Sapphire Nights Page 5

  Kurt cut his steak, speaking as if by rote and not from interest. It was a pity. He was a good-looking, apparently intelligent man. “What does one do with a degree in environmental science?”

  Heck if she knew. If she’d had a computer, she could have looked it up. Of course, without passwords, she wouldn’t get far. She’d searched the notebooks and texts from the car and hadn’t found anything useful yet. “Teach, plan—I have a minor in landscape management, so I can design parks with an interest in ecological preservation.”

  She’d skimmed enough of the texts to garner a few familiar keywords to fling around. Had she come out here in pursuit of employment? If so, she hadn’t found any paper trail. She needed her email.

  “So you’re taking a sabbatical between school and work?” he asked.

  That’s what she’d led him to believe anyway. “Cass offered an opportunity I couldn’t refuse. These mountains are so beautiful! And so isolated. I hadn’t realized cell phones wouldn’t work and that Cass would have no computer.”

  He gestured over his shoulder. “Use our business office if you need to keep in touch. We keep computers and printers for the guests. I’ll tell the front desk to give you a key card to get in.”

  Hope bloomed. Here was reward for her patience. “Thank you! That’s so generous of you. Is there anything I can do in return? I haven’t had a chance to admire your landscaping yet. Perhaps I could look around, make suggestions?” At least knowing her major offered a hint of why she knew about plants and landscaping.

  “Knock yourself out,” he said, finishing his wine and looking for a waiter—not as if he needed wine but as if he checked on the efficiency of his employees.

  Carrying on a conversation with an empty head was tough. Sam admired a painting nearly hidden by tall plants. “I saw a mural in the diner that resembles an earlier version of the one on your wall. The same artist?”

  Kennedy wrinkled his brow as if trying to remember and turned to see what she was looking at. He shrugged and watched the waiter fill his glass. “There used to be an artists’ colony here. The whole town is littered with pieces like that. I suppose someday, we need to find out if any of those artists became famous. Although with our luck, it would probably be as an art fraud.”

  Sam widened her eyes at the disparagement, but before she could ask questions, he pulled his beeping phone from his pocket and frowned at the screen. “I have a situation I need to handle. Stay and enjoy your dessert. I’ll be back to take you home in a bit.”

  Shit, shit, shit, she wanted that key card. “I could wait in the business office,” she suggested quickly.

  He nodded in approval. “Good idea. I’ll speak to Derrick on the way out. He’ll have a card waiting.”

  He strode off without a look back. So much for making an impression. She’d even shampooed and used a ton of product to tame her hair into something better than a haystack, and he still didn’t notice.

  Oh well, she had access to a computer. Too excited to bother with dessert, she finished her meal and hurried to the front desk, wondering what kind of situation required his attention.

  The desk clerk didn’t seem concerned, so the place wasn’t on fire at least. He handed her the key, gave her directions, and picked up a ringing phone.

  She hoped she’d know how to use the computer the way she knew how to use a fork and drive a car. Apparently, she had a strong unconscious memory.

  The business office was dark and empty. She unlocked the door, flipped a light switch, and settled into a desk chair in front of a monitor.

  The hotel’s computer password and username were printed on a sheet of instructions. Taking a deep breath, she logged in, opened a search engine, and typed in the phone number she’d found in her textbooks.

  Brigham Young University came up.

  She’d written down the campus phone in her textbook, not her own? What kind of person did that?

  One without her own phone? Was she that poor or that invisible?

  Hours later, a rap on the window of the business office shook Sam out of her computer search. What time was it? She glanced at the computer clock—going on ten. She turned around and saw a dirty, disheveled Deputy Walker leaning against the glass. At least her alliterative depiction didn’t include dangerous. Beneath his whisker-stubble, his face looked drawn and exhausted, which made him slightly more approachable.

  Had Kurt sent a police officer to take her home? Rude.

  Feeling better that Samantha Moon didn’t seem to have any missing person or “This person is armed and dangerous” warnings on the internet, she unlocked the door and joined the deputy in the hall. “Are you on duty twenty-four hours?” she asked, more sympathetically than she’d intended.

