Sapphire Nights: Crystal Magic, Book 1

by Patricia Rice

  Sam held out her hand. “Samantha Moon.” She was getting used to saying the name and prayed it was hers. “It wasn’t precisely kidnapping. I was half asleep, and they were insistent. Is there a taxi or anything I can take back to town? I don’t think I can walk in flip flops.”

  She was hoping a taxi wouldn’t be expensive. What little money she had was back at Cass’s, and she really needed to buy food with it.

  Annoyingly, Kennedy glanced over her head at his employee. “What’s the situation?”

  “Found an old grave. Walker is setting it up like it’s a crime scene. Probably just one of the old settlers,” the guard said with a shrug.

  “Give Walker whatever support he needs, but try to keep the official vehicles to the back lot where they won’t upset the guests.” Kennedy glanced down at Sam’s toes. “I have to go into town to talk to my brother anyway. Why don’t I drop you off somewhere? It’s the least we can do to show you we’re not entirely nuts up here.”

  “That would be perfect,” Sam said in relief. So whoever she was, she trusted total strangers. She took her perceived intelligence down two notches but followed Kennedy anyway. She really didn’t have many choices.

  She almost hated to pollute Kurt Kennedy’s low-slung Mercedes sports car with her sandy flip flops and ragged sweats. How absurd, she realized a second later. Perhaps, as a student, she’d been uncomfortable about her poverty in the face of wealth. If so, this new Samantha needed to grow up. She ignored the dirty footprint she created on the carpeted floorboard.

  “I hope this little incident doesn’t mar your visit here,” Kurt said as he shifted the car into gear.

  She’d like to say starvation was marring her visit, but then he’d feel obligated to feed her. “I’m easily entertained,” she said instead.

  Apparently, she wasn’t attracted to suave rich men wearing expensive watches and aftershave. Maybe she ought to take this opportunity to readjust her thinking—especially since, without a memory, she was looking at a future as a homeless bum.

  “Walker said you’re staying at Cass’s?” The question held a note of disapproval.

  “I brought her cat back. But I didn’t get the key. If you’ll drop me off at the café, I’ll wait for Mariah.” And get food and maybe she ought to take up that job offer.

  Would she have a boyfriend or husband worrying about her? Filing a missing person report? The ever-present knot in her middle tightened. She tried to focus on the moment, but the car sped down the winding road, not giving her much opportunity to admire the resort’s landscaping.

  “I’d like to make up for your rude introduction to our town. Would you be interested in having dinner with me this evening at the lodge? I could clue you in on our neighbors so you won’t be kidnapped anymore.”

  He swung the car into the lot. She hadn’t been able to study the town through the fog when she’d first arrived, or as her kidnapper had rattled through later. Now, Sam could see Hillvale was no more than a crumbling mix of ramshackle small buildings lining both sides of the highway, with a parking lot in the middle. Some of the structures had logs like the resort, others were adobe or clapboard. A sagging covered boardwalk connected them. Her driver turned off the ignition, acting as if the question of dinner were already settled.

  She looked like a homeless person dragged from under a bridge. Why would this man ask her to dinner? Maybe she ought to find out. Since she had no idea how she would buy dinner otherwise, Sam felt compelled to accept. “What time?” And then she had to wonder what in heck she would wear.

  “Will seven work?” He glanced out the windshield. “Looks like Mariah is waiting for you. I’ll see you then.”

  Bossy, she didn’t like that. But. . . free meal. Sam let herself out before Kurt could open the door for her. . . or not. He waited for her to climb out, locked the car, and with a salute, marched off in another direction.

  Someone had raised that boy with bad manners. And how did she know about manners when she couldn’t remember her own name? Suppressing the panic that was becoming second nature, Sam crossed the lot to confront Mariah. “How did you get back here so fast?”

  Mariah pointed her chin at the mountain looming over the town hall. “Short cut.”

  Sam didn’t plan to hang around long enough to learn it. “I need keys to get in the house, I think.”

