly, they’d exchanged desultory e-mails, like that final one suggesting Fee might find opportunity in Hillvale. Did she need to tell anyone that? She couldn’t see any reason to call attention to herself by offering unnecessary information. The people in the café apparently knew Peggy better and would know how to contact her family.

  Her family! Peggy had a little girl now. Oh crap. Fee wanted to pound her head on the Formica to prevent tears. Or give excuse for them.

  Shock buzzed around the room as those who’d seen or heard the accident told others. Fee remembered she was supposed to be keeping anyone from going outside, but they seemed perfectly capable of staying out of the way on their own. She needed to inhale food odors, not fear and grief.

  The dandelion woman on the phone shouted that Brenda was on her way. If Brenda was a doctor, Fiona could tell them it was too late, but her natural preference was to remain inconspicuous. She’d learned survival techniques at an early age.

  But she couldn’t disappear while the server was slapping a heaping plate of fragrant bacon and fluffy eggs in front of her.

  Her belly demanded sustenance. Survival required eating when food was offered. As she’d taught herself years ago, she inhaled, letting the scrumptious aromas seep through and calm her soul. Other people did math equations in their heads to focus their whirling brains. Fee lost herself in identifying each ingredient from their scent. Thyme, good cheddar, and fresh pepper, nice. The taste came next, testing her knowledge. She could do this. She had to do this to stay sane.

  “Monty is covering her with a blanket from his car,” the woman at the window said in sorrow, jarring Fiona back to reality. “The reckless bastard killed Peggy.”

  Fiona determinedly shoved the delicious eggs in her mouth. Yes, thyme and cheddar, perfect.

  “Cass will be here soon, then,” Dandelion-hair said. “We’ll need to form a circle, send her spirit safely on.”

  The whole café rustled as people pushed from stools and booths, yanking Fiona back from Sensory-land. Uh oh, this was what the cop had meant.

  “It’s a crime scene,” she said loudly to her plate. “You can’t go out there yet.” She handed Sukey a piece of bacon over her shoulder, then shoved food in her mouth as the people directly around her caught her warning and passed it on. The room hummed with agitation.

  “We can’t just leave Peggy alone,” the braided one argued. “At least let me go.”

  Peggy wasn’t there anymore, Fee told herself. Peggy was gone. That was just a bloody awful corpse of a woman she hardly knew out there.

  “Walker won’t let you near,” Dandelion-hair warned.

  Fiona couldn’t actually see who was talking since she kept her back to the room, but she was starting to recognize the voices. She wondered if she could keep the food down, but she hadn’t eaten anything in—she did a mental calculation—thirty-six hours. The forkful of eggs was staying down.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent of cinnamon rolls baking. They had just the right amount of vanilla. Damn. The last time she’d been here, the café had been a dump. She’d hoped. . . But that was stupid of her. Nothing stayed the same for thirteen years.

  Now what was she going to do? Peggy had suggested she could find a job in Hillvale, but the only thing Fee knew was cooking, and the café had a cook.

  Finally getting most of her food down, she handed her last strip of bacon to Sukey. It probably wasn’t healthy for the beast, but she couldn’t afford dog food.

  “Here come Kurt and Teddy,” Black-Braid said. “Val’s already out there. Maybe we can make the circle large enough to be out of Walker’s way.”

  “Dinah, you should come too,” Bangle Lady called. “And you, too, dear, if you’re done with your breakfast. You were closest, and the spirit may cling to you.”

  Fiona had the sinking feeling they were talking to her. They’d just lost a friend. She got that. They needed a way to mourn. But why her? She wasn’t one of them. Did they know something?

  The server—Dinah, she guessed—untied her apron and threw it under the counter. She reached into a display case and handed Fiona an enormous cinnamon roll. “We got to do our part, hon.”

  Fee couldn’t refuse kindness. She wrapped the roll in a napkin and reluctantly stood up.

  “Here come Cass, Tullah, and Aaron. We’re good.” Black Braid marched out.

  She’d already failed Test One. Damn. The cop would hate her now. She might as well go back and find that cliff.

  Since no one else left money on the counter, Fee snatched an unopened banana for the road and trailed after Dinah.

  “Better whip out your crime scene tape,” Monty warned, watching the Lucys converge on the broken body. Wearing her usual long black veil, Valdis the Death Goddess was already launching into her operatic dirge. “No chance we can move Peggy further off the highway?”

  He didn’t want anyone else getting hit on the dark, rain-slick road.

  “It’s a hit-and-run,” Walker said matter-of-factly. “I’ve radioed CHP to keep an eye out for the Jag you described, but I want any and all evidence nailed down so the rich bastard doesn’t get away with this in court.”

  Monty’s brother Kurt was directing traffic, not that there was much at this hour. Once all the Lucys paraded into the road, they’d need to close the whole town.

