Azure Secrets

by Patricia Rice

  “Maybe her family came from the south, and they’ve been using the same house plans for centuries.” Monty rapped on the door.

  A tall woman wearing a black veil and what Fee could only call widow’s weeds answered. The weird costume might spook most visitors, but she’d seen the singer several times in the café.

  “Hey, Val, Fiona has come to see her dog. How’s everyone doing?” Monty shifted his boot to cover the threshold, preventing the door from closing.

  Fee was more than happy to let him do the talking while she adjusted to a flood of unfamiliar scents. It took time to identify new fragrances. Loneliness—her definition, of course—was common. But she had little knowledge of Lucys or ghosts and had to learn what odor was attached to whom and then work out why.

  She called the strongest scent on the singer tragedy, simply because of the black costume.

  “Cass is in the sunroom. This way, please.”

  Fee was amused that the leonine football player’s hand twitched nervously on her arm. “That must be some family history,” she whispered as they traversed a polished wood floor and carved staircase. Old paintings covered the maroon walls—probably a reflection of the town’s past as an artist’s commune.

  A fabulous porcelain dragon adorned a hall table. Was it smoking? She swiveled her head to look again as they passed.

  “You have no idea,” he muttered back, apparently not noticing anything odd. “No one in my memory from my family has crossed that portal. Kurt sat on the porch once, I think.”

  “Kurt has entered the studio from the side door, and your father used to visit when we were young,” Cass corrected, although they couldn’t see her yet.

  They left the dark hall and entered a sunlit glass room where Cass sat on a cushioned rattan throne chair. She wore ankle-length ivory linen and held Sukey in her lap. The dog yapped and leapt eagerly to the floor, sliding on the tiles to reach Fiona.

  She crunched down to scoop her up, and the Yorkie’s furry little body squirmed in delight. Enveloped in a warm glow of happiness, Fee hugged the dog while trying to avert death by licking. At the same time, she stayed tuned to the awkward conversation above her head.

  “Our father never mentioned your existence,” Monty countered. “We knew someone lived here part of the year, but that was usually when we were in school.”

  “For a reason,” Cass replied coolly, without explanation. “Are you any closer to discovering who wants the dog?”

  “Walker’s latest theory is that they’re after the dog’s collar. I don’t know what will happen if they discover the collar is gone. Did you notice who left the vehicle across the street?”

  Fee admired how he slid that neatly into Cass’s question. “It smells of fish,” she murmured.

  Monty glared down at her. Cass shifted her interest from family feuds to Fiona. “You noticed,” Cass said without surprise. “Evil leaves vibrations few can detect.”

  Their hostess turned to Monty. “I removed the spark plugs last night. I hoped you’d find the driver.”

  Without asking permission, Fee lifted Sukey and headed for the glass door leading into a wildly overgrown garden. It took lots of water to grow greenery in these arid hills.

  “Before or after he presumably attacked Fee?” Monty asked, not sounding very diplomatic.

  “After. I did not know the car was there until then. If you have no further information, you may escort Fiona out. I will see you on Saturday.” Cass rose and departed through a side door.

  “Well, she didn’t turn me into a toad,” Monty said with a hint of irony as he shoved open the sliding door. “Why didn’t you tell me the car smelled of fish?”

  Fee let Sukey down to sniff the bushes. “You didn’t ask. It’s not an observation I normally make aloud, for obvious reasons.”

  “If fish equates evil, then you need to let us know when you smell it,” he said, almost angrily. “It’s the same as reporting suspicious packages.”

  “I’ve spent the better part of my life training myself not to say weird things.” She watched Sukey chase a bee. “If I change now, I’ll have to learn all over again after I leave Hillvale.”

  He growled something irascible and paced the edges of the small yard, checking the safety of the fence, presumably. “There has to be a way you can report bad without setting off weird alarms.”

  “The last time I was in Hillvale, I was twelve,” she said, offering an explanation that she usually didn’t. But Monty had been kind, even when he didn’t understand. “I’d been with my foster family for a year and thought I’d finally found a forever home.”

