Sapphire Nights Page 6

  He hadn’t felt like smiling in a very long time. He would never smile again if he allowed another flaky female under his skin. So he needed to steer clear of Sam if she was a Lucy. The jury was still out on that.

  He’d diverted the crazies from the crime scene by warning them that he’d seen a cougar and her cubs prowling the grave site. So he’d managed a decent night’s sleep and was now prepared to be entertained hearing about the séance.

  The people who knew him waved as he entered the café. The tourists didn’t look up from devouring Dinah’s scrumptious breakfast. The food almost made up for not having cell service. If he’d wanted a setting out of time and place to recover, this was a good one.

  Samantha glanced up from filling a coffee cup and smiled, but dark shadows still circled her sad eyes. The therapist had told him he had a strong need to protect derived from his teen years of being his abandoned mother’s crutch. He was trying hard not to go looking for the helpless and needy anymore, but damned if he could avoid those big blue eyes sparkling like sapphire crystals when she glanced at him.

  He took a stool at the counter and nodded at the coffee pot she lifted in his direction. This morning she’d tied her hair back and covered it with a ridiculous ball cap with Dinah’s written above the bill. The orange didn’t clash with her blue denim shirt, but it stood out.

  “Did the spirits talk?” he asked after inhaling the first half of his caffeine.

  “I think the consensus was that we should burn evil or maybe just the serpents. Does this mean we should burn the person who ransacked the studio last night?” She kept her voice low enough that only he could hear.

  He froze in mid-sip, then lowered the cup. “Anything taken?”

  “I don’t have anything worth taking. Someone just wanted to know who I was.” Her whisper was almost accusatory.

  “Not me. I can look you up in a database anytime I need to. Do you want me to take a look around? Help change the locks?”

  “I’m a guest. I can’t change locks. But thanks for asking.” She plastered on a big smile and spoke more loudly. “Pie or do you want something more healthy?” Her voice wasn’t precisely sultry, but the practical question held a pleasant musical note that was better than her earlier fear.

  He played along. There wasn’t much he could do about a B&E with no damage. It cost money to run fingerprints and the county didn’t have much. “I’m off duty. I have time for healthy. I trust the Lucys don’t mean to burn down the lodge to stomp out evil?”

  She refilled cups up and down the counter while she talked. “They consider the lodge evil?”

  “Vile interloper polluting the environment,” he answered solemnly.

  “Money is the root of all evil,” Harvey added, sliding onto the empty stool beside him. “Greed corrupts.”

  “Tourists put food on the table,” Dinah said, emerging from the kitchen to slap an enormous omelet in front of Walker. “Don’t condemn what you ain’t got. Poached for you?” She glanced at Harvey.

  “As always, dear, with a bottle of your devil sauce,” he shouted after her as she strode back to the kitchen.

  “Evil.” Walker pointed at Harvey.

  “Go f. . .” Harvey grimaced and watched Sam smiling, chatting, and pouring juice for a child. “Where the hell did she come from? Do you know?”

  “Utah.” Walker bit into his heavenly omelet and ignored Harvey’s frustration. Swearing did seem inappropriate around the ethereal Miss Moon.

  “Salt Lake City is the only excuse for that air of angelic innocence. Botticelli would have loved her. Hey, Sam, could I have some of that juice?”

  Sam picked up an empty glass and set it in front of Harvey. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Did I see you playing a guitar last night?”

  “He’s a wandering minstrel,” Walker told her. “Sam, meet Harvey the Loafer. Harvey, this is Samantha the Moon Goddess.”

  “Someone got up feeling perky this morning.” She filled Harvey’s glass, then refilled Walker’s cup with the coffee carafe in her other hand.

  “I get to go into Baskerville today, restock my kitchen, and do the laundry,” Walker explained. “Fun day ahead. Can I get you anything while I’m down there?”

