She picked it up, and something flickered in her eyes as she looked down at it.
“And the gemstone, is that emerald?”
He watched her closely as she pulled down the glasses from the top of her head and flipped the magnifier down. She turned the bracelet over in her fingers several times, and suddenly her hand froze. She stopped, paused and looked up at him.
“There’s blood on the hemp, son.”
His eyes leveled on hers. “Yes, ma’am.”
She stared at him for a moment, then gave a quick nod, a nonverbal acceptance to keep her mouth shut, and began examining it again. Her eyes rounded. “The green gem… no, it couldn’t be…”
His heart skipped a beat. “What?”
“Just a minute…” her voice trailed off as she disappeared into the office. A minute later, she returned with a thick, black binder. She plopped it on the glass counter, and a puff of dust wafted up from the sides. She flipped through what seemed like fifty pages and finally, her finger landed on a picture of a green stone.
“Yep. Thought so. Chrome Diopside.”
“Chrome what?”
“Diopside.” She turned the binder to face him. “See here?”
His eyes skimmed the description on the page.
“Very rare gemstone. It’s a pretty pendant.” She picked up the bracelet again. “Whoever attached it did a poor job. Thing’s about to fall off.”
“Do you sell it here?”
“No, never have. Never carried anything with Diopside, either. Like I said, it’s pretty rare.”
“Has anyone come in asking for it?”
“No. Not that I can recall.”
“Is it sold anywhere local?”
She chewed on her lower lip. “No, don’t think so.”
Humph.
They both stared in silence at the bracelet.
“Wait… wait, yes, I think I remember someone selling a necklace with Chrome Diopside a while ago. Yes…” she slowly nodded, validating her epiphany. “Yes, that little jewelry shop in the Half Moon Hotel.” She scowled. “I wish they’d do something with that place. Just sitting on that cliff out in the middle of nowhere. Creepy if you ask me. Anyway, yes, a woman by the name of Sofia runs the shop.” D.D. narrowed her eyes and set down the bracelet. “Don’t go buyin’ anything from her, though. Anything she has, I can order for half the cost, okay?”
Sofia. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He grabbed the bracelet from the counter. “Thank you, D.D.”
“Of course. You let me know if you need anything, okay? And if you go there, watch out for the ghosts. That place is haunted, you know.”
He smiled. “Will do. Thanks, again.”
He jumped into his truck and pulled out his phone.
“Hello, Jessica Heathrow.”
“Jess, it’s Wesley.”
“Hey. I don’t have any more info for you yet—
“I know, I know. This is… I have a favor to ask of you.”
Pause. “What kind of favor?”
“Like, we’ve known each other since birth kind of favor.” He pulled onto the road.
“So a big favor.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve got a bracelet. I need you to scan it for fingerprints.”
“Wesley.” Her voice stone-cold now. “Where did you get this bracelet?”
“Telling you might get you in trouble. Ignorance will keep your hands clean, trust me.”
“Wesley…” she groaned. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“There’s a pendant on it that I think was attached by someone other than the owner of the bracelet. Focus on that. But you’ll find my prints all over it, too, unfortunately.”
A minute ticked by.
“Jess? I really need this. If you don’t find anything, we’ll just pretend this never happened. If you do, you will have solved a murder.”
“Wesley, if you took it from a crime scene, regardless of what I find, it won’t be admissible—
“I know. I fucked up, alright?” He heaved out a breath. “Please, Jess.”
A deep sigh, then, “Okay, Wesley. I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you, Jess… thank you.”
“Alright, swing it by, and I’ll get right on it.”
“Be there in five, but hey…”
“Oh, God, what?”
“There’s blood on it, just FYI.”
“Leena’s,” she whispered.
“Ignorance is bliss, Jess. See you in five.”
CHAPTER 12
Lightning pierced the sky, followed by a bellow of thunder that he swore shook his truck as he ascended the tallest mountain in Berry Springs. A gust of wind tossed dead leaves across his windshield.
