Topaz Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  “That’s actually a Peterson,” Aaron said in excitement, putting down the pitcher to take the plate. “I hadn’t hoped for museum pieces! We’ll need to invite collectors, create a catalog, if there are many more like this.”

  “We’re talking a lot of money?” Teddy sat back on her heels, not touching the ugly—possibly valuable—plate.

  “I wouldn’t want to quote numbers until I did some research. Ceramics aren’t my specialty, but the non-profits your parents specified will be very happy.”

  “Watch out,” Syd called from her box. “Teddy’s wheels are turning. We’re all about to be deluged with two tons of work.”

  “I’m just thinking that we could form our own non-profit to support artists in some kind of learning environment here in Hillvale. . .” She let her voice trail off as she tried to form the idea in her mind.

  “And ask dad to contribute the sale profits to something not third-world?” Syd asked with a large measure of doubt. “Or are you planning on calling Hillvale uncivilized?”

  Kurt and Aaron both made grunting sounds of what she assumed was agreement. Teddy narrowed her eyes and ignored their cynicism. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” she said defensively. “The town needs money. Establishing a reputation as an art community takes galleries and catalogs and marketing. Bringing in teachers and putting them up. . .” She turned to Kurt. “You could design an artists’ village!”

  “Not happening,” he said. “Buildings require more money than a few pots will bring in. Banks like cash and land as collateral, not artists and dishes.”

  “We’ll exchange artwork for interest on the loans,” Syd said with a snicker. “The bankers can decorate their walls.”

  She was sounding happier and more confident than she had since she’d arrived, so Teddy figured her suggestion at least served a purpose, even if it was pie in the sky.

  Aaron dug into another box Kurt had opened. “You’ve got a problem here.” He removed what appeared to be a teapot in sage green with molten brown dribbling down the sides. He flipped it over. “It says R. Williams, but the vibrations are. . .” He hesitated, turning the pot and studying it with his long fingers. “Greed, cynicism, envy—in other words, evil. This pot is a fraud.”

  In the ensuing silence, Syd stood and gathered up the children. “Time for bed, kids. We have a busy day tomorrow.” She hustled them out without explanation or farewell.

  “Syd doesn’t take well to fraud,” Teddy said, moving to the box Aaron was rooting through. “A friend of hers lost her career after being charged with art fraud and theft. Syd sticks with commercial art these days. I wonder if our parents paid a lot for that piece?”

  “If they believed it to be a genuine Williams, then it wasn’t cheap. Do they have bills of sale for any of this?” Aaron dug through the box, discarding similar pieces, apparently hunting for more vibrations.

  Kurt examined the ugly teapot. “I’m guessing you have to buy from a legitimate gallery owner to have anything as practical as a bill of sale.”

  Teddy pulled out a charming brown-and-gray cat, curled up with his tail over his nose. “And even if my parents were inclined to buy from galleries, which I’m pretty sure they couldn’t afford, they would never keep pieces of paper. It’s not their style. My guess is that like everything in Hillvale, they took a lot of these pieces in trade, simply because they liked them. They’re not collectors looking for profit.”

  Aaron nodded appreciation of this. “That would make sense. There’s a lot of amateur work here. The cups and dinner plates are more useful than artistic. They grew up in Hillvale, didn’t they? So this could be handed down from their own parents?”

  “Along with the attitude,” Teddy agreed. “I remember Grandmother Devine had a cabinet full of clay creatures, porcelain plates, colorful dinnerware. They had an estate sale after she died, but my parents kept bits and pieces and used them while we were growing up.” Teddy handed the cat to Aaron. “Is this the kind of work you were looking for?”

  He took the cat, ran his fingers over it, and nodded. “This one’s genuine, a very nice find. We need to lock these doors tonight.”

  “What about this piece you say reflects evil? Not that I believe in evil, but fraud is criminal.” Kurt lifted the teapot to look inside it.

  “There are more pieces with the same vibrations in there. I have no way of knowing who created them, but that one is a replica of a rather famous piece.” Aaron rummaged in the box and pulled out a pot of a similar color, flipping it over to show the signature. “This is a weed pot made by the same hand. Whoever did this planned to sell it as a genuine R. Williams. I read up on the Hillvale potters and know Williams died in the 80s, but I’d say from the feel of this that it was made much more recently. I’d have to do some research to see who owns the original.”

