Sapphire Nights

by Patricia Rice

  Taking a deep breath to settle her rattled nerves, Sam stood and approached her aunt’s higher position. “Aunt Valdis, I think it’s time to come back. Cass says so.” She reached up and caught a bony hand.

  Valdis clasped her hand and began moaning again.

  Tell her to let go, to let the spirit free. Wish him into the light.

  Sam wasn’t entirely certain the spirit belonged in the light, but lacking any better knowledge, she repeated Cass’s refrain aloud and stood on her toes to take Valdis’s other hand. Valdis continued swaying and shaking but fell silent, which was almost a welcome relief.

  With relief, she felt Walker reach the rocky plateau. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and have hysterics, but she was no longer a helpless child. Clinging to rational, she repeated Cass’s words aloud and tried to bring Valdis back, grateful when Walker added his strength by clasping her shoulder with his broad hand.

  As if the contact provided a grounding wire, a shock wave jolted between her hands and her aunt’s. Valdis slumped.

  Before Valdis could slide off her perch, Walker was there, catching her, lowering her to the plateau they stood on. Her aunt wasn’t a small woman, but Walker cradled her like a child.

  To Sam’s surprise, Harvey reluctantly climbed up to join them.

  “She’s been without food and water for twenty-four hours. She says her ankle is sprained.” Sam dropped to her knees to push her aunt’s ragged black skirt away from her ugly black boots. Valdis had apparently opened the laces on her right boot. Sam tried to pull it off, but the leg was swollen. “I need a knife to cut this off. She can’t walk like this.”

  “We’ll let the medics cut the boot off. They should be waiting by the time we get her down. I didn’t call search and rescue, so we’ll have to carry her ourselves.” Walker shoved aside Valdis’s lacy veil to reach her cloak ties.

  Sam gasped at the sight of the red scar marring her aunt’s elegantly-boned face. Apparently already aware of the disfigurement, Walker unfastened her heavy black cloak.

  Harvey apparently grasped what he intended. He took the other end of the cloak, and the two men tugged on it, testing it for strength.

  “It should work,” Harvey said, handing his staff to Sam. The wood vibrated with an intensity deeper than hers, and she almost dropped it. “You’ll have to lead the way down. Walking backward is not one of my skills, but I should be able to follow the stick.”

  They wanted her to lead the way? As she stood there, stunned and shivering, Walker hugged her and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “We’ve made enough noise to scare snakes into the next state. Just go slow.”

  “What if she wakes up?” Sam asked, worriedly studying her unconscious aunt.

  “We could make a straitjacket of this thing,” Walker suggested. “Bundle her up like a butterfly.”

  “Caterpillar cocoon,” Harvey corrected grimly. “Or bat wings. With Valdis, that’s our best bet.”

  Sam helped them lift her aunt and lay the cloak under her, then roll her back on it and wrap it around, with room to spare. Without the drama, Valdis seemed much smaller.

  “Do you think she was really talking to Juan?” Sam asked, flashing her light down the jumble of rocks.

  She might never overcome her dislike of snakes, but she’d learned people were more important than her fear. That had to be a step in the right direction.

  “If it was Juan, he didn’t tell us much,” Harvey said disparagingly, lifting his end of the bundle. “Except that Francois has a boyfriend. Should have guessed that.”

  Walker snorted as he lifted his end. “The epaulets didn’t give it away?”

  “Bigot,” Sam called back as she scrambled down the path. “Wearing costumes doesn’t mean a person is gay.”

  “He’s seeking attention,” Harvey suggested. “That doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “Francois was there when Carmel visited the vault,” Walker argued. “If that’s where she kept the gun, he knows about it and had access to it. And he would have had the keys to drive back up to the vault after Juan was shot.”

  Sam considered that but shook her head in disagreement. “If we are going to believe that was Juan talking through Valdis—and not just Valdis being dramatic—then it sounded as if the boyfriend was the killer, not Francois.”

