Azure Secrets

by Patricia Rice

  “No,” Fee said, taking the keys back from the mayor. “I’m tired of living in other people’s houses. I want to sleep on my own sheets, with my things around me. This store has more security than a bank vault. I’ll be fine.”

  She refrained from pointing out that she’d just knocked a full-grown man down a hill.

  “I think Aaron stores things that are haunted,” Mariah said irrelevantly as they wandered past his inventory. “Can you smell ectoplasm?”

  Fee wasn’t certain that was directed at her, but letting Monty jog up the staircase faster than she could, she stopped to examine the ugly armor. “I smell rust,” she said when no one else spoke up. “What is ectoplasm?”

  “We’ll explain another time,” a new voice spoke crisply through the dim light. “I shall take the dog home with me. I have a fenced yard in back and no one will look for her out by the cemetery.”

  Fighting back an immediate negative response, Fee turned to see Cass outlined in the back doorway. The room fell oddly silent. Odd—because Fee had a feeling the other Lucys usually talked until they wore someone down.

  Her first response of No, I don’t want to let Sukey go was selfish, she knew. So she swallowed it and headed for the stairs without speaking. She’d never had a pet before, and she loved Sukey. But the Yorkie wasn’t an inanimate object like Bear. She needed time to think about what was best for Sukey and not herself.

  “Will Emma object?” Samantha asked into the silence. “Cass has a cat,” she added, presumably for Fee’s sake.

  “Emma is queen of her territory. She doesn’t acknowledge her subjects unless they’re unruly,” Cass replied dryly, sounding almost human.

  “You have a fenced backyard?” Fee heard Monty ask in disbelief as he trotted back down the stairs, carrying Sukey. “Since when?”

  “Since when have you visited Cass to know?” Mariah retorted.

  Ignoring Mariah’s question, the mayor handed the tail-wagging dog over to Fee, who snuggled the Yorkie under her chin.

  “Your room is good,” he said. “Much as I hate to admit it, you may need to take Cass’s suggestion—for Sukey’s safety.”

  Fee smelled a whiff of prevarication, worked it through her limited knowledge of this man she knew to be basically honest, and glared as she scratched behind Sukey’s ears. “You’re saying that because you know I’ll think of Sukey first, aren’t you? You’re a wicked, manipulative man.”

  He laughed. The wicked manipulative man laughed.

  Fee stalked back through the crowded storeroom to the tall slender woman in the doorway. “Do you have security guards?”

  “She has security ghosts,” Mariah explained. “Like Aaron, Cass won’t let me hang ghostcatchers. No one comes near her place without Cass knowing.”

  Without asking permission, Samantha lifted Sukey from Fee’s arms and hid her in a canvas shopping bag from under Aaron’s counter. “We’ll walk with Cass. She lives only a few houses from us. You’re welcome to come see where we’re taking Sukey. She’ll be in doggie delight.”

  Cass owned a mansion on the hill, with a fenced yard—far better than the cramped little room Fee could offer. Fighting back tears, she clasped her empty arms around her and shook her head. “Maybe I’ll visit tomorrow. I should fetch her blanket and bone. She’ll want something familiar.”

  As Fee had clung to the familiar when she’d been shifted from house to house. Things were her home. She’d never been given a chance to love people or pets. Tears filled her eyes.

  Monty pushed past Mariah to hand over the plastic shopping bag Fee had left in her room. “I put the blanket and bone in here.”

  He’d run back up to find them before she’d even thought of it. He understood. Fee swept at her watery eyes, wishing everyone would go away.

  As if reading her thoughts, Monty ushered the women—and Sukey—out. He turned briefly, looked as if he’d say more, but merely nodded instead.

  He didn’t even tell her to lock the door after them. She did it without thinking, because she took care of herself. She didn’t need anyone else.

  Not even Sukey. Weeping, she found her way back through the nooks and spooks to the stairs and her lonely, lavender sheets.

  Twelve

  Thursday, early morning

  “He either got away or he’s holed up somewhere,” Walker reported around midnight.

  “At least there aren’t any dead bodies at the bottom of a cliff.” They’d had that last summer. Monty didn’t wish a repeat.