  “There’s a key under the geranium, sorry.” Mariah smirked and nodded at the departing resort manger. With the fog lifting, she looked more sturdy and less surreal than earlier. “See you fell in with the rich crowd pretty fast.”

  “Val’s fault. I need food before I talk about it.” She let herself into the café.

  The café had a few customers scattered among the stools and booths. They all turned to stare. Sam was beyond feeling self-conscious about her attire at this point. So, she was naked beneath her sweats. It wasn’t as if she had anything to hide—except her lack of identity. That problem was so huge that anything else was irrelevant.

  Dinah greeted them with a wave and slapped coffee down in front of a vacant stool before Sam could choose one. “Breakfast or lunch?”

  “My money is still up at Cass’s, can I owe you?” Sam doctored the caffeine with sugar and sipped gratefully. She glanced at a newspaper someone had left on the counter. June, it was June—another piece of her foundation returned.

  “You come work for me, and you get all you can eat,” Dinah said. “You’re providing free entertainment around here.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Sam said dryly. “Eggs and toast, please, and can I go home and get dressed first? And have the night off? I’m supposed to have dinner with Mr. Kennedy.”

  Dinah’s belly laughed filled the café. For such a small person, she had lungs. Sam felt oddly warmed that her smart mouth was appreciated.

  “You have anything besides sweats and jeans to wear to dinner?” Mariah asked, slipping behind the counter to take a tourist’s money at the cash register while Dinah returned to the kitchen for eggs.

  Sam grimaced in remembrance of the interview outfit in her suitcase. “Business attire. How do they dress up there?”

  “Like tourists, mostly, except for some of the older ladies,” a plump woman wearing a red peasant blouse and blue tie-dyed skirt said from two stools down. She held out a hand encrusted in rings of various stones. “I’m Amber. I do tarot readings across the street. If you’re joining Dinah’s staff, I’ll be happy to give you a complimentary spread to welcome you to town.”

  “She’s good,” Mariah called from the register. “Accept her offer.”

  “Is everyone in this town so bossy?” Sam asked of no one.

  “Opinionated,” Amber corrected. “It’s a small town full of big personalities. It’s no place to be shy.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m not shy,” Sam said, thinking aloud. “I’m just a fish out of water. So business attire will be okay for dinner?”

  “The Kennedys wear designer suits like mine,” a big, bluff man with so much golden hair it didn’t look real intruded on their conversation as he stood and reached for his wallet. “They like their women rich. No one in this pit qualifies.” He walked out with the stride of a man confident he owned the world and everyone in it. His suit and watch would probably buy the café.

  “Alan Gump from San Francisco,” Mariah murmured. “Owns Gump Real Estate. They buy land for corporations. He’s not only a Null, but an outsider. We don’t talk to him.”

  A tall thin man with stooped shoulders and a faded green blazer ambled out after Gump.

  “Xavier Black, Gump’s stooge,” Mariah added. “He got left in the cemetery too long way back and isn’t fit for more than printing out rental contracts for tourists. He has an office here.”

  “Do we talk to Xavier?” Sam asked in amusement, wondering what left in the cemetery too long was a metaphor for.

  Mariah shrugged. “Gump is right, though, the town is dying, and we’ll never be rich.”

  Dinah returned with a flak
y croissant plus a plate full of steaming scrambled eggs mixed with bits of spinach, tomato, and cheese. “Go see Tullah about clothes,” Dinah said. “She runs the thrift store three doors down. Tell her I sent you. She’ll find something and you can return it tomorrow. Start work tomorrow at eight and wear whatever makes you comfortable, but you’d better have real shoes.”

  “I’m never eating anywhere else,” Sam said in reverence, closing her eyes and savoring her first mouthful of eggs.

  “You ain’t eating here again if you chew while you’re talking,” Dinah admonished.

  Maybe whoever or whatever had sent her here had done her a favor. What kind of life could she have had previously if these eccentrics felt like home?

  And then she remembered why she couldn’t work here.