  He watched her brow furrow and a cloud of uncertainty cross her face. The woman had secrets. He intended to spend a little of his time ferreting them out. He figured the missing person file would be on his desk, but he already knew what he’d find in that, and it wasn’t Sam.

  “Nothing that I know of,” she replied, before hurrying off to take someone’s money at the cash register.

  “Look for Cass,” Harvey said urgently, just as Dinah appeared with his egg.

  Dinah set the plate down and looked as grim as her perpetually cheerful red lips could manage. “Cass is in trouble,” she agreed. “Look where Sam was last.”

  Well, hell, so much for his day off.

  Chapter 7

  Afternoon, June 17

  * * *

  After the lunch rush, Dinah counted the cash drawer, peeled off several bills, and handed them to Sam. “You’re a powerful draw, hon. Reckon you earned your wages today. Go have some fun, smell some flowers.”

  Sam had been questioned by every local who’d stopped by the counter. She felt as if she’d earned her wages just fending off questions about her past. She’d finessed queries about the skeleton so she said nearly nothing and drew the conversation back to the person asking. That performance alone was worthy of actor’s pay.

  Relieved that she had a little more cash to get by on until her brain started working again, Sam shoved the bills into her pocket. “I need to plant Tullah’s flower pot. Do you mind if I dig out some of those alyssum volunteers you have in yours?”

  “No idea what an alyssum is. Mariah planted that thing. Take what you like. Go over and see Amber, get your cards read, see if she’ll give you some of her pretty flowers.” She nodded at the planter across the street spilling over with lobelia, geraniums, salvia, and marigolds.

  Sam would rather not have her cards read, but if that was what she needed to do to dig around in that planter, she’d bite the bullet. She was itching to pinch back the geraniums and salvia and thin out the marigolds. The purple lobelia was too gorgeous to touch.

  In last night’s computer session she’d learned she couldn’t do much of anything about her lack of driver’s license without her birth certificate or other government identification. She didn’t even know what state she’d been born in. So if she wanted to use the computer again, she’d either have to borrow a bike or risk driving without a license.

  Early afternoon and the sun was shining brilliantly as she crossed the street. Tourists poked around in the shops, but there was no line waiting beneath the squat wooden building with a Tarot Reader sign. A bell rang overhead as she entered. The shop was lined with candles, boxes of aromatherapy bottles, herbs, crystals, and other accouterments of the trade. Sam didn’t know what her previous persona had thought about woo-woo tricks, but she suspected a person with a scientific background wouldn’t approve. Having no memory certainly opened up one’s mind.

  She stopped to admire an abstract oil painting in bold blacks and reds. Delicate line drawings of human figures disappeared into the inferno of color. Dante’s vision of hell?

  “I’ll be right out,” a feminine voice sing-songed from the back.

  “It’s just me—Sam. Dinah told me I should stop by and take you up on that tarot reading. If you’re busy, I can come another time.”

  “I’m just dusting. Come on back! This time of day is always slow.”

  Amber was a striking woman in her early thirties. She wore her orange-red hair covered in a turban that left ringlets hanging around her ears. Sam suspected she wore the off-shoulder, ribbon-bedecked white gypsy blouse and colorful skirts because her round figure looked good in them, not just because of her profession. Maybe one led to the other.

  “I’ll fix us some tea. Dinah probably half-worked y
ou to death. You need to be off your feet a while. Have you ever had your tarot read?” Amber bustled about, pulling tea leaves from a cabinet, filling an electric kettle, cleaning old leaves out of a colorful teapot.

  “No, can’t say that I remember it,” Sam said. She thought it might be bad karma to lie.

  “Well, it’s not an exact science. It’s all about interpretation. The really good readers like me have a psychic connection with the cards and the client. But a lot of it also relies on you and what questions you have in your mind when we cut the cards. So think about what you’d like to know.”

  “What I’d like to know?” Sam drifted over to a counter where boxes of beautifully illustrated cards were displayed. The list of what she’d like to know was endless.

