Wearing her gray hair in a tight bun, the tall, slender, professorial woman who marched down from the roadway bore a striking likeness to Samantha. Keegan knew from experience that small towns were filled with related families, so he assumed there was some connection. The woman Harvey called Cass lived in a Victorian mansion out by the cemetery, Keegan knew, but she seldom appeared in town.
She didn’t bother acknowledging the crowd but stepped over the stone border everyone else was respecting to kneel beside Mariah. “You felt her spirit depart. You know she’s happier where she is now. Let’s send her off properly, shall we?”
“This is where I’d normally bug out,” Harvey said with a set look to his shadowed jaw. “But Walker will want us all in place when he arrives. Unless you’re into chanting, let’s wait up by the road.”
“Native customs are educational, but I fear this is a private ceremony,” Keegan acknowledged. “Perhaps we could find a seat where we can view the area?”
“And see if anyone is hiding among the rocks? Good thought.” Harvey considered the dirt and boulders cascading down the bluff, apparently the result of an earlier avalanche. “We’ll have to watch out for rattlers, but that’s probably the best view up there.”
His intention had been to watch the women, not look for concealed enemies, but Keegan accepted any rationale that took him up the bluff.
Not noticing their departure, the women gathered outside the stone circle, hugging, crying, and one by one, following Cass’s strong alto in what would have been an uplifting hymn in any church Keegan knew. He just didn’t recognize the words.
“Why are you looking for potters’ clay?” Harvey wielded a carved walking stick to poke the rubble they climbed. “The kiln burned long ago.”
Keegan offered his prepared spiel. “The works of Hillvale’s famed potters are a fascination to those who study ceramic art. Despite their often crude eccentricity, their work is mysteriously compelling and has become highly collectible. Critics claim the colors are the cause of the allure to the masses, much as the illuminated mall art was for a while. But I have a theory that it’s the clay which enhances the glaze.”
Keeping an eye out for vipers, Keegan strode across the slippery rock rubble. He’d been accused of seeing only the ground instead of the people around him. He no longer had any reason to change.
“Or the crystals in the glaze,” Harvey said dryly. “You haven’t stayed here for nearly a week without hearing all the crystal theories. Have you been talking to Teddy?”
“Teddy?” Keegan glanced back down the mountain to the chanting circle of women. Mariah stood as tall as Cass, but she was like a powerful Friesian filly next to a delicate Arabian. “Which one is Teddy?”
“She’s not here. She’s new to town and hasn’t learned to come when called. She’s the redhead who owns the crystal shop.” Harvey poked his stick around a wide, flat boulder half way up the cliff, then satisfied no snakes lurked, took a seat in the shadow of sagebrush.
“Ah, yes, we’ve had a few discussions on the source of the Ingersson crystals.” Keegan took a seat and forced himself to look away from Mariah and at the surrounding countryside.
He preferred not to mention that the crystals were one of the reasons he was here. He needed to study the situation before reaching any conclusions.
The rubble had once been a verdant, active hippie commune, he knew, one that had produced startling artwork forty or fifty years ago. Daisy lay inside the remains of the farmhouse below this now-barren bluff. To his left, in an uncleared area of trees and brambles, would be the vortex, and above that, Cass’s landscaped yard and the cemetery. To his right was undeveloped, pine-studded mountainside, and below that, the famed resort for the wealthy that brought tourists up here in summer.
But the immediate area was scarred by boulders, dead trees, brush, and erosion deep enough to hide armies. A deer could run across it and not be noticed.
He had his work cut out for him. He didn’t have a lifetime to waste sitting on boulders. He needed to talk with those people below—not exactly his forte.
Not seeing any lurking killers, Keegan returned his attention to the gathering of women. “Could she not have harmed herself? Why are we assuming she was murdered?”
“She wore that cloak and built the guardian circle in fear of bullets,” Harvey said with a shrug. “Daisy saw her own death.”
