Azure Secrets

by Patricia Rice

  Feeling a little reassured that the tarot reader didn’t know much more than she did, Fee patted Amber’s hand. “Can you tell he’s worried? He gets like this when his protective streak is aroused.”

  “I’ve never been good at interpreting people,” Amber said wistfully. “That’s what most fortune tellers do, you know, read people’s expressions and gestures. I just read the cards and spirits.”

  “And minds, maybe a little,” Fee suggested. “It’s just Monty’s mind is too fuzzy to read.”

  Monty didn’t take umbrage. He was too caught up in the sight of Fee actually daring to laugh at him. Her eyes crinkled in the corners, and her rosy lips curled up ever so slightly.

  Maybe he wasn’t broken after all. Fee seemed to be taking Amber’s warning with the same cellar of salt as he. And she was getting brave enough to let him know.

  Amber laughed and indicated she needed to leave. “I’ll let you know what Cass thinks. I know it all sounds weird, but we’ve solved mysteries on less. Just be very careful around fools filled with hubris.”

  Fee stood to let Amber out and remained standing after she was gone. “The world is full of fools. I want to sniff the ones in Waterville.”

  Monty had to think fast on that one. “Fools filled with hubris tend to have power. How many people with power do you know down there?”

  She frowned. “Why power?”

  “Because some punk off the street didn’t steal the grandbaby and dog of a gang leader without orders from someone who wants that key. Someone with power gave that order.”

  “I could go to City Hall,” she suggested with a half-smile, pointing at the drug case news scrawling across the TV screen. “Waterville has a county detention center and lots of power brokers.”

  “Or you could help Dinah with lunch until Walker calls back. If there are any hubris-ridden fools around, I’d choose Portelli and Roper.”

  She shrugged. “They’re fishy, but just dead-carp fishy. The truly bad ones—you don’t want to be near after you’ve just eaten.”

  He grimaced. “TMI. Look, I can plot my way around Lucys and football plays. I haven’t learned how to plot kidnap investigations yet. I know Walker is focused on Peggy’s murder and going by the rules. I get that. And you want to find the little girl any way you can.”

  She smiled warily as he hacked his way out of the brambles, but she was back to not talking. Monty thought that a feature, not a bug.

  “Let’s give Walker a few more hours while you do lunch and check out strangers. That should give me a little time to think.” He held up his hand when she was about to object. “I know, you’re worried. I know I tend to jump in with fists drawn. But I’m learning that planning ahead can be faster than wandering aimlessly.”

  He finally reached her. She made a face, picked up Amber’s cup, and returned to the counter to put on her apron.

  All he needed to do now was plot a means for Fee to sniff out the foul-smelling power brokers of Waterville. And after that—San Francisco.

  Sure, why not? He’d attempt walking on water next.

  He snatched a cupcake from the counter stand and walked out.

  Twenty-seven

  Sunday, after lunch

  Fee wrinkled her nose at the shrimp smell of the tourist wearing a fedora and vest who’d ordered a hamburger with avocado. He might smell that way just because he had bad taste.

  He didn’t smell like Waterville, but she anointed him with coconut oil anyway, adding it to the napkin she gave him. There had only been two other fishy people all day. She didn’t want Orville and the others to get too bored.

  She itched so much for news on little Stacy that she’d left the TV on, muted, to see if there had been any developments. She tried to follow Monty’s suggestion and plot how she would find a kidnapper, but she had nothing. Even the stupid coconut oil stunt was useless.

  She was pretty discouraged by the time Monty entered, holding up his phone. Since even Mariah hadn’t been able to magic cell reception up here, she assumed he had an important text.

  She glanced at the clock—after two. Time for a break. She took off her apron and signaled Dinah, who waved her off.

  Did she really want to own a place like this and be tied to the stove all day?

  Cooking for others—still sounded like heaven.

  “Walker wants to call the landline. We have five minutes to get over to City Hall.” Monty grabbed her elbow and dragged her out to the street.

  “Anyone else who touched me as much as you do would be bending over a toilet bowl by now,” Fee warned as they hurried down to City Hall.