  “The old fraud,” Walker repeated. “And the reference to the boss back then makes me wonder if Valdis doesn’t know something about my father’s death as well.”

  “Valdis wasn’t here back then,” Sam reminded him. “So she would have had to have heard it from someone else.”

  “Like Juan,” Harvey suggested dryly. “I’m not liking this backward thing. Give me a second so I can try holding her behind my back.”

  “Earlier, before you arrived, Valdis was channeling other voices.” Sam waited as Harvey lowered his burden and turned around. “One voice said we should leave and let the evil die up there as he did. That voice also muttered about paint and demons burying us. The other sounded like a woman with maybe a Scandinavian accent. She said we would be fine and we should save the farm. It all got mixed up with art and crystals and Valdis telling me it was Susannah’s fault that I’m not an artist.”

  “Hallucinating,” Walker said. “She was up there too long. She’s dehydrated.”

  “I wish I could have got some water in her, but I’m afraid she’ll choke if I try now,” Sam said worriedly.

  “Believe me, it’s much better to leave Valdis unconscious.” Harvey strode with more assurance now that he was facing forward. “She has the strength of a pit bull and her bite doesn’t let go.”

  Sam flashed her light up the hill to check on Walker. The muscles had tightened over his cheekbones, but she didn’t think it was from the strain of carrying his burden. He had his grim cop look on. “You’re about to tear Francois into shreds—just in case Valdis knows something, aren’t you?”

  “I dismissed him. I shouldn’t have. He’s lived up here as long as the Kennedys.”

  “Keep it moving, Sam,” Harvey said. “You can admire your boyfriend once we get off this damned mountain.”

  Sam marched on, feeling somehow safer and a little triumphant that she had conquered her fear and maybe, sort of, accepted that her aunt spoke to people on another plane. This was not university material by any means. And maybe it was only the theatrics that made her believe. But if Valdis had given Walker a clue that could lead him to his father’s killer. . . She didn’t care how it came about.

  The ambulance was waiting on the cemetery road, as was half the town, it seemed. Men met them at the bottom of the path to take Valdis and carry her out to the road. It took four, because she started to struggle.

  Harvey reclaimed his staff and disappeared into the woods without speaking to anyone. Walker draped his arm over Sam’s shoulders and nuzzled her ear. “I’m thinking LA about now.”

  “Nope,” she said. “It’s too far and we’re too tired and I want to know what happens.”

  “Like a damned soap opera,” he concluded. “That’s what really bites about the investigation business. You can’t just put it down and walk away.”

  “My mind is racing, but the rest of me is ready to crash. And now I’m wondering if I should have said anything in front of Harvey. We really don’t know much about him—except apparently his grandparents were part of the commune.” Sam let Walker lead her through the crowd of concerned citizens. Cass wasn’t here. Had she put herself into another trance?

  She stopped and cornered Amber. “I heard Cass in my head. Can someone check on her?”

  Concerned, the tarot reader nodded, grabbed Tullah, and the two hurried down the path to Cass’s. That and the ambulance departing broke up the crowd.

  “I probably should have gone with Valdis,” Sam said anxiously.

  “The medics will work better without you crowding them. I’d take you down in the morning, but I have to report to the office.” He hugged her again.

  “We’ll w
orry about it then,” she agreed, too tired to argue.

  She probably should have argued when Walker took her home and came inside without asking, but she didn’t, and that wasn’t because she was too tired. Walker’s arms around her were the strength she didn’t have, his kiss was the energy boost she needed. And when she wrapped her legs around his hips, he carried her straight to bed, where they both belonged.

  Morning, June 23

  * * *

  The next day, Walker was relieved that Sam decided to help Dinah with the breakfast rush instead of driving into town with him to check on a crazy woman she barely knew.

  “You’ll hear more if you stay here,” he told her, pulling on his wrinkled clothes again. He’d have to think about carrying a suitcase in his trunk at this rate. “Ask around about Francois.”

  “And maybe I can ask about crystals and art a bit.” She was still naked after their shower, running a dryer over her wet hair.