  He definitely didn’t want Fee subjected to interrogation if she’d killed the bastard who’d attacked her. She’d looked so defeated earlier that he’d wanted to tear the mountain apart to find the rat so he could pound heads.

  Danger stalked his town, and he couldn’t tackle it or rub its nose in the dirt.

  “There are some bad rocks down there,” Walker said, peering over the side. “He could have hit his head, woke later, and run while we were organizing. Without a hound, we’ll not find him tonight. I’ll ask the sheriff for dogs in the morning, just in case he’s passed out in some cabin.” Shrugging, Walker stalked off, a busy man of few social niceties.

  Monty knew he possessed social skills out the wazoo, but diplomatic charm was singularly useless in protecting a homeless woman who deserved none of this.

  He’d always taken the expensive roof over his head for granted. He may have despised his parents, as kids often did, but he’d had his brother and friends and had never lacked companionship. But Fiona. . . had probably spent her life looking for a safe place to lay her head. He wanted it to be in Hillvale, where she so obviously belonged.

  Not thinking too hard on his certainty that Fiona belonged in his town, Monty remembered the empty Weldon cabin. He’d better check there before turning in.

  Besides, he had nowhere to go except back to the lodge where his predatory spider of a mother probably waited.

  Debating who was more witchy, Cass or his mother, Monty climbed into his car and drove down to the empty cabin where he’d first found Fee. The driveway was more visible now that Kurt had sent maintenance men to rehang the front door and clear the lot.

  Parking the BMW, Monty jogged up the steps and tried the cabin door, finding it locked as promised. He walked around and checked the windows, nothing broken. The back door tested locked. He had his keys on him and debated spending the night, but he hadn’t brought a bedroll.

  As he was coming back around the corner, he heard a muttered curse and metal on metal. A lifetime of training and a night of frustration pumped an aggressive rush of adrenaline. Needing to physically crush heads, he rejected the notion of hitting his key alarm. Locating a towering dark shadow about to strike his car with what appeared to be a piece of firewood, Monty exerted the burst of speed that had once taken opposing teams by surprise.

  He slammed the car thief into the car and took him down before the stick hit the window. There had been times in a game when he’d wanted to punch the other team’s player with both fists, but he’d had the rules ingrained since birth, and he’d refrained.

  Rules didn’t apply to thieves. He smashed his fists into both sides of the thief’s head.

  Moaning, the other man still had the brute strength to roll Monty backward. He raised the cudgel too slowly, however. Monty seized a brawny arm and twisted, forcing the weapon to drop. The bastard attempted to knee him in the groin. When Monty rolled out of his way, the thief scrambled to his feet and fled.

  The adrenaline rush subsided. Lying there on the rocks, Monty let the senseless haze clear. His first thought was—Fiona’s attacker hadn’t left the area.

  His next thought was—Fiona was alone.

  In the faint morning light through her skylight, Fiona drank in the familiar scent of her lavender sheets. Not only were the sheets light purple, but she kept lavender sachets with them so she’d always wake up to pleasant fragrances.

  The familiar aroma did not make her feel better this morning. She searched her groggy memo
ry, and the prior night’s disaster hit her upside the head. She buried her face in the pillow with a groan.

  She’d lived with humiliation and loss most of her life. She knew how to handle those. But last night. . . She let the images play through her mind, trying to grasp where she stood. Would they let her have Sukey back? For everyone’s safety, should she pack up and leave? How much damage had she done to her position at Dinah’s?

  Remembering Dinah rushing to her rescue with a kitchen knife, Fiona decided she should stay, for now, until told otherwise.

  She showered with her favorite lavender soap, hauled her thick curly hair off her face with a wide blue band, and donned the thermal Henley one of her foster sisters had given her one Christmas, years ago. It was worn thin, but it still made her feel good.

  She shoved a penknife in her jeans pocket and verified her messenger bag still held its load of rocks. It wasn’t as if she used the old second-hand-store find for brushes and makeup—or money. The sturdy leather might as well be useful.

