“None of this explains where Cass is,” Sam reminded her.
They both looked at the casket, until Amber scooped up the cards and shuffled them.
Chapter 8
The next day Walker drove up the mountain in the early morning fog on his usual rounds. He’d spent part of his day off trying to satisfy his curiosity about the new girl in town. Another few hours had been spent at the office, checking out Jane Does who might be Cass. Without an official request, he couldn’t do more.
It hadn’t taken long to verify what he already knew about the skeleton case. The coroner had estimated the corpse had been buried approximately fifteen to twenty years ago. The only missing person reported on that mountain in that range of time was Roger Walker, his father. Hikers occasionally went missing and so had some of the hippies who had last been seen at the commune, but the timing, age, and sex of those didn’t match the coroner’s guesstimate.
He’d found what he’d taken this job for, but that wasn’t enough. His mother had clung to hope for years, then remarried when he was in college, after having his father declared officially dead. Walker had never believed the man he’d idolized had willingly deserted him. Now he needed to know why his father had been killed with a blow to the head all those years ago.
Walker had shown his father’s missing person’s report to the sheriff, who had labeled the case as homicide and sent forensics up, but they both knew there would be little to find after all these years.
The case rested on the people of Hillvale, the ones who had lived here eighteen years ago, when his father had last been seen here. Cass was one of those people.
Driving into town, Walker knew he should continue his route up to the lodge. He could ask questions of the Kennedys, who’d owned property up here all their lives. Or walk up to the crime scene, see if the locals had behaved.
But he pulled into the parking lot instead. Samantha Moon probably would have been six or seven years old when his father disappeared. She knew nothing. But he stopped anyway.
As he entered, pulling off his sunglasses, she smiled at him, and his pulse raced. So maybe it was more than police instinct pulling him in here. He liked that she seemed to see him and not his genetics. Even in this day and age, bigotry ran rampant—one of the reasons he’d taken over his father’s company instead of entering the police force after college, he understood now. He had believed that hiding his mixed race behind a desk allowed him to accomplish more than in the streets.
He was six years and a lifetime of experience older than Sam, so he had no business acting on hormones. That didn’t make his physical reaction to her go away.
There were still shadows under her eyes, but she didn’t seem quite as wan and hesitant as she had upon arrival. She was a striking woman, and he wasn’t dead yet, so of course he was interested.
She set a mug down and filled it to the brim. “Pie or breakfast?”
“Pie is fine. I ate before I left. Did everyone behave while I was gone?”
“They held a death ritual last night.” She reached into the pie case to give him the last leftover. “They had to do it in the lodge parking lot because security blocked the path. I understand words were exchanged.”
Dinah popped out from the kitchen and slapped what appeared to be a cheese biscuit in front of him. “Taste this. Tell me what you think. And leave Sam alone. She don’t know nothin’ about nothin’ and people been running her ragged with foolishness.”
Walker hid his grin behind his coffee cup. “I reckon Sam’s old enough not to need a mother hen clucking after her.” He imitated Dinah’s accent. It slipped back to its origins when she got excited.
Sam walked off to take a customer’s cash. At this hour, there weren’t many people to overhear them.
“You been lookin’ into Sam the way you nosed into everyone else?” Dinah demanded, unfazed by his mockery.
“You said you were worried about Cass. Sam seems to be the last person who saw her. What else do you want me to do?” Walker bit into the biscuit. It nearly melted in his mouth.
His appreciation must have shown, because Dinah looked satisfied. Sam returned and broke off a piece of the biscuit to taste it.
“Those things are priceless. I could arrest you for felony theft,” he warned guarding what remained with his arm.
“Then you’d never have another because Dinah wouldn’t have time to make them if I’m not here,” Sam said without concern. “Were you saying you were investigating me?”
“Sharp ears.” Walker sipped his coffee while he decided how to play this without offending the two women waiting expectantly. “Okay, I ran your plate. It’s no big deal. Your sticker will expire in July, so if you’re staying in California, you’ll want to get to the DMV before then and transfer the title.”
She frowned a little. “How do I do that?”
“You’ll need your Utah title and sales receipt, but first, you need to have an address. So wait until you’re settled in. There’s no rush. Your old address expired a few years back, so you won’t receive any other reminders.”
She nodded, still frowning. “What do you mean, my old address expired?”
“You didn’t update it when you moved a few years ago.” He’d looked into that, too, but he wasn’t certain how much to tell her before she dumped coffee over him. Since she was obviously not a career criminal, he had no right to be nosing around more.
“You’re forgiven if all you’re doing is helping out,” Dinah said with dignity, before returning to her cave.
“That’s not all you looked at, is it?” Sam asked in a low voice. “You exude guilt. They told you to find Cass, so you looked up everything you could legally find.”
She didn’t seem ready to pour coffee over him. He shrugged. “You graduated with a masters, as you said. There’s no record of a more recent address. I’m guessing you left university housing to move in with someone. Since that has nothing to do with Cass, it’s none of my business.”