  Walker soaked up the sight and wondered how hard it would be to leave her here when his job was over. Pretty damned hard, he feared. He wanted to know everything about this witchy woman. He was thinking it might take a lifetime though, and neither of them had an inclination for that.

  “You could ask Daisy where she gets the shiny bits she uses on her statues,” Walker agreed, catching a glimpse of the stone butterfly reflecting sunlight from the windows. “I can’t see how they have anything to do with anything, but if Valdis was speaking from some past memory, it must be a strong one.”

  “That’s how I’d like to think about it—she’s calling up voices from her past. But that bit about Francois was pretty freaky. How will you go about finding his boyfriend and questioning him?”

  “Carefully,” Walker admitted. “He’s been with the Kennedys forever. I don’t know how he could have hidden a lover for long in this town, though.”

  “Well, Valdis could have got the relationship wrong. It’s hard telling what she’s seeing or hearing. Old Fraud doesn’t tell us much. A lot of old people here, and I’m guessing half of them are charlatans.” After pinning her hair in a stack on top of her head, Sam shimmied into her underwear.

  Walker had to turn away to fasten his belt or he’d never get out of there. “The only legal fraud I know would have been Geoff Kennedy, and he’s dead. I need to go over the attorney general’s old report and run the names of his cohorts through my files to see if anything matches. Nothing leaped out at me in the first read-through.”

  “They would have all been eighteen or twenty years younger than they are now. Women could have married and changed their names. People who were merely assistants back then could be bigwigs now. Maybe their names weren’t even in the report.”

  He couldn’t resist kissing her again. “I’ll have intrepid Sofia look up the names of the lower echelons at the bank and mortgage company back then.”

  She kissed him with enthusiasm, then stepped away so she could finish dressing. “She may have to hack computers. That doesn’t sound like anything that would be public.”

  “Payroll reports, human resources, employment agencies, there are always back doors if you know the right people. If we can find evidence that someone from back then was up here the night Juan died, I can have a judge subpoena the company files— although convincing them Juan’s case involves old fraud should be entertaining. I need to drive down and check in at the office. Should I drop you off in town?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. A few recalcitrant strands of platinum hair fell and caressed her elegant cheekbones. “I want to walk down the lane. I haven’t met everyone here, and the ghost house fascinates me.”

  Walker felt his insides grind, but he nodded knowingly. “You’re planning on staying here, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe. The ghost house has this beautiful garden. . . But I don’t know what I want yet.” Her sapphire eyes begged him to understand.

  And he did, sort of. He understood they were two very different people, with different life experiences, different needs. He brushed aside the dangling curl and kissed her cheek. “See you when I see you then.”

  He skipped Dinah’s and drove down the mountain to change clothes and check in for roll call. The routine was starting to irritate, but he needed legal power to question people like the Kennedys. His usual work didn’t include active criminal investigations, until he uncovered a crime. Then he handed the case over to the authorities. He was enjoying having the ability to follow through on the cases, but he disliked the bureaucracy. Or maybe he just disliked not being his own boss.

  In a fresh uniform, Walker reported in at the office and went over the files. The blood analysis on Xavier was still incomplete, although the hospital’s staff had concluded an overdose of cocaine. Not knowing Xavier’s drug of choice, he couldn’t reach a conclusion.

  The ballistics report on the gun from the Kennedy vault had proven it was the weapon used on Juan. Muttering a curse under his breath, Walker looked over the fingerprint report again—too many smudges and attempts to wipe it clean. Traces that matched those in Carmel’s bedroom, partials from Francois, but also some identified from Geoffrey Kennedy’s old files, and even one from a maid who had probably picked it up to dust under it. It was practically a public gun.

  He read through the homicide team’s notes. Francois claimed he’d never touched the gun. He’d lied, since they’d found a partial of his prints on it.

  Walker needed more information on the Kennedys’ driver, as well as names of people who’d worked with Geoff Kennedy, the bank, and the mortgage company from twenty years ago—although that wasn’t part of the sheriff’s investigation.