  He shrugged. “They save me a room here for nights when I’m running late. Kurt’s mother just arrived, and they’re having a family wrangle. I can run you home if you like.”

  Charming. She’d been deserted for his mother. A ticket to wealth seemed even less appealing than earlier.

  “I’m thinking of storing bicycles all over town,” she said crisply, stalking for the nearest exit. The swish of the skirt against her legs felt odd and sexy. Non-student Sam seemed to like skirts.

  She could feel the deputy looking, which made her feel a tad better about being so callously abandoned.

  “Getaway vehicles? How about roller blades?” he suggested. “Easier to store. Although either of them in that outfit and without helmets and knee pads is asking for trouble.”

  She was tired, frightened, and horribly alone. That was the only excuse she had for the vain thrill that he’d noticed what she wore. “So I need to store my Superwoman costume in telephone booths with the bikes? Maybe I’ll just take up hitchhiking.”

  “Don’t recommend it. Small towns come with crazies too.” He opened the door of his tall SUV and assisted her in.

  Her hand felt swamped by his rough grip. At the same time, she was reassured by his strength. Hormones played havoc with her swirling emotions. Why on earth did this a scruffy cop strike sparks when the wealthy resort owner didn’t?

  She stared at her hands as he climbed in rather than study the profile of the man who might one day lock her up. “Are you free to talk about the grave we saw today?” That was better than—can the police tell that I don’t have an identity?

  “Not really,” he admitted. “Not without a coroner’s confirmation. But it’s not one of the settlers as the Kennedys will try to make you believe.”

  “So the body is bad news to keep from the tourists?”

  “You catch on quick. But it’s old news and shouldn’t cause too much of a stir, unless the Lucys go loco. I don’t suppose you can offer any influence there?” His tone didn’t sound negative, just discouraged.

  “Lucys?” The fog was rolling in again, and she couldn’t see his expression in the dashboard light.

  He slumped in his seat and steered with one hand. “The local psychics, witches, whatever. I understand the early spiritualists called themselves the Lucent Ladies. It kind of devolved from there.”

  “Understandable,” she acknowledged dryly. “So the normals got called Nulls in retaliation. No, I don’t have a bit of influence there. The best I can do is sneak you a pie at Dinah’s when I start working there.”

  “That will put you in command central. Try to keep them calm. Feed them lots of Dinah’s pie.” Amusement tinged his voice, until they arrived at the town square. The parking lot was full and all the café’s lights were on, and he turned grim again. “I don’t suppose that means she’s serving hot beignets.”

  “Probably not?” she guessed. It appeared to be standing room only inside the small café.

  “Mind if we stop? I can understand you’d rather go home, but I either need to go in there and calm the Lucys or run back up and stand guard over that grave.”

  “I need to keep walking shoes in my superwoman booth,” she said. “Let’s stop. I’d rather not be dragged out of bed again.”

/>   “I kinda like the gladiator shoes you have on,” he said, parking the truck. “At least they’re not the kind with the spiky heel.”

  Delighted that he’d noticed, Sam swung her gladiator wedge at him as he came around to help her down.

  “Don’t tempt a hungry man,” he countered, causing her a visceral thrill as his green gaze took in her leg. “It’s been a damned long day, pardon my language.”

  Damn if that hungry look wasn’t a little bit dangerous, but he caught her hand instead of her ankle. “Your mother brought you up right,” she said, hopping down. “Did you grow up around here?”

  “Hardly.” Returning to taciturn, Walker put his wide hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the café. Golden light streamed through the gray fog, and the aroma of coffee spilled out when he opened the door.

  The crowd noise died down at their entrance.

  Mariah waved from her perch on the counter. “Kitchen’s closed but you’re welcome to volunteer for the séance. Cass isn’t here to lead it, but Tullah said she’d try.”