  He didn’t release her. “That explains a lot. So, you say you’re a virgin?” he asked mockingly.

  She was too nerved up to laugh.

  Pushing open City Hall’s door, he startled a couple of tourists foraging for pamphlets in what passed for Hillvale’s tourist office. Fee recovered her equilibrium while Monty glad-handed and picked out appropriate brochures.

  “Not a virgin,” she muttered as he grabbed her elbow again and steered her up the stairs to Walker’s more private office. “Other people back off when I object to being hauled around like a dog.”

  He shut the office door and hauled her into his arms. “You’d rather I do this?”

  And he kissed her again, a kiss that lifted her to her toes and poured molten butter through her soul. He was all the rich, decadent food she’d never been offered. More dangerous yet, he was the man of steel she needed to feel safe. She fell into his kiss as if starved, despite all the frantic signals her brain tried to send.

  He set her down abruptly, muttered, “Not broken,” picked up the landline receiver, and punched buttons.

  Fee dropped into one of Walker’s uncomfortable chairs to catch her breath.

  “Fiona and I are here and you’re on speaker,” Monty said into the phone, taking a seat in Walker’s desk chair.

  The mayor looked good behind a desk. Even without a tie and while wearing a khaki blazer, Monty gave the appearance of a busy executive. She wanted a notebook to pretend she was his secretary.

  “Francois is awake and his usual lying self,” Walker said through the speaker. “I believe the part where he tells me he was there to drive Roper and Portelli back to the lodge. Roper is the sort to appropriate privileges as his right.”

  “Roper and my mother get along well. She wouldn’t have objected to his use of her car and chauffeur,” Monty agreed.

  “Francois says he was just hanging out in the parking lot, waiting for them, when someone shot him from behind for no good reason. As far as I’ve been able to determine from witnesses in the café, there was no one else on the boardwalk but Roper and Portelli. Francois claims to have no recollection of the dog or the Lincoln or anyone at all.”

  Fee bit her lip, attempting to pull together the puzzle pieces. “But we know there was a Lincoln and a dog and a woman chasing it. What are the chances that Roper or Portelli shot at the woman or Lincoln and hit Francois instead?”

  She could almost hear the smile in the police chief’s voice. “Pretty damned good. The slug in Francois was a .380, just the right size for a small Glock. Guess who is a registered owner of that caliber Glock?”

  “Roper,” Monty said in disgust. “I’ve seen it in his desk drawer. He assured me it was licensed, and it was for the protection of employees in the event of robbery or assault.”

  “I haven’t found any record that he uses the practice ranges. Chances are good that he figures he just has to aim and shoot and all will be well. That’s the reason we should have gun control—to keep weapons out of the hands of the stupid and ignorant.” Walker sounded disgusted.

  “Is Stacy really Peggy’s daughter?” Fee asked anxiously.

  “She is,” Walker said with sadness. “Peggy had been staying at a friend’s cottage in Hillvale on weekends, while the dad had the kid. We don’t know why she was still here on Tuesday, though. Even the feds think the dad is lying through his teeth about t
he time Stacy was kidnapped. They’re hoping the key is the evidence they need to find out why.”

  Fee wanted to weep and pull her hair at the same time.

  “What about Ramirez, the thief Fee caught? He had to be looking for the dog,” Monty said, sticking with their list of suspects. “Do we know who bailed him out? Who he’s working for?”

  “There’s a revolving door at the jail just for Ramirez. No legal employer would ever hire him. Word is he sells drugs on the streets and is muscle for hire. The feds I’m talking to on Stacy’s case are working San Francisco, which is where she was kidnapped. They know nothing of Waterville, despite the Gonzalez connection. They’re after the multi-headed hydra of the Lee organization, working under the same theory as we are—that someone in power ordered that baby stolen.”

  “The nanny?” Monty asked. “Surely they’ve looked into her.”

  “Apparently Stacy’s stepmother doesn’t like babysitting. She hired the nanny on the basis of a stolen ID. The feds have taken fingerprints from the house on objects the nanny used, and they don’t match those of the woman whose name and resume the parents thought they hired. They’ve not found a match yet.”