Two
July 8: Sunday, mid-morning
The instant Chief Walker—Hillvale’s only policeman—arrived, Mariah dropped out of the chanting circle. She might be banned from her chosen career, but she was still a computer engineer by trade, not a superstitious spiritualist. Yes, she believed in the passing of spirits—she released their earthly ectoplasm, after all. She simply didn’t believe songs would send Daisy to a better place.
What she did believe in was finding justice. She knew it wouldn’t bring Daisy back, just as justice had not returned her best friend from death. But those who would harm a frail old lady had to be stopped. . .
That attitude, of course, was the reason she’d been banished to the town the world had forgotten.
She waited with Samantha while Walker took photos and examined the hardened ground. It felt callous to abandon Daisy, but the body beneath that cloak was no longer her friend. Daisy’s spirit had departed the moment Mariah had felt the hole rip in her universe. She simply had to twist her heart around to accept that Daisy would never confide in her again.
“She was ready to go,” Mariah admitted to Sam, who had tears running down her cheeks. “She’d seen this coming. I wish she’d seen who though.”
“Or why,” Sam murmured. “She was harmless.”
Mariah snorted, relieved to praise her eccentric friend. “No, she wasn’t. Daisy was the reason all the corroded art disappeared. Daisy was the reason no one ever dared explore the bunker unless she allowed it. She trusted you more than she trusted anyone else when she took you down there. I fear you may be our new Daisy.”
“I can’t be a new Daisy. She stopped an avalanche,” Sam said, gazing up at the cascade of rocks ending just at the portal to the farmhouse foundation. “I wish she’d imparted the knowledge.”
“You were there when she did it! You could have been part of whatever she did. You don’t know what you can do until you try. Daisy kept her secrets because she understood that knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands,” Mariah said, speaking from experience, although Sam didn’t know that.
But saying that, she glanced at Keegan perched up the bluff with Harvey. She’d really love to research that dude.
But she couldn’t trust herself with computers anymore. She needed to learn new ways to protect those she called friends.
“Knowledge is power,” Sam argued. “If we knew what Daisy knew, we might even stop earthquakes. Hiding art doesn’t help us learn what caused it to corrode or if there’s any truth about the crystals being evil or revealing evil.”
“It’s not that simple,” Mariah said with a regretful sigh, feeling the loss of her old friend’s certainty. “Daisy may have known how to stop a landslide here, but the same earth energy might not apply up the coast or inland. We could train people on Hillvale’s energy, send them to Oklahoma to stop the fracking earthquakes, and they could make it worse. And then the government would start hounding us and the freaks would show up. . . No, Daisy did what was right.”
Sam looked at her with curiosity. “You need to tell me your story sometime.”
Mariah shrugged. “It’s not pretty. Just accept that I know whereof I speak.”
Apparently satisfied that he’d gathered what little evidence existed, Chief Walker turned Daisy’s body over. The Lucys stopped chanting. A collective gasp followed.
And Mariah abruptly sat down and put her head between her knees.
A feathered arrow protruded from Daisy’s chest.
The moment Mariah collapsed, Keegan raced down to her. He didn’t question his reasoning, simply accepted the insti
nct to aid a woman in distress.
He nearly slid to a halt as he came closer and saw the arrow protruding from the old lady’s chest. He knew archery. Only a trained and experienced big game hunter, one with good upper body strength and the proper equipment could have pulled off a shot like that. He glanced around, estimating the distance and coverage. Had she seen her assailant?
By the time he reached Mariah, she had recovered enough to bat him away. “Don’t, just don’t.” She hit at his helping hand. “Leave me be.”
He was a large man who made most women uncomfortable. He liked that he didn’t intimidate her. He stepped back and waited. This time, at least, she was surrounded by others who could look after her—although the golf cart was probably the only way she could leave. One needed the nimbleness of a goat to reach this forsaken spot.
Walker approached, looking grim. “Who found her?”
When Mariah refused to speak, Keegan did so. “No one was around when Mariah and I started down, but the lady in black was keening. I don’t know from where.”
“And then all the Lucys arrived?” Walker asked, not questioning the keening.