  “You need to learn not to bring the fuzz,” a male voice called from the corner of the room. Wearing all black, with his hair tied back in a leather thong, seated on a stool and bending over a guitar, the musician looked up long enough to wink.

  “I bring a pretty lady and all I get is insults?” her escort asked without rancor. “Shall we leave?”

  “Harvey, pipe down,” Mariah scolded. “We’re trying to help the deputy. Tullah, you make the choices. How many of us do you need?”

  “May I ask who you’re trying to contact?” Sam asked, surprising herself.

  “The spirit polluting the vortex, of course,” Val said from the shadows of the room. “We must send him across the veil so he does no more harm.”

  “She means she wants to know who the body belongs to,” Mariah translated. “None of us has been here long enough to know of anyone gone missing in recent times. He’s not a settler, is he?” she asked directly of Walker.

  “That’s for the coroner to say,” he replied in a low rumble that reached the entire audience. “If you don’t need us, I think I’ll take the lady home. You’ll scare her back down the mountain with all this hocus-pocus.”

  “But she’s the reason we’re here,” Daisy protested. “If we don’t consult the spirit and find a murderer, Samantha will die.”

  Chapter 6

  Late evening, June 16

  * * *

  Mariah unlocked the front door of Cass’s Victorian mansion and the chosen ones spilled inside. Electric candle sconces flickered on in the foyer as they entered. Lights that lit themselves were just one more horror to add to this thriller film Sam had fallen into.

  Shaken by Daisy’s ridiculous proclamation that there was a murderer on the loose and she might die, Sam threw a longing look toward her guest cottage, but she would never sleep now.

  Walker had abandoned her to the Lucys, saying he had to guard the gravesite or one of the lunatics would be digging around, looking for more bones. She feared he was right. The people who hadn’t come with the chosen thirteen had quickly departed for their cars and bicycles, and at least half of them had headed up the hill. She didn’t envy him his job.

  Not that she envied her position either. Mariah patted her on the shoulder, then led the others past two enormous dark parlors into a dining room decorated with gold 70’s flocked wallpaper and hung with a crystal chandelier. Sam appreciated that the chandelier didn’t light automagically as they entered, but several sconces on the wall did. She’d watched this time but hadn’t seen anyone flip a switch. Motion detectors, perhaps? The room was too dim to watch everyone at once.

  No draperies adorned the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the fog pushing against the glass was curtain enough. Sam could make out a variety of paintings along the wall but couldn’t discern their subjects. Oddly, some seemed to be frames with no art, and there were blank places where it looked as if pieces had once hung. But the shadows prevented closer inspection.

  Mariah pressed Sam down in a chair at the head of a long table while the others flitted about, seeking positions between her and Tullah, who took the other end.

  Did feeling weird mean that she’d never attended a séance?

  “Join hands,” Tullah ordered in the same perfectly matter-of-fact voice she’d used when telling Sam to wear the sprigged skirt. “It’s late, and our guest is tired, so let’s keep this quick and focused.”

  The marmalade cat leaped to Sam’s lap, then climbed to the table. She curled up in the center. Mariah had said the cat had escape hatches. Good thing, if so, because Sam sure hadn’t been around much to look after her.

  Mariah held her right hand. Susan, a grandmotherly woman with a cheerful smile and a head full of curls, took Sam’s left.

  The lights went out. Since everyone was at the table, holding hands, there had to be a switch on the floor. Sam had a feeling this wasn’t the first time the ladies had held a séance here.

  “Spirit of the vortex, speak,” Tullah commanded in a low, reassuring tone. “Tell us who you are.”

  Sam felt ridiculous. She concentrated on the warmth of the two hands she held. That the hands of strangers held comfort worried her a little. Had she been a lonely student? Had she had lovers?

  “He is here,” Susan said suddenly. Her hand now felt cool and moist. “He senses our guest.”

  Well, now there was a great opening for a scam. Excite the newcomer, get her invested in the outcome, then start making demands. Or was that just scientific skepticism?

  “Name yourself, spirit,” Tullah inserted into the following silence.