  Sam waited until she’d finished eating, then gestured at Mariah to follow her outside—out of hearing of the other diners. “I have no social security number to give Dinah,” she whispered, looking for the thrift store but distracted by the artistically-decorated planters lining the boardwalk. “I don’t want to turn her down, but I’m pretty sure she needs ID for her records.” Although she didn’t know how she knew all this esoteric information and still couldn’t remember her name.

  “I don’t have any either,” Mariah said. “Dinah is happy to feed us in exchange for our work. If we work more than we’ve eaten, she’ll pay us in cash. I don’t think Dinah has proper permits and whatnot. She has a past in New Orleans that you’ll hear about when she trusts you.”

  Oddly, this evidence of town lawlessness lifted a heavy load off her shoulders. She wiggled her shoulders, releasing the tension before examining the planter outside the door. It was decorated in shards of mirrors and mosaic tile and filled with pansies and lobelia. “I feel like I’ve fallen through the Looking Glass,” she admitted. “Can you go with me to pick out a dinner outfit? And should I be nervous about tonight?”

  Mariah started down the wooden planks, past an ice cream shop and antique store and more planters, most of them containing struggling flowers. “Kurt is one of the most boringly unimaginative Nulls in town. He’ll want to grill you to see if you’re one of them or one of us. Beyond that, enjoy the food. It’s good.”

  “And if I’m not either?” Sam asked in puzzlement, wistfully studying an enormous red geranium spilling out of another pot.

  “Everyone is one or the other. If you’re not one of us, you’re a Null,” Mariah said, pushing open a glass door that tinkled welcome. “It’s not all bad, if so. Val will quit pushing you around and the Kennedys will feed you. But if the Red Queen starts talking backward, run.”

  Sam laughed, but she wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t a genuine warning that she needed to translate. Maybe she was missing the bits necessary to understand what she ought to know.

  They found a sprigged pink, green, and white skirt, green tank top, and a white draped jacket that fit. Sam would rather have worn jeans, but Tullah nixed that.

  Not as dark as Dinah, but taller and more elegantly dressed, the thrift store owner jangled an armful of gold bracelets as she folded up the outfit. “Put on some heeled sandals and make him look at your legs. It’s good for him.”

  “I only have a pair of black pumps,” Sam admitted. “Student wardrobe, I’m afraid.” She didn’t know that, but the description felt right.

  Mariah slapped a pair of strapped, heeled sandals on the desk. “These should be close enough. You really need bronzed goddess shoes to make him crazy, but these will do.”

  “Yeah, if I’m doing goddess, I want the gold crown and jeweled scepter, please.” Sam studied the heels, wondering if she knew how to walk in them.

  “This outfit demands a crown of vines and flowers,” Tullah said. “We’ll find you one of Harvey’s carved walking sticks for your scepter.”

  Sam had a feeling vines and branches were probably more her style, but if she meant to be a new person, she needed to explore her options first. “I really appreciate this, thank you. Can I do anything for you in return?”

  “Depends. Can you sew?”

  Sam had no idea. “Sweep floors? Wash dishes?” she suggested tentatively. Surely she could manage those. She glanced out the window to the thrift store’s planter, which hadn’t been planted yet. Someone had painted it in ocean blue and added seagulls over foaming waves. “What if I fill your planter?”

  Tullah brightened. “I never know what to put in them things. They always die anyway.”

  Now that she’d suggested it, that felt right too. Maybe Samantha Moon had a green thumb? She really needed another look at those textbooks. “Do you think the other owners would mind if I thinned out some of their pots and used the cuttings for yours? I can’t buy plants, but I can help everyone weed and water.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” Mariah said. “Some are a bit ornery, but if you’re volunteering to do pot maintenance, they’ll come around. Daisy decorated all the old clay troughs and Monty insisted everyone maintain their own, but not everyone knows how.” Mariah pushed open the door. “Thanks, Tullah!”

  Sam hefted her packages, waved good-bye, and followed Mariah out. “I think I can do the pots, but I really don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

  Mariah planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll stay as long as Cass wants. Now go get ready and I’ll tell everyone we have a plant goddess in town.”

  She marched off, leaving Sam to ponder her words. As long as Cass wants? She couldn’t get in her car and leave?