“Damn right,” she said with hostility. “But you checked out my parents, too, didn’t you?”
He resisted tugging at his collar. “I’m investigating an eighteen-year-old missing persons case. You’re not old enough to know anything, but you know Cass. So I had to wonder how and guess it was through your parents, who may have lived here before you were born.”
She crossed her arms and tapped her toe—definitely hostile body language. “And?”
“And, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your parents were dead until I found the news story on the plane crash. It must have been while you were just starting university. That had to have been rough. If they had any connection to Cass, you’ll have to tell me.”
She’d gone pale and her toe stopped tapping. She looked as if she was trying to hold herself together by her elbows.
“I don’t remember any of it,” she whispered.
Her parents were dead. Shaking and trying to hide it, Sam abandoned the deputy to help a customer who’d just entered.
She couldn’t believe she’d told the nosy police officer her problem, but she was tired of faking it, tired of being alone, and desperate to know who she was. And she had no family. He would have told her if she had a husband and a married name. Now she knew she had no one, no one looking for her, no one to go home to, and apparently no home. It was a harsh blow, and she fought back the tears she despised.
In just a cursory search, the deputy had found out more than she could ever hope to.
While she took orders, Walker finished his coffee, left cash on the counter, and put on his hat. “I’ll talk to you after the morning rush,” he called, as if women told him all the time that they had no memory.
She could run away, get in the car, and go back to Utah where someone presumably knew her. But they’d probably put her in a mental institution. She probably belonged in an institution.
“That cop giving you trouble?” one of the morning regulars asked. Tall, thin, straggly gray hair thinning on top, faded gree
n blazer. . . Xavier. She remembered the man who followed the loud real estate guy around—except Grumpy Gump had gone back to the city.
“No, he’s just doing what cops do. More coffee?” Sam held up the pot.
He nodded a little eagerly. “Saw you with Mr. Kennedy. You looking for a place to stay?”
Real estate, she recalled, Xavier rented real estate. “I probably won’t be staying long, thanks.”
His face drooped, and she felt sorry for him but forgot about him while she waited on others. He was gone next time she looked, disappeared, like one of the town ghosts.
Mariah arrived a little while later, black braid and feathers swinging, to check her ghost traps and help with the morning rush.
“The spirits aren’t happy,” she told Sam as they passed behind the counter. “I should probably check Cass’s traps. I put some in where she wouldn’t notice. Will you be up there later today? I’ll check yours too.”
“You have a key,” Sam pointed out, unhappy that everyone knew more about her than she did. Had Mariah searched her belongings? How many other people had keys? Anyone could have made a copy while it was hiding under a flower pot!
Mariah raised her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t walk in without your permission. I try not to at Cass’s, but she’s been gone over a week. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Sorry. The deputy was here and he’s been invading my privacy and got me jumpy. What happened last night?”
“Mrs. Kennedy happened. She had a tantrum and ordered security to throw everyone out of the parking lot. Not everyone is fit enough to walk up through the woods, but a few of us tried. There’s yellow tape all over the place. There weren’t enough of us to surround the police boundaries to do a proper exorcism. Cass would have made it happen, but on our own, we failed. Now that section will stay as polluted as the rest.”
She hurried off to help a customer, and they didn’t have a chance to talk again until mid-morning.
“What precisely were you hoping to accomplish with an exorcism?” Sam asked as Mariah stopped to sip tea.
“Ward off evil, mostly,” Mariah explained. “It’s not as if there’s a spirit handbook.”
Sam fretted about the fire image in her tarot cards—after the séance spirit had said fire cleansed evil. It sounded a lot like someone was setting the stage for arson. Apparently, whoever she was had a suspicious mind.
“Did you ask the other merchants if I can putter in their planters?” Sam changed the subject to one more pleasant.
“They all said root away to your heart’s content. It’s not as if we have a nursery up here to keep the pots looking good. We’ve threatened to order the mayor to provide plants if he wants the wretched things kept up. The rich are used to picking up phones and hiring everyone to do everything.” Mariah’s long black braid bobbed with righteous indignation.
“Socialism, I like it,” Sam said, her lip twitching in amusement at her friend’s passion.
They returned to work. The tourist trade might be declining, but Dinah’s was the only eatery in town. She wouldn’t go out of business even in winter. It was well after lunch before Sam could escape. The planters called to her. She was glad everyone thought it was okay for her to play in their dirt.
She stopped to remove some faded yellow pansies from the antique store’s planter. She loved their cheerful little faces but pansies were an annual, and these had passed their prime. She hated to compost them—even if she had a compost pile, which she didn’t. So she tucked them into a shady corner beside the store and watered them down, just to see if she could keep them going to brighten a dull corner.
With that thought in mind, she decided to wander up the cemetery hill first. Old lots often had perennials that came up even after the house was long gone. They only bloomed a short time, so they were better used around foundations and bare lots than in planters, but if no one objected, they’d add color to dusty streets and odd corners.