  “Most people ask about their love lives or their financial situation. The cards are specific to the person. We can’t predict world peace or anything universal. Some of the cards will produce a general prediction of the future, if you’d like that.” She poured the boiling water over the leaves.

  “Could we ask about Cassandra?” Sam didn’t want anyone looking into her personal business. She was terrified of what they’d see. Not that she expected anything from pieces of painted cardboard, but the idea made her twitchy.

  “We could, in relation to you, perhaps. That works better. Want to choose a deck?”

  “They’re all so beautiful. The artwork is exquisite.” Sam admired the various decks Amber had scattered over a tablecloth. “This set is grim though.” She pointed to one with haunted houses and eerie moons and witches on broomsticks. The style seemed similar to the artwork in the front room.

  “That one was designed by one of the original Lucent Ladies. There are only a few decks still in existence. I’m not sure if she was mocking Halloween or if her mind was just bent that way.” Amber set teacups and saucers on the table, then spread the deck expertly. “Her skeleton drawing is almost lifelike. I’ve always wondered if she had a model to work from.”

  Sam shuddered, remembering the skull she’d seen uncovered yesterday. “Let’s not use that deck. How about this floral one? I’ve come to ask you if I can work in your planter and thin out a few marigolds for Tullah’s planter, so that seems apt.”

  Amber picked up the floral deck, flipped through it, and studied Sam. “Yes, your vibrations are in synch with the earth cards, interesting. Do you work in agriculture?”

  “Environmental science,” Sam said, almost proudly, because this was the only thing she knew about herself. Maybe.

  “Interesting that you chose this deck. It’s another one handed down from the Lucent Ladies and is more interpretative than the usual Italian spread. Sit there.” Amber pointed at one of the straight chairs adorned with white slipcovers. She poured the tea without offering cream or lemon.

  “We’ll just start with a simple spread today. How would you like me to phrase your question? Where is Cassandra? Is Cass all right?” Amber settled into a similar chair on the other side of the table.

  “When will she come home? Can I ask that?”

  “We can’t get dates, just what happened in the past that’s influencing the moment and what will come of it, but we can focus on that question. Cut the deck into three stacks, please.”

  She probably ought to be asking what would become of her, but that might depend on when Cass would return and throw her out. Sam cut the pretty deck as directed. Amber’s ring-covered fingers lifted each pile as if they were precious gems, and spread three cards from each stack in three rows, face down.

  “The bottom row is your past.” She gestured at the line closest to her and flipped the first card. “A tightly bound sheaf of wheat could have many meanings. There’s an almost magical effect to the tie binding them, and the wheat stalks are very young.” She held up her palms and closed her eyes. “For you, I think it means that you were tightly controlled by family, circumstances, energies over which you had no power.”

  She flipped the next card, one with crushed leaves and a single untouched blossom. Sam wasn’t entirely certain what kind of flower it represented but it was pink and not completely unfurled.

  “Tragedy, I think. Did you lose your parents early?” Amber asked with concern.

  Sam couldn’t answer. She simply stared at the crushed plants. She prayed that didn’t represent her real past.

  Amber didn’t wait for her to answer but flipped the next card and exclaimed softly. “Freedom, but the flowers are still just buds. You are reaching outside of your tight world but you’ve not fully blossomed, and the leaves are starting to wither, as if they’ve been without water or nourishment too long. That’s probably your college years. College can be pretty dry terrain if all you do is study. I don’t use this deck often, so you’re really influencing my reading with your presence.”

  Since the only thing Sam knew about herself was that she’d recently been a student, perhaps Amber could read minds a little. Considering the bleak picture she painted of her past, Sam hoped she was just good at guessing. She stayed silent, not feeding her any information.

  Amber started on the middle row, flipping the card on the right. “This line is your present.” She exclaimed softly again, running her fingers over the gnarled old woman standing over what appeared to be a garden bed. “The High Priestess, that has to be Cass, casting a spell. . . over seedlings? Over the earth. Bringing you here?”