Hell of a storm.
There was no dusk to marvel at on the horizon, no bright colors of yellow, orange and pink to celebrate the end of the day. The storm blocked most of the remaining light, leaving a muted, eerie glow across the mountains.
He glanced at the clock—7:36.
He hadn’t passed a single car since he’d left the city limits. Everyone was home, hunkered down and staying out of the weather, which was getting worse by the minute. He clicked on the local radio station.
“… strong line of storms moving at thirty miles an hour ahead of the front. Two tornadoes have already been reported. Heavy lightning, high winds, hail, and flash flooding is expected with these storms. I repeat, if you’re not home, please get there or take shelter. Stay away from windows and prepare a safe place. We’ve already received four inches of rain, so please take caution over bridges as flooding has already been reported. The storms should subside after midnight, but we’re not done, folks. We’re under a dense fog advisory until nine tomorrow morning. Bottom line, get home and keep NAR News close by. We’ll be here to keep you updated all night.”
He clicked on his high beams, contemplating. Well, he was almost there. No turning back now.
The Half Moon Hotel was located on the peak of Summit Mountain, surrounded by miles and miles of woods. The hotel was legendary in Berry Springs and had been featured in several national documentaries. Built in the mid-eighteen hundreds, the four-story hotel was originally built as a hospital, specializing in mental health with an in-house assisted living facility. Thirty years later, a wealthy oil heir purchased it and turned it into one of the most luxurious resorts in the region, attracting adventure seekers from all across the county. But no matter how much good press it received, the hotel couldn’t shake the rampant rumor that its halls were haunted by the patients who were treated badly, even murdered during their treatment years earlier. Over the decades, the hotel had been renovated several times, but still maintained the “old-world” feel with antique furniture and fixtures throughout. Creepy, as D.D. had said, and he completely agreed.
He slammed the brakes as he came to a rickety one-lane bridge. The river below was raging beneath it, less than a foot from the bottom. Flash flooding was right.
Holy shit.
He hesitated but knew there was no way in hell he was going to be able to sleep until he spoke with Sofia and hopefully—hopefully—get the name of whoever had recently purchased the pendant.
He took a quick inhale, slowly accelerated and bumped over the bridge. The wood creaked and groaned beneath his truck, and he made a mental note to tell Dean to get someone to fix the damned thing. It was a miracle it hadn’t already collapsed.
He made it across and navigated his way through the windy mountain road until he came to a wooden sign that read Welcome to the Half Moon Hotel. Antique light posts lit the way as he crested the mountain and the hotel came into view, its lights twinkling through the haze of rain. A lightning bolt flashed diagonally across the sky, barely missing the peaks of the fourth floor. Of all the nights to be visiting a place on the top of a mountain.
The front of the hotel had a covered circle drive underneath columns that stretched up to the fourth-floor balcony bar, where stone gargoyles peered angrily at the
property below. Even in the light of day, the hotel had a creep factor, but with the dark clouds, rain, lightning, and thunder, it rivaled any haunted house in his childhood nightmares.
He’d only been inside a handful of times, once as a teenager to take the haunted tour on Halloween night, once to attend a wedding, and a few times he’d hit the fourth-floor bar with a few buddies. Hell of a view, especially after a few drinks.
He searched for a place to park, noting several blocked-off areas with construction equipment. They were renovating again, apparently. He settled for a spot at the end of a row, hugging the woods. He shoved the truck into park and checked the time—7:44. He’d better hustle if he had any chance of visiting the jewelry store. He grabbed his cell phone and wallet and sprinted across the parking lot and up the blood-red carpeted steps that led to the front doors. After wiping his boots, he pushed through the double doors and was greeted by a dark-haired kid who he guessed was just a few years out of high school.
“Sir.”