  Teddy looked at Kurt, who was studying her with concern. “Do you think. . . ?”

  “Cousin Thalia’s potter husband?” he finished for her. “We have no way of knowing, do we?”

  “That takes some of the fun out of this, doesn’t it?” The risotto wasn’t sitting so well as she studied the fraudulent pieces her parents may have received from Lonnie for something of value. The family home? Surely not. “I think I better check on Syd.”

  Kurt helped her stand. “Aaron, you have the keys? Want to lock up?”

  The antique dealer eyed him warily. “You’re trusting me to a warehouse full of valuable ceramics with no inventory list or invoice backup?”

  Teddy took Kurt’s arm. “Trust is more important than material things. If we can’t trust each other, where would we turn?”

  “That’s how you get tricked by criminals like Lonnie and your ex,” Kurt said with a hint of grimness. “But if Walker is letting Aaron walk around free, I’m guessing he has nothing on him.” He turned back to Aaron. “These belong to Teddy, not me. She gets final say.”

  Teddy stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I’ll work on providing honesty stones for everyone in town, okay?”

  He chuckled, nodded at Aaron, and led her into the moonlit night.

  Not until they arrived at the shop and saw the front door wide open did she have reason to feel fear.

  Twenty-six

  July 1: evening

  * * *

  The dog’s sharp barks raised the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck. In his experience, lazy Prince Hairy only barked with that much energy when seriously disturbed. Kurt gripped Teddy’s arm to prevent her from entering the shop’s open door.

  The terrified shouts of the kids halted any illusion of holding her back. She tore from his hands and ran into the shop, grabbing the wooden walking stick by the door.

  She wasn’t bigger than a feather, and she thought she could beat a brute with a tree branch?

  “Teddy, no!” Keeping his voice low, Kurt caught up with her and hauled her from her feet. “Call Walker first.”

  While she wiggled and squirmed in his arms, he headed for the landline on the counter. Above, the dog yipped and the kids screamed frantically. Syd’s silence was ominous.

  Swinging her stick until his grip loosened, Teddy wriggled out of his grasp and headed straight for the stairs. “My sister and her kids are up there. I have every right—”

  An unfamiliar male voice rang out from above. “Who’s there? Don’t come any closer. This is a police matter.” The voice sounded more drunk than authoritative.

  “Assbutt,” Teddy spit out in a whisper. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Not if he kills you first.” Giving up on the phone for the moment, Kurt covered her mouth with his hand and shouted back. “I’m the landlord here. I have a right to protect my property.”

  Teddy bit him but he ignored the pain.

  “He hurt mama,” Mia cried with a broken sob that nearly had him running up the stairs.

  He ground his molars and stifled the urge. He didn’t need the psychopath killing both sisters. He had to keep Teddy safe.

  “S
he’s armed and dangerous. Back off, let me handle this.” Ashbuth’s words slurred but he still spoke with officiousness.

  Yeah, right, like that was happening. “Call Walker,” Kurt repeated in a whisper, pushing Teddy toward the phone.

  She jammed her elbow into his solar plexus and raised her stick again. He was about to grab a thicker staff when a wind whirled through the room. Teddy froze.

  “Thalia, and she’s furious,” she whispered in terror. “Warn Syd to stay low.”

  Syd could be dead or unconscious, but Kurt was relieved that she understood the desperate drunk above would respond more readily to a male voice.

  “Mrs. Bennet,” he called, trying to sound like a landlord, “If you can hear me, explain to your visitor about the dangerous staircase. The wind is picking up, and you need to take cover.” That was the best warning he could improvise without saying watch for ghosts and losing all credibility.

  Teddy glared but kept quiet. She picked up the phone and punched in an apparently pre-programmed number for Walker. 911 was useless for swift action this far up the mountain.

  Feeling entirely out of his league facing an armed cop with nothing but a wooden stick, Kurt aimed for the whistling staircase. At least this time he was prepared for the blow that had knocked him down earlier. He refused to call it a ghost.

  “What’s wrong with the stairs?” the cop called down.