  He didn’t look at her but beat the bushes, hauling back branches to examine the fence. Rather than stand uselessly, Fee swung her stick around to see if she picked up vibrations.

  “I told my foster parents that the cabin we stayed in smelled of ugliness, fear, and death. I was simply trying to warn them, as you just told me to do.” Fee decided if there were vibrations, she couldn’t discern them. So she used the stick to test the sturdiness of the wooden fence.

  “And they didn’t believe you,” he stated coldly.

  “Of course not. I was twelve. It wasn’t until the rental agent stopped by and told them the cabin was haunted by a woman who’d killed herself that they understood how weird I am.”

  “Xavier was still snorting coke back then,” Monty said in resignation. “He probably thought he was being helpful or hoping to upsell your parents to a more expensive rental. We didn’t have a lot of customers back then.”

  Fiona shrugged. “It had to happen sooner or later. It always did. They started questioning everything I said after that. I was a bit bewildered. I hadn’t fully learned my lesson yet. I tried not to say more, but I was really worried when they talked of buying a house that smelled like lead. I’d done a science paper on lead in water, so I warned them.”

  “By the battery plant, I’m guessing, back before anyone knew they were polluting the area.” He met her in the middle of the back fence. Sukey happily dug at a gopher hole.

  He didn’t even question her ability to smell lead. Did he really think people could smell lead? Or was he that broad-minded? Either way, being able to talk freely felt as if she’d just had a hundred-pound sack removed from her shoulders.

  “Probably.” Fee shrugged. “That was a long time ago. All I remember is that they had the water tested, I was right, and they had to give up their dream house. They decided maybe they didn’t want kids after all. They’d really wanted that big house.”

  “Lunatics,” he said in disgust. “They’d rather be slowly poisoned than know the truth.”

  “It’s a pretty human trait.” She sat down in the grass to watch Sukey dig. “People are trusting. They want to believe what makes them happy. In defiance of all fact and logic, they’ll believe their family, their school team, their favorite politician will never lie, cheat, or let them down, but that kind of perfection doesn’t exist. I just stupidly keep thinking if we recognize the flaws, we can demand better.”

  “It’s easier to trust than fix,” he said grumpily. “I’m not the world’s best mayor, but how can you fix me?”

  “Decide what you’re bad at and hire someone who can do better. And yes, I know, fixing things costs money, which is why it’s easier to ignore the problem.” She whistled at Sukey to see if she’d listen.

  Wearing new red ribbons, the Yorkie’s ears perked up, and she bounced back over the high grass to deposit a gift at Fee’s feet. A bone.

  A graying finger bone, if she remembered her anatomy class correctly.

  Fifteen

  Thursday, late afternoon

  “The cemetery is there,” Walker insisted when Monty brought the bone to him. “I am not digging up Cass’s backyard.”

  “I think that’s what’s bugging me,” Monty said. “I went over and checked from the cemetery side, and Cass has no back yard.”

  Walker didn’t appear impressed. “Have you ever looked in her tool shed? It
’s the size of a small barn inside. Sam says she thinks Cass pushes dimensions.”

  “So totally not going there,” Monty said in resignation, leaving the bone on the police chief’s desk, relieved there would be no skeleton searches. “Let Cass slip dimensions and my mother suck souls. Tell me something normal, like what you found out about the stolen Lincoln.”

  “I had my team run the prints rather than wait on the sheriff. We don’t have them all, but the clearest one on the steering wheel belongs to a Juan Ramirez. He’s been convicted of half a dozen thefts and assaults since he was a teen and is a known gang member.” Walker opened a file on his computer. “Last known address was Waterville.”

  “Evil,” Monty muttered. “Fee said the car smelled of fish. He’s probably the character who attacked her.”

  “If we accept that she smells evil, do you think different fish have different, identifiable smells?” Walker asked in amusement.

  “Hell if I know. I don’t suppose this Ramirez knows the Jag driver who killed Peggy? Can you find out that kind of thing?” Monty paced, occasionally glancing out Walker’s window. From this rear view, he could only see the stairs carved into the bluff up to the farm development.