  Amber flipped the next card, not waiting for any response, although Sam felt the tug of truth. She was turning as mad as the people of the town. Maybe it was something in the water.

  “Fire,” Amber whispered in horror, gazing at a card showing a charred landscape with only a small orange poppy unfurling its pretty bloom. “Scorched earth, change, wiping out the old to make room for the new. This could be a disaster, or it could be a controlled burn, but it’s in your present, not the future. So perhaps it represents leaving the old behind and starting fresh?”

  “That’s what it feels like,” Sam said with a little more confidence. She was definitely starting with a scorched brain.

  Amber breathed a little easier and flipped the next card. Instead of flowers, two eccentrically garbed people faced each other. “Ah, the Earth Goddess! That’s you and the Magician. He must help you fight Judgment—that could be any obstacle in your path. This is a card of power and control. There are forces tugging at you right now. The magician could even be Cass, if she’s working on you in some manner.”

  That part made utterly no sense, so Sam stayed silent.

  “Now, the future.” Amber flipped one of the three remaining cards and frowned at a large oak surrounded by agricultural images. “This card should interpret similarly to the World card. If this is your future. . . I may be wrong in interpreting the High Priestess, unless we think of you as the future one. This doesn’t seem to answer your question about Cass. It seems to be a spread about you and Hillvale. I’m seeing this scarecrow as Deputy Walker. In this deck, the scarecrow is the same as a knight errant. It could reflect his obsessive need to know everything happening here. He already knows Cass, but he’s still searching for more.”

  “Does that mean he’s worried about her?” Sam asked, not understanding.

  “No, this line is your future. It means he’ll worry about you. Turn the next card.”

  Sam flipped the middle card and admired the tall sunflowers spilling around a fence. It made her even twitchier to think the deputy might someday worry about her, but she could only handle the present right now. The deputy would have to do what deputies did.

  “More change,” Amber said, a frown forming above her nose. “Cass is opposed to change, but you might be the harbinger of change. The two of you are in opposition somehow, not enemies but on different sides. Turn the last one.”

  The final card showed funeral lilies and a casket. Sam felt a strong urge to flee. “Someone is going to die?”

  “No, the card doesn’t necessarily mean death. Or if it does, it can be the death of a concept, death of
wealth.”

  “Or dead flowers,” Sam said with relief. “I hope I don’t kill your planter.”

  Amber deliberately set her mouth to a smile. “Of course. I’m being too serious today. I hope they discover that skeleton was just some lost hiker from decades ago. We should think about making the world better with flowers.”

  “None of this explains where Cass is,” Sam reminded her.

  They both looked at the casket, until Amber scooped up the cards and shuffled them.

  Chapter 8

  Early morning, June 18

  * * *

  The next day Walker drove up the mountain in the early morning fog on his usual rounds. He’d spent part of his day off trying to satisfy his curiosity about the new girl in town. Another few hours had been spent at the office, checking out Jane Does who might be Cass. Without an official request, he couldn’t do more.

  It hadn’t taken long to verify what he already knew about the skeleton case. The coroner had estimated the corpse had been buried approximately fifteen to twenty years ago. The only missing person reported on that mountain in that range of time was Roger Walker, his father. Hikers occasionally went missing and so had some of the hippies who had last been seen at the commune, but the timing, age, and sex of those didn’t match the coroner’s guesstimate.

  He’d found what he’d taken this job for, but that wasn’t enough. His mother had clung to hope for years, then remarried when he was in college, after having his father declared officially dead. Walker had never believed the man he’d idolized had willingly deserted him. Now he needed to know why his father had been killed with a blow to the head all those years ago.

  Walker had shown his father’s missing person’s report to the sheriff, who had labeled the case as homicide and sent forensics up, but they both knew there would be little to find after all these years.