  “Wind pushes the treads,” Kurt said—a ridiculous explanation, but the cop had presumably worked up his courage with alcohol and didn’t question. “Is Mrs. Bennet under arrest? We don’t have social services up here. Someone needs to take the children.”

  Gripping the thick staff on both ends, he eased up the stairway with his back to the wall. The kids wept. The dog yipped, then growled ferociously.

  “Get off me, you mangy mutt,” Ashbuth shouted.

  Go Prince, Kurt thought as he edged into the whirling wind. He could easily understand why Teddy called the ghost angry. This was one damned violent breeze. “Got a problem?” he called up, trying to sound sympathetic and not frighten the brute. It was almost like placating an angry guest. “I’ll come up and get the hound. He’s not supposed to be in here.”

  A shot fired. The children wailed. The dog howled in pain. Like a furious fairy, Teddy materialized, wielding her staff again. The crystal in it gleamed like a beacon, and she practically threw off sparks in the darkness.

  Kurt could almost believe she caused the whirlwind.

  A large male staggered to the top of the stairs, shaking his leg and trying to aim at the animal gripping his trousers without blowing off his own foot with his unsteady hand. “Get this damned hound off me!”

  “Go Prince,” Teddy whispered, echoing Kurt’s earlier thought as she edged up behind him.

  Kurt reached back to hold her in place—and felt her freeze.

  “Downstairs,” she murmured urgently. “Now!” She caught his hand and yanked him back.

  Stumbling, Kurt did as told. At the top of the stairs, the cop cursed and tried to aim his gun at the dog again. The intense air pressure in the stairwell multiplied. Just as Kurt nearly fell on top of Teddy in the shop, the wind howled maniacally.

  The uniformed cop abruptly flew face-first down the stairs, shrieking all the way. Kurt winced as Ashbuth slammed into the floor at their feet. That had to be good for a busted nose, at the least. From the bent angle of the cop’s knee, he’d say Ashbuth wouldn’t be up and running soon.

  “Yay, Thalia!” Teddy cried, no longer hiding her presence. “Syd, Syd, can you hear me?”

  She slammed her toe into the groaning cop’s ribs and held her stick ready. “Break any bones, Assbutt? How does it feel?”

  Apparently too drunk to notice bones, the cop shook his shaved head and attempted to turn over. That’s when Kurt noticed the gun still in his hand.

  He flung Teddy behind him, toward the front door. “Get Walker, now.”

  Before Teddy could go anywhere, Syd materialized at the top of the stairs. The wind whipped up again, and she sounded hollow. “I’m here, and this time, I’ll kill him.”

  “That’s Thalia speaking,” Teddy murmured in horror. As Syd raised her arms, Teddy screamed, “Syd, no! Put the gun away!”

  Drunk or not, the cop on the floor acted reflexively, flipping over with a groan and aiming his weapon.

  Before Kurt could react, Teddy screamed “Freeze!” and held up her stick like a magic wand. The red crystal glowed eerily.

  A bright light abruptly flashed like a meteor across a moon-dark sky, and—the cop froze.

  Syd didn’t. She stepped down the stairs like one possessed, raising her small pistol in a firing position.

  Too shocked to do more than react, Kurt dashed up the stairs and yanked Syd’s gun arm up so the bullet harmlessly hit the ceiling. He ripped the weapon out of her limp fist.

  Realizing that the wind had blessedly frozen with Teddy’s command—or Syd’s possession?—Kurt turned and aimed at the man on the floor. At least the gun was solid and real, unlike whatever else in hell was happening here. “I’m considered an expert marksman. I’d recommend that you lower your weapon.”

  The cop gazed stupidly at his raised gun but didn’t move. Maybe he was concussed. That didn’t explain Syd’s behavior. How in hell did he logically act in an illogical situation?

  Maybe concussions caused delusions and hallucinations, and Kurt was suffering from his earlier one. Whatever the hell was happening, he couldn’t just stupidly stand here while Teddy waved a wand at an armed cop. Kurt stepped down and with one hand, yanked the cop’s gun away as one would take a toy from a toddler.

  With the danger gone, Teddy seemed to melt into herself, collapsing on the floor with her no-longer glowing staff.