  He gave the detective a head’s up about Francois, then called Sofia to start digging into mortgage and bank employees from twenty years ago. He was getting a jumpy feeling that he was leaving Sam alone too long.

  No one had attempted to harm Sam or Valdis yet, but Walker had a nasty fear that their land had a part in whatever was happening up there. Maybe that’s what Valdis was ranting about—she believed that land ownership was somehow dangerous.

  Nah, that was too rational for the old witch.

  He stopped at the Baskerville hospital where both Xavier and Valdis were patients.

  As he drove his official vehicle into the lot and hunted a parking space, he noted Alan Gump of the garish blond hair and bespoke suits climbing into a Lamborghini. Real estate moguls had to stand out in a crowd, Walker supposed, but flashing that much wealth in a district predominantly occupied by people barely scraping a living seemed. . . offensive.

  He rolled his eyes. That was his mother’s voice in his head, nattering about the evils of flashing wealth to impress. He was spending too much time with the tree-hugging Lucys.

  Walker checked on Xavier first, but he’d been moved to a drug rehab facility in Monterey. Damn.

  He would compile a list of questions and see if one of his men could get in to see the old goat.

  Then he stopped in to visit Valdis. She was hooked up to an IV and despite the scar, looking almost healthy without the grim black clothing. Tullah, the tall, elegant, thrift shop owner, and Amber, the tarot reader, were already there, shaking out clean dresses—all black—apparently for Valdis to choose from. Walker grimaced and almost turned around rather than face a room full of Lucys.

  But he gritted his teeth and entered. All three women looked at him as if they were ready for him to be gone before he even spoke a word.

  After exchanging pleasantries and learning that Valdis would be released soon and had a ride home, Walker attempted to at least get in one formal question. “How much do any of you know about Francois?”

  “He’s a slimy creep who would sell his soul for cash or drugs,” Tullah said without hesitation. “But only if it meant he didn’t have to lift a hand or do more than exist.”

  Walker quirked an eyebrow. “Not many people turn over cash or drugs for nothing.”

  Looking like a warm cuddly teddy bear, Amber snapped a dress with un
usual ferocity to shake out wrinkles. She began folding it away, leaving a trailing long skirt of black gauze across the bed. “She means he’s a snitch,” she said in disdain. “Give him a toke, and he’ll tell you anything.”

  Valdis picked anxiously at the black gauze and didn’t look him in the eyes. “He spies for Carmel,” she whispered. “He worships her.”

  “But he wouldn’t kill for her?” Walker asked, ugly suspicion rising.

  All three women looked uncertain.

  Oh, crap. Would Carmel order a security guard killed? Why?

  Chapter 27

  Morning, June 23

  * * *

  Despite the lingering smell of ashes, Sam happily transplanted salvia and sage from the ghost garden to a sunny spot beside the town hall. The two-story wooden building was at the end of the row of shops. The town could easily expand the land around it into a park, if her Uncle Montgomery gave up the driveway to his private parking spot in the back. She envisioned benches and a fountain—tile or stone?—and pebble paths surrounding beds of flowers that bloomed all year around.

  She thought best with her hands in dirt. If she stayed here, could she obtain a grant to study the earthquake fault and how it might affect the aquifer? Having grown up on a farm in a small rural area, she didn’t miss the city lights. Although fitting in had always been a problem for her. She knew where she belonged at the university. Here. . . She had no idea where she stood.

  She might miss a social life once Walker returned to LA. She didn’t want to think like that. She had no claim on Walker. That had been understood from the first.

  She would miss Walker reassuring her with a shoulder squeeze when she needed an extra zap of strength. Admittedly, his protective streak could use a good trim, but he wasn’t the type of macho man who shoved her aside and told her he’d do whatever needed doing. He just offered to be there if she needed him. She felt as if he’d cut open the cocoon binding her so she could spread her wings and fly anywhere she liked.