  Seeing Samantha jogging down those rock stairs now, Monty realized his chief could easily squeeze in a little nookie with his bride without a soul knowing. He grinned and headed for the door. Anything to keep a good man in town.

  “Presuming we accept Aaron’s call that Snakebite Guy was Peggy’s killer, I’m looking into it. I have a call in to Waterville to see if Ramon and Ramirez have any connections. My only concern is whether Ramirez is still hanging around, waiting for a ride. And if so, is he the perp who tried to steal your car after Cass disabled his.” Walker could see out the window too. He didn’t stop Monty from leaving.

  “I’ll keep up Fiona patrol,” Monty promised, exiting stage left.

  At this hour, the café was closed, and the restaurant kitchen would be packed with staff preparing dinner for Delphines and Saturday’s reception.

  He could sit at his desk and crunch the budget the development committee wanted. Ordinarily, he would force himself to focus on the wandering, fuzzy numbers. But the possibility of a killer lurking around the corner roused his defensive instincts. Maybe this Ramirez was just a dognapper, but if he’d been up here with a psycho killer, he was more than a car thief.

  And Monty still had to see that his brother’s wedding went smoothly. Any further attacks would have the Lucys parading through the streets with burning brooms. Hillvale wouldn’t mind. Kurt’s wealthy city guests might. And Teddy had her own contingent of jewelers, retailers, and whatnot attending—all influential people who could make or break Hillvale’s fledgling wedding industry.

  He patrolled the boardwalk, noting Xavier at his computer in the rental office next to City Hall, and Wan Hai haranguing Pasquale, the Italian grocer. Most of the shops on this side were empty, and the bluff to the commune behind them made the back alley barely accessible.

  He crossed the highway and parking lot to the busier side of town. Teddy had a customer at her counter, plus a room full of Lucys weaving flowers and probably crystals. He decided to walk behind the buildings, where dumpsters blocked the drop-off to the cabins below. Teddy’s back lot was fenced off, but he took the alley behind the other shops.

  The restaurant and café were in the center of town. Eyeing rooflines, trying to remember if any of the shops had an attic or loft, he almost walked into Brenda, the nurse practitioner, coming out of Dinah’s kitchen.

  Monty caught her arm to steady her. “How’s Dinah?”

  “Getting too old to keep up the pace,” she cautioned. “When your brother returns from his honeymoon, he needs to find another cook for Delphines or the café, or he’ll have no cook at all. She should be able to walk by Saturday though.”

  The nurse hopped on her bike and pedaled off, leaving Monty to stew.

  He wanted Dinah to retire from the café. He’d been trying to wheedle her into it almost since Delphines opened. The town needed a juice bar and health food store with healthier options than eggs and hamburgers and pies.

  Now would be the perfect time to lay on pressure. Since the kitchen door was open to let in the spring breeze, Monty stopped in the entrance.

  Fiona must have smelled him, because she diverted her path to hold up a spoon. He was too entranced by the contrast between her apron shrouded figure and her vibrant expression to notice what was in the utensil.

  “Taste this. Tell me if there’s too much bourbon.”

  Before he could do more than open his mouth to protest, she popped the spoon between his lips.

  He’d probably died and gone to heaven. Nothing on this planet could taste like smoky chocolate ambrosia. He closed his eyes and licked the spoon clean, vowing to do a hundred extra push-ups tonight to balance the sugar intake.

  “Don’t change a thing and keep that stuff away from me,” he said in one long exhalation as he pushed the utensil away.

  Fiona laughed. Her laugh was as husky as her voice and gave him a visceral thrill.

  “If you have time, we need the racks rearranged in the old refrigerator so we can store the cakes after they’re put together. The racks are old, and I’m afraid they’ve rusted in place. I can’t budge them.” She gestured at the aging commercial cooler.

  He could hear Dinah shouting at her minions on the other side of the wall, where they’d be preparing to open Delphines. In the tiny café kitchen, staff performed a complicated ballet between stove and preparation tables.