  Cass strolled down from her Victorian hermitage by the cemetery. His half-aunt looked like a college professor with her silver-hair pulled in a sleek bun. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was a trouble-maker on a level equivalent to his mother.

  As the Lucys poured from the café, joining the ones gathering in the street, Monty noted the sad-eyed waif reluctantly following. A stranger shouldn’t have to endure this idiocy. Val’s mournful song and spectral veil would be enough to drive any sane person out of town. The newcomer looked ready to flee. He felt the same.

  “The other bikers,” Monty said, remembering the pack speeding past. “It’s still dark and the Jag had no lights. If they didn’t hear it coming, the highway is too narrow—”

  “Bicyclists?” Walker muttered a foul epithet, glancing up the road. A tall mountain o
f a man approached from the back lane to the cemetery, and the chief nodded curtly. “Here comes Keegan. He’ll listen to reason and keep the rest of the Lucys out of trouble. See what you can do about the bikers. The sheriff’s men and an ambulance should be on the way up, and cell reception is better down there if they need help.”

  “I’m taking the new girl. She doesn’t need Lucys on top of seeing this.” Monty strode off without needing to point out the one stranger in the midst of all the familiar women.

  Not all the Lucys were female. Aaron from the antique store had emerged to talk to Harvey, their itinerant concert pianist, in the glare of the town’s lone street lamp. They’d join Keegan once they made their way around the circle of women. Monty hadn’t really known Peggy, but he normally enjoyed the eccentric people who lived here. Watching a good woman killed right in front of him however. . .

  He needed life-affirming, normal action to balance out. If the bikers had been injured, maybe he could help. As he approached the newcomer, the mutt in her backpack yapped and tried to scramble free. “Let’s go look for those bikers, okay?” he murmured for her ears alone. He rescued the dog from a tumble, and it licked his face—normal.

  He didn’t have to feel as if he came out on the short end of the stick with normal women.

  When she turned and reached for her dog, he could see her huge eyes were a crystalline blue shadowed by dark circles. She looked half-starved and exhausted, but he caught a glimpse of intense emotion before her face shuttered, and she glanced away.

  She looked as helpless as he felt, shoring up his sagging confidence.

  “The bikers! I don’t know much first aid,” she protested.

  He knew shattered when he saw it. She needed normal as much as he did. “I have a first aid kit in my car. Unless you want to send off Peggy’s spirit with the Lucys, we’re all the bikers have.” He started walking, holding her dog for ransom.

  She didn’t hesitate for long. “I haven’t paid for my breakfast,” she said as she caught up.

  “Dinah accepts barter and IOUs. You can pay her later.” He opened the car door for her.

  Warily, she grabbed the mutt back as soon as she settled into the front seat. Monty didn’t speak again until he’d maneuvered his sedan past the crowd filling the parking lot.

  He could sense her tension in the way she held the dog. Now that his slow brain had time to process the horror, he didn’t think he could reassure her. “Where was Peggy when the Jag hit her?” he demanded, keeping his teeth clenched so he didn’t shout the fear nagging him.

  The girl—damn, he had to get her name—didn’t answer immediately. She removed her backpack and set it on the floor in back, along with the dog. Then she clutched her hands into fists and leaned forward to watch the dark road. “She’d pulled off the road, into the parking lot, like any sensible bicyclist on a narrow highway,” she finally said.

  That’s what he’d been afraid of. Monty practiced a mental litany of curses before allowing himself to speak again. “So the driver was either blacked-out drunk or it was deliberate.”

  She didn’t reply. He glanced over and saw her nod, then scrub at her eyes with reddened fingers.

  Damn. He counted to ten, letting his instinctive aggression settle before he spoke again. “I’m Monty Kennedy,” he said, returning his eyes to the road as he drove just a little too fast down the slippery ribbon of blackness. “Thank you for coming with me. I yell and punch things when mad, but I didn’t mean to take my anger out on you.”

  “My heart still feels as if it will pound out of my chest,” she admitted softly. “I’m Fee.”

  “Fee?” He wanted to watch her face, but the road was too narrow, and he had to keep an eye out for bikers and pray they hadn’t been bowled down like pins. “Short for?”

  She hesitated again, then said reluctantly, “Fiona.” She pronounced it Fay-onah. “Only I dislike being called Fay, and most people mispronounce it anyway.”

  He snorted. “You’d rather be called Fee, like a service charge, then Fey, like a fairy?”

  He heard a small smile in her reply. “Well, no, I don’t mind being called a fairy, but when I hear Fay, I think of some old-time country singer.”

  “Well, Fay-onah, Hillvale is the place to make changes. Are you staying for long?” Monty knew there was a gas station halfway down the mountain. He watched for landmarks, praying the bikers were there or someone had seen them cruise by, healthy and happy.