  The cat stretched and walked down the table to one of the women to whom Sam hadn’t been introduced. Buxom, with graying auburn hair, she wore tangles of gold and garnet beads. Emma batted her head against the woman’s chin.

  “He’s not clear,” the beaded lady said in a low contralto. “He’s been gone too long.”

  A rustle of disappointment whispered around the room. Sam felt Susan’s palm grow clammier. Mariah squeezed her other hand as if to reassure.

  “Evil,” Tullah said in a guttural tone unlike her own. “He speaks of evil.”

  “Tullah has a spirit guide,” Mariah whispered in explanation.

  “Evil must be cleansed,” the spirit guide said.

  “How?” Mariah asked.

  Startled by this sensible question to an insensible speech, Sam almost released her grip. Both Mariah and Susan tightened theirs. An almost visible ripple of excitement circled the table.

  “Fire and serpents,” the guttural voice responded sadly. “Fire cleanses.” A hesitation, followed by a sharper, less dolorous tone—“Tell his son to beware.”

  The sconces abruptly flickered back on, and the women dropped Sam’s hands. Susan surreptitiously wiped hers on her skirt, and Mariah frowned.

  “Well, that wasn’t helpful,” Valdis said in disdain. “We really need Cass. She can translate even the most reluctant spirit.”

  “That was more than enough for me.” Deciding a master of environmental science would be firm and decisive in the face of lunacy, Sam stood and scooped up Emma. “Even I know that fire up here would be devastating.”

  “We’ll have to wait for police to learn the spirit’s identity before we can find and warn his son,” Mariah said worriedly. “Tullah, are you all right?”

  The thrift store owner raised her palm. “Nothing a good whiskey won’t help. See our guest home. We already know that evil walks our town, and we need to look out for each other.”

  Holding a purring Emma, Sam didn’t feel the fear she was probably supposed to feel. “If evil is real, then there are plenty of other places in this world that need to be burned,” she said as they walked past flickering sconces to the front door. “I thought serpents were supposed to be evil.”

  “And I thought the devil thrived on fire,” Mariah agreed cheerfully. “Séances are seldom useful. And Val is right, Cass’s are bet
ter, but I’m pretty sure she adds her own spin to the spirit’s words.”

  Relieved that she wasn’t the only skeptic, Sam set Emma down when they reached the door at the top of the stairs to the studio. She rummaged in her purse and retrieved the ring with her car keys and an unidentified locker-type key, along with the studio key she’d added to it. Hiding keys under geranium pots negated the purpose of a lock in her opinion. Emma sniffed at the flowers on the tiny balcony as Sam unlocked the door. “Do you have a ride home? It seems a little ridiculous to walk each other back and forth.”

  “I know these paths better than evil does,” Mariah said with a chuckle. “There’s a shortcut by the rose bed, leads past my place and into town. Safer than walking the road.”

  “I’ll watch from up here.” Sam gestured at the stucco wall above the roses. “Holler if you meet evil.”

  “I’ll blink my front door light when I’m home. That’s what I do for Cass.”

  Sam was doubtful that she could see much through the rising fog, but a wind kept it to wispy drifts. She waited until she saw the light blink down the hill, then reached inside and flicked the front door light switch.

  “Come along, Emma. Did you eat everything I left you? Do you need more? I wish this Cass person had left care instructions.”

  The studio seemed like a quiet, sensible safe haven as Sam entered, flipping on normal lights. She pushed boxes up against the wall to clear floor space. Had she left those books out? Scooping them up, she deposited them in a partially empty box.

  It wasn’t until she entered the bed area behind the blanket and saw her interview suit crumpled on the floor that she realized someone had violated her space.

  Early morning, June 17

  * * *

  The last time Walker had taken time off had been for the hospital and funeral. That had been over a year ago. But officially, today was his day off, and this time, he was taking it. He showered and shaved at the lodge. He kept his very own Superman stash in an employee locker so he had jeans and a flannel shirt. He actually grinned when he took out his wrinkled clothes, remembering the newcomer’s sardonic comment from the night before.