  Armored by things she loved, she locked her bedroom door and headed down the stairs in the dim dawn light through the large shop window. The sun was merely a rosy glow behind the mountain, but Dinah would be in her kitchen.

  Fee hesitated as her internal radar told her the scent of Aaron’s shop had changed. She sniffed—besides the mustiness of old memories, she caught a familiar sexy tang. Monty.

  She glared down the stairs and discovered the Victorian-upholstered chaise longue had been moved so that she’d have to skirt around it. Any thief would have bumped into it trying to reach the stairs. The interfering mayor was playing guard dog.

  As her eyes adjusted, she could see him sacked out, fully dressed. His golden-brown mane rested on the chair arm and an embroidered pillow, and his big feet dangled off the end. It looked as if he’d used the dust sheet as a cover. In the chilly morning, he had to be cold. She ought to let him freeze, but men couldn’t help their stupid protective instincts, she supposed.

  She retrieved her insulated bedroll and silently took the stairs down. At the bottom, she covered up all that long male frame. He squirmed and gave an appreciative sigh but didn’t wake.

  She wasn’t at all certain how to take the fact that the mayor had slept at the foot of the stairs, presumably to guard her. That was taking responsibility for his electorate to a whole new level. If he’d intended to give her a thrill, he’d achieved it—while shaking her even more.

  Was she in that much danger?

  She turned off the security alarm, unlocked the back door, and peered out to be certain there weren’t any armed mobs or fishy attackers within range. The chilly dawn smelled of wood smoke from someone’s fireplace and cinnamon rolls from Dinah’s kitchen. Her stomach rumbled. She’d grabbed bites of this and that last night, but never had time to sit down to a real meal.

  She locked up and ran down to Dinah’s, hoping she still had a job. It had been a long time since she’d looked forward to working.

  The café was unusually quiet as she hung her bag on a hook inside the back door and reached for her apron. Tying it on, she strode into the kitchen, wondering why she didn’t smell bacon.

  The sight of Dinah sitting down—sitting, on a chair!—stopped her cold. Dinah always darted like a hummingbird, everywhere at once. She never sat down.

  The diminutive cook had her bare foot up on another chair and sat at the table, awkwardly rolling out dough. At Fee’s approach, Dinah flashed a smile of relief. “There you are! Them buns are ready to come out. I almost got another batch to go in. And if you don’t get the bacon frying, Orville will come back and start it himself.”

  Grateful she still had a job, Fee poured coffee for herself and Dinah, removed the buns as told, threw some bacon in a skillet, and helped Dinah roll up more cinnamon and brown sugar sprinkled dough.

  “Brenda said I gotta stay off this foot if I want it to get better,” Dinah fretted as they worked. “I cain’t do that. Tullah done helped me over here, but she’s got her own work to do.”

  Beating up icing for the freshly-baked buns, Fee noticed the cook’s accent worsened when she was overwrought. It was Fee’s fault that Dinah’s ankle was swollen. She had to find some way of making up for it. She set the bowl within Dinah’s reach. “I have two hands and two good feet. Just tell me where to use them.”

  They got through the breakfast rush with a little help from their friends. When Dinah’s customers were told Dinah had a sprained ankle, they all pitched in. Amber took orders. Teddy poured coffee. Samantha ran the cash register. Mariah carried food to the tables. Dinah kneaded her breads for later, and Fee happily prepared meals for people she was coming to know.

  Only as the breakfast rush slowed did Dinah start to fret again. “I got a wedding reception on Saturday!” she nearly wept. “I ain’t even got the cakes done.”

  “Cakes are easy,” Fee assured her, while mentally calculating how much work could be divided up and where. “You tell me the ingredients you need. I’ll put them on the table. You whip up one, I’ll put it in the oven and work on lunch, while you start the next. You said the lodge staff would bake the sheet cakes, so the fancy white one is most important, right? Teddy will want you dancing at her wedding!”

  Fee was pretty certain that was an overly-optimistic attitude, but Dinah perked up, and that was what mattered. Her boss had come to her rescue last night! Fee couldn’t remember anyone ever caring enough to do anything half so brave.