  Squeezing between the seats, the dog scrambled into his passenger’s lap, and she hugged the ball of fur. “This is not an auspicious start,” she said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

  He didn’t want to tell her of more recent deaths in Hillvale. They were developing a reputation that wouldn’t help tourism. But having a normal conversation with a normal woman further cooled his fury. “Auspicious, good word. Superstition runs rampant in Hillvale, if you didn’t notice.”

  “Believing in spirits and praying for the dead are not unusual, although I’ve never seen a community come together so quickly. It was. . . interesting.”

  “Hang around, it gets better.” Spying the rusting gas station sign, he slowed down and swung into the crumbling blacktop lot.

  The colorfully-dressed bikers were huddled with their bikes under the station’s one overhead light.

  Leaving the dog in the car, Fiona climbed out without waiting for him to open her door. The bikers glanced up worriedly, Monty noticed, but they relaxed at the sight of a slight woman approaching.

  “Are you all right?” she called in an almost husky voice that belied her size. “Did the Jag slow down?”

  Their appointed leader set down his helmet and stepped forward. Introducing himself, Monty held out his hand and they shook while Fiona waited.

  “The lunatic came down on us like a bat out of hell,” the biker said. “We heard his brakes squeal and jumped off the road just in time. Few bruises and scratches and a bit shaken, but we’re good. Driver a friend of yours?” he asked angrily.

  “He hit a woman back in town and fled the scene. We were afraid we’d either find him or you or both in a canyon.” Monty scanned the others sitting on the curb, drinking from their water bottles. They appeared whole. “We have cops and an ambulance coming. If anyone needs help, they can stop here first.”

  After ascertaining they didn’t want help for their bruises, Monty gathered their contact information. He checked to see if anyone had noted license tags or any other identifying features, but they’d all been sprawled in bushes, clinging to their bikes. He passed out free meal cards for the lodge restaurant along with his business card and figured he couldn’t do more.

  Silently, Fiona followed him back to the car. She lifted a questioning eyebrow at the sports equipment in the trunk he’d popped in case he needed the first-aid kit, but she didn’t ask. She climbed into the car as he closed the trunk.

  He couldn’t decide if he liked a non-talkative woman or not, but he appreciated that she didn’t bombard him with questions when he joined her. Most women he met heard his name and saw the equipment and immediately set out to discover his career plans and financial condition.

  Just as he was getting used to the comfortable silence, she asked, “You’re the mayor of Hillvale?”

  She’d seen his business card. Oh well, she would have learned who he was within two minutes back in town anyway. “For what little that’s worth,” he admitted, turning the car toward town.

  “Do you know if Dinah could use any kitchen help?” she asked with what sounded like forced confidence.

  Damn. That was the absolute last thing he wanted—giving Dinah the help she needed to pretend she could keep operating two restaurants. That would be the end of any hope for his health food bar.

  “Dinah’s pay practices are questionable,” he said truthfully. “The same goes for most of Hillvale. The barter system works best when money is tight. Wreaks hell with taxes though.” He glanced at her. She was wearing a decent but not pricey ho
odie and canvas shoes. Her backpack was sturdy but worn. College student? If so, he needed to back off. He liked his women mature.

  “Wreaks hell with rent too,” she said with a little more animation. “But I’m good with money. I can set her up with a sound bookkeeping system and help with the kitchen.”

  “Are you an accountant?” he asked in hope, wondering if he could hire her to do the town books instead. He sure as hell had muddled them.

  “I could have been, I suppose, if I’d finished college. But there’s that rent thing rearing its ugly head. I’m a good cook.” Again, she added a note of defiance.

  As far as he was aware, Dinah didn’t like anyone interfering in her kitchen, but Monty wouldn’t burst her bubble. New people wanting to stay in Hillvale were rare. He could find her another position. “Not a bartender by any chance, are you? Are you old enough to serve liquor?”

  She laughed sadly. “And then some. But no, I’ve never worked in a bar, sorry.”

  Not a college student then, good to know. “A pity. My brother needs a bartender. He would have snatched you up for his new restaurant, especially if you accept the barter system. He can probably hire you as a server.”

  She didn’t reply to that. He wasn’t stupid. Her offended attitude screamed that she was a cook, not a waitress. Damn. He didn’t want to chase her off. He’d find something for her that was better than that greasy kitchen.

  The sheriff’s car and an ambulance roared past, lights flashing. By the time he drove into town, the parking lot had emptied of Lucys, and Walker had the scene roped off with crime tape.

  Opening the door before he turned off the ignition, Fiona asked, “You can handle the cops, right? I need to look for a place to stay.”

  She was gone just as if she were as fey as her name.

  Three

  Tuesday, lunch

  She was tough, Fiona told herself. She’d lived on streets where gang warfare was a way of life. She’d supported herself since graduating high school, after her last set of foster parents kicked her out. She’d even managed a few years of community college, until she realized they couldn’t teach her what she didn’t already know, and she could never afford university tuition.