“Lucys?” He’d heard the term, but he preferred clarity before he replied.
“Lucent Ladies,” Sam explained with a tight laugh. “Those of us who accept the unproven paranormal.”
“I have not been here long enough to know who believes in the paranormal,” Keegan said, studying the chanting women, unsurprised by the weird. “But all these women and Harvey arrived soon after the keening started. One assumes they were closest.”
“A killer isn’t likely to return to the scene of the crime and prove he was nearby,” Mariah said in scorn. She took Keegan’s arm and hauled herself up as if he were no more than a convenient lamppost. “I was on the ledge and saw no one but Keegan, but I was meditating and not looking for anyone.”
He rather enjoyed her independent stubborn attitude. At least she wasn’t clinging and weeping and expecting him to console her, preferably with diamond bracelets. “How many archers live here?” Keegan asked. “It is a dying sport.”
“Bow hunters,” Walker said curtly. “It’s not deer season, though, so they had no reason to be armed. I can look for licenses, but I’d have to find out who was in the vicinity and what weight they’re capable of taking down. Why would anyone kill a harmless old lady?”
“Because Daisy knew who was naughty or nice,” Mariah said belligerently. “Guard the bunker. I need to put ice on this knee before I can make a plan. Do you need the golf cart as evidence? If not, I’ll take it to town, and you can pick it up there.”
Chief Walker shook his head. “You’ll have to wait until after forensics is done with it, I’m sorry. We have no idea when this happened. Daisy may have brought someone with her. We’ll need to test for fingerprints. I have to cordon off the area. I have a list of everyone present and can talk to you later. Keegan, if you can help Mariah to my car, Sam can drive her down to town.”
Mariah didn’t even look at him. She simply picked up her carved walking stick, gripped his arm, and began hopping toward the road, apparently expecting him to keep up.
Amused, Keegan strolled along at her pace. “What bunker did Daisy guard?”
Mariah ignored his question, turning to Sam, who walked with them. “Can Val guard on her own?”
“No one ever secured it regularly,” Sam protested. “No one cares except Daisy. Collecting bad art was an eccentric habit and not reason for murder.”
“Daisy lived here as long as Cass. She knew the infamous Lucinda Malcolm and more than we’ll ever guess,” Mariah corrected. “Now that the art walk is attracting attention, we’ve lured strangers to Hillvale. That may have been a bad idea. We need to heed the warning.” She sent Keegan a dirty look.
“I had no reason to kill an old lady I didn’t know,” he said with equanimity. “I should think only the people of Hillvale knew she had any value at all.”
“You’re large enough to draw the kind of weight that arrow needed,” she said accusingly.
“I didn’t haul hunting equipment on a plane,” he snapped. He understood her accusation was made in anguish, but the senselessness annoyed him.
“We need to know more about Daisy,” Sam suggested.
“Or the killer could have thought she was Val and will come after you next.” Mariah grudgingly allowed Keegan to help her into the front seat of Walker’s official SUV.
“Why would anyone wish the shrieking Valkyrie or Miss Moon dead?” he asked, reasonably enough.
“Because they own that land and the Nulls want it. How do we know you’re not here to design a ski slope?” She nodded at the pine-studded mountainside looming over the town.
“I am a geologist and mineralogist, not an architect.” Keegan closed the door once she was safely inside.
“And a ceramics expert,” Miss Moon reminded him, before climbing behind the steering wheel.
Yes, he knew ceramics, because his mother dabbled in them. They were only an excuse to be here. Keegan watched the SUV drive off in a cloud of dust.
If he’d never known Brianna, he would never have done more than analyze the molecular structure of the clay his mother used. But from childhood, Bri had been fascinated with his family’s library. She’d been the one to read the journals, to tell him that dirt and crystals had more purposes than fertilizer and building materials.
He hadn’t listened, but someone had. It wasn’t as if the family firm had originally been set up to manufacture synthetic gems. He couldn’t believe his father or brother had committed fraud. But whoever had those damned books had set them up to go to jail for their dirty deeds.