  “What did Walker say about the bone?” Fee asked, helping him yank at the twisted shelves.

  “The cemetery’s boundaries are flexible,” he said. “They’ve been burying people up there for as long as the town existed and maybe before.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said with relief. “Want to taste test the recipes Dinah’s working on for the reception? Teddy and Kurt have left the food to Dinah.”

  “They know when they’re in over their heads and leave food to the experts. Now, if you could mix a batch of toxins to keep our mother home, then we’d take notice.” The shelf finally yielded, and Monty staggered backward a step.

  “Not toxin,” Fiona replied, pointing to where the unneeded shelves could be stored. “But bring her to the restaurant tomorrow night, and she won’t be going anywhere Saturday, if that’s what you really want. Of course, there would be repercussions.”

  Startled that she’d taken his joke seriously, Monty stared at her. With her elfin face, huge eyes, and Irish-dancer hair, Fee looked no older than a kid and as serene as a Madonna.

  “Yeah, normally if a diner is poisoned, there are huge repercussions. Not taking that road,” he warned as forcefully as he could.

  She shook her head in admonishment and proceeded into Delphines back room, gesturing for him to follow. “Our bodies are veritable stews of chemicals and bacteria, many of them dangerous if they’re out of balance. That’s why some people are hypoglycemic or gluten allergic or lactose intolerant.”

  “I’m pretty sure my mother could eat a horse without harm to her digestion,” Monty said wryly—remembering Fee was the perpetrator of jalapeño cheesecake.

  “Just bring her in. Tell her we’re a perfume-free environment so I can study her without the artificial scent. She’ll be fine, maybe even better than fine, if I can find the right combination. It would be nice to have more time to experiment. And Dinah won’t like it if I go to the front of the house with the guests unless one asks for me, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  He had to be out of his mind to even consider jalapeño cheesecake or its equivalent, but if they could keep their mother from making a scene at the wedding—he’d do it for Kurt and Teddy and Hillvale. He had broad shoulders. He’d take the blame.

  “I can arrange that. Tomorrow night?” Monty didn’t believe in witchcraft, but chemistry might as well be magic for all he understood it.

  The weird thing a
bout this conversation was that he trusted Fiona to know more than he did about his own damned mother. After their earlier discussion about trusting being easier than fixing, he needed to see if his head was screwed on straight.

  Fee plated half a dozen fancy sandwich-like things and another half dozen delicacies on crackers and sticks Monty assumed were appetizers. She held the plate out. “Taste.”

  “That’s dinner,” he pointed out. “And you want me to touch your food after what you just said?”

  A hint of a smile teased her lips. “Dinah made these. You’re safe.”

  That smile offered insight into the treasures hidden behind Fee’s silences. Apparently, he liked his women mysterious. Who knew?

  “Only after you’ve eaten one of each,” he countered.

  “You’re testing my veracity,” she challenged, filling up another plate. “And contrary to popular thought, I love eating. I just love cooking more, so time slips away.”

  It tickled him that she was actually talking for a change. They took their plates into the alley, out of the hustle and bustle. Monty had no idea what he was eating, so he savored every flavor without guilt. “Dinah is the same, isn’t she?” he asked, still fretting over Brenda’s warning. “Except she’s older and must tire more easily.”

  Fee frowned as she tasted one of the sandwich concoctions and considered his words. “Dinah is a dynamo, but running two kitchens is almost too much for me.”

  Monty took comfort in that. Fee could help Dinah at Delphines, and he’d still get his health food bar. He just had to find a good way to approach Dinah.

  “Dinah would be able to prepare bigger menus at Delphines if she didn’t spend the day frying burgers.” Fee picked up a stick with olives and other bits and sampled it before continuing. “Except for the alley the other night, I’ve not been around her when she wasn’t surrounded by the smell of cooking, so I can’t say exactly, but I think she has a faint aroma of fear. Pop-psychology here, but she may be clinging to the café because she’s terrified she’ll fail at anything larger.”