  He wanted to rush to help her, but he had two maniacs and apparently a ghost on his hands. At the bottom of the stairs, Ashbuth attempted to sit up but grabbed his leg and cursed. Weaponless, Syd tried to shove past Kurt, presumably to kill her ex with nothing more than fury. Kurt stood between them with a pistol in one hand and a Glock in the other, desperate to go to Teddy but unable to let down his guard.

  The wind picked up energy again.

  To his relief, Walker entered the open shop door with his weapon raised. At sight of Kurt’s two-handed weaponry, the chief raised his eyebrows. “Landlord, huh? Raised in the wild, wild west?”

  “Shut up and cuff the bastard,” Kurt replied with a growl of impatience.

  “Syd?” Teddy called carefully. “Syd, you okay?”

  And just like that, the wind stopped, and Syd sat down and cried.

  Gratefully, Teddy took Kurt’s hand and let him help her off the floor. She could barely stand.

  Had she really frozen Assbutt or dreamed it?

  She tried to wrestle to keep her staff, but she was too weak to resist his manhandling. She let him set the staff aside, while she gripped his arm to steady herself.

  Syd. She needed to go to Syd. But her sister was no longer on the stairs. How had that happened?

  Teddy frantically gazed around, finding Syd on the other side of a groaning Assbutt. Walker was backing her sister into the kitchen, away from the handcuffed prisoner on the floor. When had he been handcuffed?

  “You need to see to the Goths,” Kurt murmured, holding her up while she wobbled. “Walker has to question your sister.”

  That got her going. Stumbling, Teddy caught the wall of the stairwell and stepped over a moaning, Assbutt. His leg, at the very least, looked broken. Pity it hadn’t been his neck.

  “I’d assumed Thalia died being pushed downstairs,” she mused, trying to steady her spinning head before she climbed up. “This is where her rage is centered. But neither you nor Asshole broke your necks.”

  “I wasn’t very far up. And Syd’s ex was too drunk to do more than flop. It’s the reason drunks always walk away from accidents.” Kurt held her steady.

  Glancing up the stairwell, Teddy decided Thalia had settled down. Shaking of
f Kurt, she made her way up the stairs to Syd’s kids. Mia and Jeb fell into her arms, nearly knocking her over again.

  Kneeling, she rocked them while they wept, vowing to find protective stones to hang around their necks so they never had to suffer such a scene ever, ever again.

  After some bearded man she didn’t know climbed the stairs to carry a bleeding Prince out, she helped the kids downstairs to reassure them that Syd was all right.

  “Lock him up this time,” Syd was screaming hysterically as they came downstairs. “Why didn’t they keep him locked up?”

  Walker looked uncomfortable at the hysteria. “He probably told the judge it was justified, that you were waving a gun at him, like this time. It’s no excuse for what he did, but it happens.”

  “I didn’t own a gun then,” she cried. “Nothing justifies what he did to me. He put me in the hospital!”

  Teddy wanted to take the kids back out again, but they ran to their mother. Becoming aware of their presence, Syd instantly wiped her eyes to hug them.

  “No, ma’am,” Walker said grimly. “Nothing justifies anything he’s done, I agree. But his fellows know him, and they don’t know you and unfortunately, it happens. It won’t this time. Nothing excuses him stalking you. He’ll go away for a long time. I’ll personally see to that.”

  “Why the hell don’t men just walk away when we say no?” Teddy demanded, recovering from her odd weakness. “When will they realize they don’t get to tell us what we think or do?”

  “All men aren’t bullies,” Kurt protested from where he leaned against the door jamb, landline phone in hand as he poked numbers into it from memory.

  Rationality didn’t satisfy her rage, even though she knew he was right. Kurt had stepped back every time she’d told him no. Shutting up, Teddy heated milk for the kids as half the town began streaming in. Samantha arrived and set herself as guard at the door, allowing in only those she judged worthy in no logical order Teddy could discern.

  The wiry older woman she remembered as a nurse arrived to look after Syd’s injuries. From the report Syd was giving Walker, Teddy gathered Ashbuth had knocked her sister around, then punched her unconscious. The nurse checked her for concussion, promised there were no broken bones, and let the children continue to cling to their mother.