  Fee bet Peggy hadn’t known about the nanny or she would have researched her better. Peggy had been damned thorough—and she cared so much. “Someone knew Stacy’s parents were looking for a nanny and deliberately sent them a kidnapper.”

  “Inside job, yup,” Walker agreed. “The feds are taking the collar to the father, along with the information you’ve given about finding the dog on Sunday night. The dad has been insisting that the nanny disappeared Tuesday. There’s a cover-up of some sort, and they’re hoping to force his hand.”

  “They don’t know what kind of lock the key goes to?” Monty asked.

  “Probably a locker. It isn’t a big key or a special one. But there are a damned lot of lockers in the city. If I had to guess, it’s a cheap one, since there’s no ID on it. The fancy places engrave numbers, at the very least.”

  “Are you tackling Roper and Portelli next?” Monty asked, rubbing his brow. “It’s gonna suck if you arrest Roper, and I have to manage the lodge.”

  “Portelli’s secretary claims he’s on his yacht and can’t be reached. We’ve confirmed a yacht in his name isn’t in its berth. If Roper really did shoot Francois, Portelli would be a witness. So he’s sailing out of range. Has Roper called in sick yet?” Walker asked dryly.

  “Not that I know of. Want us to keep an eye on him until you return?”

  Fee nearly came out of her chair. Monty pointed her to sit back down. Frowning, she obeyed, but only because she trusted he was planning a way to take her to Waterville.

  “I want you keeping Fiona away from Roper,” Walker said. “If he’s after that dog, then he’s one of the bad guys, and she could be a vital witness to the kidnapping timeline. I have one of my men on the way up there. I’ll be back soon. Take her to Disneyland.” He hung up.

  Monty wryly put the receiver back on its base. “Walker isn’t much on social protocol. Want to go to Disneyland?”

  “If that’s a code phrase for Waterville, I’m ready.” Fee headed for the door.

  Before she could hit the stairs, Samantha’s voice rang up from the front room. “We need to take Fiona to Cass now.”

  Interesting that everyone in Hillvale managed to pronounce her name correctly. Not so interesting if they were planning to kidnap and hypnotize her again. She glanced back at Monty, hoping he’d protect her.

  He grimaced. “No other exit. Historic building. We’ve never added a fire escape.”

  Fee stiffened her shoulders and continued down the stairs, shouting, “Fee needs to go to Waterville now. Cass can come with me.”

  Standing at the bottom of the stairs, her wild platinum hair untamed, Samantha regarded her with amusement. “She will, but maybe not in the way you mean. Don’t encourage her, please. They think they’ve made connection with Stacy’s great-aunt. Mariah’s looked her up. Maria Gonzalez, Stacy’s grandmother, lost her sister just last year. So the connection could be strong.”

  Fee grimaced, but how could she not try? The Lucys had trusted her gift. She had to trust theirs.

  “Why can’t we talk to Peggy’s spirit?” she asked as they trudged down the street. When she reached the white-painted memorial bike, she stroked the seat and tried to summon Peggy’s scent. She might be imagining the sweet odor she associated with the social worker, but she took comfort in it anyway.

  “You’d have to talk to Cass or Mariah,” Sam said, “but as I understand it, some spirits are prepared to move on to another plane, some aren’t. And new spirits aren’t reachable, even on Cass’s level. Mariah says the ones who linger tend to be confused and wander lost for a bit. Did you know Peggy well?”

  “No, just enough to know that she listened when others didn’t. She seldom told me anything about herself, but she was always ready to lend a hand. She helped me find my last job, although she said she’d keep looking for a better one. She told me that Hillvale might be a good place to try. I was supposed to meet her here.” Fee thought about that last e-mail, but it had been a month ago. The weather had been bad. She hadn’t wanted to bike until spring.

  Would things have been different if she’d come up here when Peggy asked her to?

  Monty stomped along after the women. The bike memorial had gathered more flowers and candles and a rain hat. Identifying Peggy’s killer hadn’t helped. They needed to know why she’d been killed. He almost understood the Lucys’ need to lay her spirit to rest.