  Chapter 5

  At day’s end, Walker limped down the mountain with the sheriff, feeling dusty, sweaty, and grim.

  “I can keep the details quiet because I don’t have any,” Walker said grumpily. “There’s no newspaper up here, but gossip flies faster than dust in the wind. They’ll know more than I do by morning.”

  “Coroner is the only one who can give a report,” the sheriff said with a shrug. “All the rest is speculation. We’ll need to run through our missing persons files.”

  Walker had heard the coroner say white, male, age late 30s, early 40s. He knew the file that fit already. He just needed date of death to confirm it. “I’m going back up after supper. The Lucys will be back, rooting around. There could be more graves up there.”

  “Can’t pay you overtime,” the sheriff warned. “You’re on your own. It’s not likely there are any more bodies unless you have gang wars you’re not telling me about.”

  “As far as I’m aware, they nail each other with insults here, not hammers.”

  “How about shovels? Pickaxes?” the sheriff inquired. “You got a war of barn tools going on?” The cadaver’s head had been split from behind, quite possibly with a barn tool.

  If he was a man who wept, he’d do so now, but the man Walker feared was up there had taught him not to show weakness. He kept his stoicism. “No barn tool wars that I know, but I’ve only been here since December. Winter is quiet.”

  “Doesn’t look like this is recent anyway. We’ll let you know more, when we know it,” the sheriff promised, climbing into his car. “The coroner’s office gets backed up every time he goes fishing, so I can’t say when.”

  Walker tipped a finger to his forehead, acknowledging the delay. He hated it, but then, he hated the dirty task he’d assigned himself. He had needed time to recuperate, then get his head straight, and the deputy job in this county he’d been meaning to investigate had conveniently opened. Maybe once he adjusted to the loneliness, he’d be able to go home, pick up the pieces. . .

  He wasn’t ready. Davey’s toys still littered the garage. His little bed. . . Walker’s insides ground as if he’d swallowed glass.

  With jaw clenched against the pain, he continued to the lodge in the dying sunlight, hoping to snag a sandwich so he could go back up the mountain without delay. Reaching the parking lot near the lodge’s restaurant door, he watched Kurt’s fancy red Mercedes maneuver into a reserved space. Walker waited for the manager to get out so he could hail him, but bit his
tongue when a pair of shapely legs followed the opening door on the passenger side. Kurt usually didn’t bring women up here.

  Walker frowned as Cass’s guest emerged, standing tall in heels with straps that emphasized her slender ankles and curvaceous calves. She wore a flouncy skirt that hit right below her knee and a top that proved she had cleavage and underwear.

  The fool female got around—from looney Lucys in the morning to wealthy Nulls in the evening. What in hell was up with that?

  In his usual brusque manner, Kurt led the way up the red carpet where an employee hurried to open the door for him.

  Feeling like a dirty grub, Walker decided maybe he would go to the kitchen door to beg food. He didn’t know why it rubbed him the wrong way that Miss Samantha Moon was already on the hook of one of the richest men in town. He ought to wish her well. He barely even knew her.

  But he’d seen the shadows in those big blue eyes and knew the female hid secrets. The fact that a body had been uncovered the minute she entered town—was too coincidental.

  Yeah, if he was back in the city, he wouldn’t think anything of it. But out here—weird happened. The Lucys would pick up on it soon enough, if they hadn’t already.

  Walker sighed in exasperation as he turned the corner for the kitchen door and saw the lean figure propped against the timber façade, presumably doing nothing more than whittling at an oak branch. Harvey never claimed to be one of the Lucys, but he always showed up at inopportune times, in places where he shouldn’t be.

  Dressed in black t-shirt, tight black jeans, and black boots, with his thick black hair worn in a leather tie at his nape, Harvey was more carrion crow than Goth, biker, or hippy. He lifted his carving knife in greeting as Walker approached.

  “Found what you were looking for?” Harvey asked.

  That was one of the weird things about this town. Walker had never told anyone what he was looking for or that he was even looking. He scowled in reply. “No one goes looking for skeletons. You got any idea who it is?”