Wesley nodded, his gaze skimming the lobby. He froze, his stomach clenching as their eyes met across the room. No freaking way. He ground his teeth.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Sir? Can I help you with something?” The bellman asked.
He tore his eyes away from the platinum blonde in a skin-tight shirt and cowboy boots bee-lining it to him. “Uh, yes, sorry. There’s a jewelry store in here, right?”
“Yes, sir, basement level, next to the spa.” The young man motioned to the staircase behind him.
“Thanks.” He sidestepped the bellman, hoping to disappear before—
“Wesley freakin’ Cross.”
Dammit. He stopped, turned, and was toe-to-toe with Kaylee Rhodes. As if on cue, thunder boomed outside.
“Hey, Kaylee.” He forced a smile as he looked down at one of Leena Ross’s former best friends, and one of his former girlfriends.
He and Kaylee had dated for about two months, over a decade ago, when Wesley was less committed to being one-hundred percent non-committal. She was a southern spit-fire with a temper that had become legendary in Berry Springs. When they’d cooled, she couldn’t let go, calling him every name in the book and spent most of the following month driving by his house at all hours of the evening. But it wasn’t until Kaylee had caught him flirting with her friend, Lydia Hess, that she’d broken into his house and trashed the place. By all counts, she was a crazy woman. A crazy woman whom he avoided at all costs. A crazy woman who now stood two inches from him, staring daggers into his eyes.
“Is there any news? Tell me. What do you know?”
He shook his head. “I can’t get into that.”
“You can’t get into that? She was one of my best friends, Wesley!”
“I’m sorry, Kaylee, I am.”
She snorted. “Yeah, I bet you are. What’re you doin’ here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at the station or something?”
In jail, she meant. He narrowed his eyes, feeling his patience waning. “Just taking the scenic route home.”
“Yeah, right.” She popped her gum, eyeing him.
He took a step closer to the staircase and considered throwing himself down it.
“Well, we’re here for Lydia’s bridesmaid party,” she continued. “Booked the spa all day tomorrow… we were gonna cancel, ya know, considering, but we put down a deposit and all.”
He nodded and pressed his lips together. The fewer words he spoke to this woman, the better.
She glowered at him. “Hey, just because Leena and I had a falling out years ago doesn’t mean I don’t care about her death, Wesley.”
“None of my business. Now, if you’ll excuse—
She shoved her hands on her hips. “Heard they formally interviewed you.”
“Tends to happen when a body is found in someone’s house.”
“A body. You’re a son of a bitch, you know that? Always were. I should’ve never dated you. You’re such an asshole.”
He bit his tongue and turned away. “See ya, Kaylee.”
“Yeah, you will.” She muttered as he took the first step. He could hear her bedazzled cowboy boots stomping away as he walked down the stairs.
He shook his head. He’d had enough insinuations for one day. He needed his deck and a stiff drink. And as soon as he spoke with Sofia at the jewelry store, he was going to do just that.
He took the curve in the staircase, the wooden planks creaking underneath him and the muffled chatter above him fading away. The smell of wet earth and eucalyptus filled his nose as he stepped onto the hardwood floors that lined the dimly lit basement level. Other than the distant hum of something in the distance, an air-conditioner maybe, the floor was dead silent. He paused at the bottom of the staircase and looked from left to right. In a velvet armchair facing the windows, an elderly man in a golf cap and polyester checkered suit read the newspaper.
Watching the storm, he thought.
He shifted his gaze to a sign hanging on the wall with arrows pointing in the direction of Rooms 101-121, The Spa, Ghost Tours, and, to the right, Half Moon Jewelry. At the end of the hall hung a sign that said Staff Only. He turned right and followed the worn China rugs that ran down the hall, stopping in front of a small shop with a rainbow of colors dancing on the walls from the crystals that hung from the ceiling.
He pushed through the glass door that read Half Moon Jewelry. The room was ripe with freshly burned incense, and the low melody of flutes and chimes broke the silence. The walls were lined with glass shelves filled with decorative rocks and crystals, fairy statues, and burners. Wind chimes hung from the ceiling next to sparkling sun-catchers.