  Mayor Monty sauntered into the café after most of the rush was over. Fee peered at him through the order window. It looked as if he’d gone somewhere to shower, shave, and change. His hair was still damp and a dab of shaving cream adorned his ear. As always, he looked golden-boy gorgeous in his loose-fitting business jacket. A gold Rolex glinted on his wrist, and he wore a black t-shirt under a khaki jacket for the casual, movie star appearance that suited him so well.

  She nervously tucked a stray hair into her cap, as if that would improve anything. She never bothered to waste lipstick to come to work. She bit her lip to give it color.

  She heard him order coffee and a fried steak, no potatoes. She imagined all that grease clogging his arteries and prepared lovely fresh, poached eggs sprinkled with herbs. He was a big man. He needed a variety of muscle food. She mixed up buckwheat pancakes with ground almonds, added the raisins he liked, and smothered them in honey.

  Dinah chuckled as Fee worked, but she didn’t protest.

  Since most of their extra help had dissipated to their own chores, Fee delivered the meal herself. “Thank you for looking out for me last night,” she said as casually as she could manage.

  The hazel of his eyes had a touch of golden-brown to match his sun-streaked bronzed hair. The color held her paralyzed until Fee realized she was staring. Then she dropped her gaze and began polishing the counter.

  “I don’t eat eggs,” he said in what sounded like puzzlement.

  “Try those. Eggs are the perfect protein for muscle-building. You don’t eat bland, and these aren’t,” she announced with confidence. She might not know much else, but she knew food. And she was learning Dinah’s customers.

  Rather than wait to see his reaction, she ran back to the kitchen to gather the ingredients for Dinah’s cake before the cook got too bored and tried to reach them herself.

  “Is he eating the eggs?” Dinah asked in a whisper, whisking butter into her batter. “I give that boy eggs dozens of times, and he gives them to someone else. Stubborn, he is.”

  “Proud,” Fee corrected, identifying another scent from the mayor. “I bet he was told eggs aren’t good for him, so he’s not been eating them for years, and he’s too proud to admit he might be wrong.”

  “And maybe he didn’t like them to start with. They fry them in ham grease up at the lodge. Nasty burnt things. Add more bourbon to that chocolate sauce and keep it stirred,” Dinah ordered.

  Fee added bourbon to the mixture bubbling on the stove until the sauce smelled the right degre
e of rich and tantalizing, while keeping an eye on Monty through the order window. Walker came in for his mid-morning snack and sat beside him. Fee had a bowl of apples, raisins, Greek yogurt, and grated ginger waiting this morning. Normally, she’d use grapes, but it was the wrong season.

  When she delivered the fruit, Monty had eaten one of his eggs and was starting on the other, using the pancakes to sop it up. He didn’t even seem to notice he was doing so as he told his police chief about a break-in attempt at one of the cabins last night.

  A break-in. She wasn’t stupid. This was a small rural town where everyone knew everyone else. Only strangers like her had any need to break into a cabin.

  Her attacker had survived his fall—and was still around.

  Shaken, Fee returned to the kitchen. She still didn’t know why anyone would be after her—or Sukey. It made no sense. People beat each other up and worse in the part of town she’d lived and worked in. The gangs just expected everyone to keep their mouths shut, because everyone knew if they talked to the cops, thugs would come after them. A tussle in an alley wasn’t even worth making threats.

  If Aaron was to be believed, someone had killed Peggy and the Jag driver—for what?

  Listening through the order window, Fee heard another male voice join Walker and Monty—Orville? Why was he here at this hour? He was always the first customer in, and then they didn’t see him the rest of the day. Even Dinah glanced up in surprise.

  The retired veterinarian slammed an object on the Formica counter. “That collar had a key in it.”

  Thirteen

  Thursday, lunchtime

  Aaron threw the dog’s key and collar back on Walker’s desk. “Nothing but vague impressions of fear. Too many people have handled it, and it holds no strong memories.”

  Monty drove his hand through his hair and paced the floor of Walker’s office. He was really reaching desperation if he was asking a Lucy for clues. Back to practical. “What about the place where Fiona worked?”