It was his task to find the scoundrel who had those dangerous crystal books and prove his family’s innocence.
Keegan jogged down the road in the dust left by the SUV. He didn’t need a career. He could live frugally off his savings for years. What he wanted was information, if he had to scour the planet to find it.
Mariah knew Daisy. Daisy knew crystals. Ergo, he needed to know Mariah.
The possibility that someone was killing for crystals was an ugly twist, but given the pain and suffering his family had already endured, not entirely out of the question.
July 8: Sunday, lunchtime
Seated on a stool at the café’s cash register, Mariah propped her ice-wrapped leg on a shelf and fought her pain and grief by eavesdropping. She rang up receipts when someone had to return to work, but mostly, the café was full of town inhabitants with no job to go to.
That had been the reason they had started opening art galleries and encouraging tourists to visit. Now Mariah had to study each newcomer with suspicion, but so far, Keegan had been the only one to try to get close. She had to ask herself why.
“Unless Daisy’s spirit returns and warns us that artwork is dangerous, I’m not buying into paranoia.” Auburn-haired Theodosia Devine-Baker owned the jewelry and gift shop down the street. She sat in a booth with her sister and her sister’s kids, arguing with the aptly-named Amber, the orange-haired tarot reader wearing amber rings and bracelets. “The galleries have been good for business, and it will only get better as word spreads.”
“But the cards are ominous,” Amber insisted.
Since Amber was more of an agreeable teddy bear than a person who argued, Mariah kept one ear tuned to that discussion. She didn’t particularly believe tarot cards could predict the future, but Amber was capable of picking up on vibrations, maybe even mental images, and translating them through the deck. If she was sensing danger, then it was wise to listen.
“Given the state this country is in, the cards should be ominous all the time,” Teddy said cynically, scooping up a spoonful of her niece’s ice-cream cake. “Or the cards could simply be warning that with increased business, we need to lock our doors more often.”
Teddy was a fire sign, a rebel, and a fighter—pretty much Amber’s opposite. Petite Teddy had been furious enough to momentarily paralyze a rapis
t a week or so ago, and she’d helped bring down a killer. One did not cross the jewelry designer the wrong way. Mariah liked that Teddy was upfront about how she felt—unlike the Nulls of this town, one of whom had just entered.
Kurt Kennedy, the bespoke-suit resort manager, slid onto the bench seat beside Teddy.
Mariah had no understanding of romantic relationships so she couldn’t comprehend what the creative jeweler saw in the non-talkative, insensitive Kurt. Admittedly, he’d quit wearing ties, looked happier than she’d ever seen him, and was actually trying to communicate lately. So maybe Teddy—or good sex—had a little magic.
Keegan Ives had arrived in Kurt’s company, but the large Brit took a stool at the counter. Looking sinfully handsome in a black-Irish sort of way, despite his dust-covered clothes, he took out his reading glasses and picked up a menu. “What does Dinah think I should eat today?”
Mariah had no reason to believe he had anything to do with Daisy’s death. She wasn’t psychic. She didn’t read emotions as Teddy did. She couldn’t read his cards. But in self-defense, she’d learned to read people. He was here for more than evaluating old pots. His interest in her rang clarion alarms. Her survival required that strangers dismiss her as a 404 kook. Like Daisy.
“Dinah, are you ready to poison the Brit yet?” she called back to the kitchen.
“Scot, actually,” he corrected. “Although I lost much of my accent in my years at Oxford.”
Before Mariah could form a snotty reply, Sam interfered by filling his glass from her water pitcher. Samantha had a Masters degree in Environmental Science and a gift for making plants grow. She’d only been in Hillvale a month, so Mariah hadn’t worked out Sam’s place in the scheme of all things, but she had her pegged as a peacemaker. Well, sometimes, she was a smartass, but only when justified.
“Cass isn’t ready to contact Daisy yet,” Sam said, filling Mariah’s glass along with Keegan’s. “It’s impossible to tell if she’s grieving. Want to go see her after lunch?”
Crystal Vision Page 2