  He figured Fee was safe enough with the women, but after Walker’s warning, he simply wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

  He debated if that was obsessive or another sign of mental deterioration. Or maybe he just needed to get laid. That kiss had been. . . explosive. He’d experienced raw passion as an adolescent. But years of experience had taught him that the heat wore off with familiarity. Practice had left him jaded—oh, the irony.

  But he was coming to know Fee pretty damned well, and the passion. . . was on another plane entirely. That kiss had nearly consumed him.

  Still, it wasn’t sex driving him up this hill for another visit with his weird half-aunt. It was a gut-deep need to prevent a beautiful, talented woman from being damaged any more than she had been. If that was mental deterioration, then so be it.

  “Why does Fee need to be here?” he asked as they walked the pine-lined drive. “Couldn’t Cass just make one of her enigmatic pronouncements without dragging us into it?”

  “I’m apparently only an electrical cord in the spirit hotline,” Sam said with a shrug. “Cass hasn’t chosen to enlighten me.”

  “If I’m a catalyst or agent of change as Amber claims, then it might not be a good idea to introduce me to the circle,” Fee argued. “She says I’m dangerous.”

  “In our own ways, we all are. I could easily cover the mountain with giant prickly pear and worse, making the area impenetrable, were I so inclined.” Sam gestured at the hills above Hillvale. “Mariah can and has brought down the internet. Cass is the weirdest of us all, and I have a feeling she isolates herself so she’s not tempted to meddle.”

  “And here I thought Hillvale was a safe place,” Fee muttered.

  Monty dropped an arm around her shoulders. “If Cass is to be believed, I am the son of evil. My mother may have reached demon status by now. And I’m pretty damned sure Cass is no angel. How do we compare to your old neighborhood?”

  “You’re not fishy,” she retorted. “I may need to learn a new scent language though.”

  Mariah met them at the door. “He stays out here.” She pointed at Monty, then at the cushioned chairs on the porch.

  “Nope,” Monty said, bulling his way in behind Fiona. He stopped to regard the front hall. This time, he recognized the hideously expensive porcelain dragon that had been purchased by an anonymous donor at auction in December. The sale had filled the town’s coffers. His half-aunt was not a poor wom
an. More reason to stick to Fee’s side. “Until we find the kidnapper, I go where she goes.”

  Fee scowled. Monty shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned back. He was a multi-talented player who could do offense as well as defense.

  “I sense no negativity,” Cass called from a room off the foyer. “Let him in.”

  All the usual suspects sat around a gleaming mahogany table. He counted Amber, Valdis the self-styled Death Goddess, Tullah, Mariah, and Cass, of course. Sam took one of the empty chairs at the table and gestured for Fee to take the last one.

  Monty had to wonder who had occupied that space before they arrived. Or maybe that chair was just left for unsuspecting victims.

  Cass glared at him for that thought. That was the reason he didn’t hang around much. She was damned spooky.

  He returned to the porch to retrieve a chair and placed it in the doorway where he could watch and not be in the way.

  He tried to block his negative thoughts about Amber hypnotizing Fiona. While he watched the women hold hands and mutter mumbo-jumbo, he tried to accept that he had extra special forces working for him. Walker could do what mundane policemen did plus more. But they also had a town of weirdoes who sometimes provided clues no one else could provide. Connections, maybe. They were all about connections, no matter what the Lucys called them.

  He noticed Fee kept lifting her lashes to check around the table as the others obediently closed their eyes. Good for her. He winked at her when she turned her head his way. She instantly closed her eyes and returned to listening to Tullah’s low chant.

  “Idiots!” Cass suddenly shouted in a scalding voice not her own.

  Monty sat up. Fee glanced his way again, then looked down, her face a mask of concentration. He wanted to ask her what she smelled in this room, but he didn’t interrupt as Cass shook her long gray hair and rocked in her chair.

  “Money! Power! Ptui.” She made a spitting noise that was definitely not a sound cultured Cass would make. “Life should be about family!”