He appeared to be the only one in the shop.
He walked to the front counter that held dozens of earrings, necklaces and bracelets; bent over, and searched for the bright green gemstone.
“May I help you?”
He turned, startled at the voice behind him that came out of nowhere. The woman—he guessed in her mid-sixties—wore a long tie-dyed dress with deep colors of navy and red, and stacks of jewels on her wrists and neck. Her long gray hair ran in dreadlocks down her back. Her skin was a milky pale, highlighting her deep red lips.
“I’m looking for Sofia.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? What do you want with her?”
“I hear she works here?”
“She does.”
“Is she in today?”
“Why?”
Jesus Christ. Why was everything so damn difficult today?
“Ma’am, I just have a question for her about some jewelry. Is she in? I can come back later.”
“You’re looking at her.” Keeping her gaze locked on him, the woman—Sofia, apparently—crossed the room and stepped behind the counter. “How can I help you?”
He zeroed in on the necklace at the nape of her neck, decorated with little, green stones.
“Do you sell cross pendants?”
“A few.” She motioned to counter.
“With Chrome Diopside gemstones?”
Her eyes sparked, and a tingle of adrenaline slid up his spine. He was onto something, he could feel it in his bones. She looked past him, then down at the jewelry counter, then another flicker of a glance behind him.
“No,” she said, finally. “I don’t think so.”
“Who orders the jewelry for the store?”
“I do.”
“And you don’t remember if you’ve ever ordered a pendant with a gem as rare as Diopside?”
“I order a lot of things Mr…”
“Cross.” He leaned forward. “That’s a beautiful necklace you’ve got on. The one with the green gemstones.”
Her eyebrows tipped as her hand slowly slid up to her neck. A moment ticked by. She narrowed her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I might have sold Diopside pendants in the past; you’ll have to forgive me, I just don’t remember everything that comes through my store.”
“Have you sold any lately?”
; Her gaze slid over his shoulder, again. She was looking for someone... or scared of something.
“Not that I recall, no.”
“Maybe your sales receipts will recall. Surely you keep records of every sale, correct?”
“Are you a cop, Mr. Cross?”
“Yes,” he lied, and to keep her from asking for a badge, he quickly said, “I can wait here while you check.” He nodded toward the office behind her, which had a small desk, computer, and two file cabinets.
She stared at him another moment, and he thought he was busted, but then, she turned and disappeared into the office. He shifted his weight and watched her closely, making sure she knew he was watching her. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then pulled a folder from the file cabinet. A minute later, she came out with a piece of paper and laid it on the counter.
“I sold a pendant necklace…”
He looked at the date on the paper. “Three days ago.”
“Yes. It had multiple pendants; a few were crosses with Chrome Diopside. It had been in my shop awhile… which is why it didn’t ring a bell. Sorry.”
He desperately skimmed the receipt looking for a name. “To who?”
She shook her head. “Don’t have that on record.”
No name. The necklace was paid for with a credit card but, unfortunately, the first twelve of the sixteen numbers were X’s. He memorized the last four.
“Was it a man or a woman?”
She shrugged and he felt his patience dissolving.
He continued, “Do you have another employee that possibly sold it?”
“No. Just me here.”
“You don’t remember if you sold the necklace to a man or a woman? That’s a nice chunk of change. You really don’t remember?”
“I’m sorry.”
He glanced around the room—not a single security camera.
“Where do you get your jewelry? Do you remember where you got the necklace, specifically?”
“My jewelry comes from all over. Sometimes I order it, sometimes I buy in bulk when I travel, and sometimes I make it myself. I might've got the necklace…” She reached up and touched her neck, again. “And this one when I visited Moscow last year. Come to think of it, I’m sure that’s where I got the necklace. Chrome Diopside is only found in Russia.”
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