As she climbed, she found wild plots of milkvetch and yarrow and what was probably wild columbine. They weren’t showy, but they were a nice start. Maybe some native grasses to add soft feathery seeds. Watering would be a problem. She dug around in the soil to see how hard it was and marked her findings to come back and separate later. The earth here smelled and felt rich, but she didn’t know what she’d find in town.
Cass’s grounds were large and shaded by old pines. She’d have to ask permission before digging up anything there, so she walked on past to the cemetery.
She studied the graveyard before going in. The entry was marked by an old wrought iron arch that must once have held a sign, but any other fencing had disappeared over the years, probably melted for other purposes. Wandering in to investigate a wild rose, she noticed the newer gravestones seemed sound. A huge expensive vault bore the Kennedy name. Most of the older stones had fallen or disappeared into the weeds over the years. The plots were overgrown with grasses, but not the thistles and trees that would have sprouted after years of neglect. Someone occasionally came through and cleaned up.
She found what appeared to be spent daffodils and lilies and even one old tea rose among the weeds. Those were a good start. If they’d survived all these years, they’d be hardy. She needed to poke around Cass’s place and find a spade and clippers.
The earth here felt more alive than back in town. Perhaps because she was less distracted? Soaking up the refreshing vibrations and the warmth of the sun, Sam returned to the road and followed a path past the cemetery to higher ground. Before she got far, the deputy’s car pulled off the end of the road. He got out wearing his annoying reflective sunglasses.
She waited for him to catch up, again noting his limp. Had he been injured in the line of duty? Or could it be an old football injury that had prevented him from passing the physicals for a major police force, leaving him side-lined here in rural nowhere? She didn’t know him well enough to ask.
Why was she about to trust him with what she didn’t know? If he had discovered she had no criminal record, did it matter? Could she hope he was discreet? She didn’t want an entire town full of busybody witches clucking over her.
As she realized what she was thinking, she chuckled and managed to greet Walker with a smile. “I just realized I’ve come to accept that this town is full of witches.”
He laughed. He had a deep, bone-shaking tenor laugh, which made her like him a lot better.
“Spiritualists,” he corrected, tucking his glasses between the buttons of his shirt. She almost sighed in relief once she was able to see his jade-green eyes. Despite his eye color and carved cheekbones, he looked more flat-featured without the glasses, which was why he probably wore them. For some reason, she trusted his vaguely foreign appearance more than the stiff sunglasses-wearing police officer guise.
“Some of them may be Wiccan,” he said, “but that’s a religion, not a magic service. Where were you going?”
“I’m looking for plants I can bring into town.”
“Do you mind if I walk with you? Do you need a strong back for digging?” He fell in step as she continued up her chosen path.
“Possibly, eventually. Right now, this is an observational expedition. You’ve come looking for me for a reason,” she said without accusation, uncertain how—or if—to start this conversation.
“You can’t tell me you don’t remember the death of your parents and walk away without my wondering.” He didn’t seem perturbed but scuffled the dirt around a rock as if to see if it could be moved.
“That’s just the tip of a very large iceberg. I’m not certain if it’s a good idea to reveal more, but I’m approaching desperate. How much can I trust you to keep what I say quiet?”
He pondered. “If we’re talking criminal activity, then I have to report it. If it’s personal, then I already carry more secrets than anyone knows. I can add another.”
She’d suspected that. He was more than an underpaid rural deputy. An intelligent man of confident authority should be sheriff or m
ayor by now, if power was his career path. She ought to be afraid of what he concealed, but anxiety made for sleepless nights.
“I have no memory of me,” she said, testing his ability to understand.
He considered that for a minute as they climbed. “You have memory of other people?”
“The ones I’ve just met. I don’t remember my parents, so I assume I won’t remember anyone from my past. I am currently living very much in the present.”
“But you remember how to drive and what plants are what and the basics of everyday life like etiquette and how money works.” He stated that as if it were fact, which it was.
“Exactly. I don’t remember if I take cream or sugar in my coffee, or even if I drink coffee, but I remember coffee. I keep waiting for something to jog my memory free, but it’s been gone since the night I arrived in a fugue state that semi-lifted when I entered town.”
“That sounds like something one of the witches would say,” he said in disgust. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re expecting me to accept that if Cass is found dead, that you don’t remember murdering her?”
She glared at him. “Thanks for that. That’s not a possibility I’ve considered until now. All I mean is that I arrived the morning before last after following directions from a GPS, and when I got here, I abruptly woke up and realized I had no driver’s license, no phone, no purse, no nothing to tell me who I am—except textbooks with a name in them and a certificate of graduation.”
He whistled. “You need to see a doctor. You could have been mugged. A concussion is nothing to mess around with.”
“I don’t have a concussion,” she said irritably. “No bumps, no bruises. No explanation. And who steals my purse and ID and not my car? Then programs in directions?”
“Admittedly, that’s odd, unless it was a new GPS and you added it yourself. Maybe you were drugged. We could have toxicology reports run. Were there any other addresses in the GPS?”
Sapphire Nights: Crystal Magic, Book 1 Page 7