With a history like that, how could he not believe the Lucys could do almost anything they put their minds to? He just worried about the dangers they would encounter because they apparently thought themselves above and beyond mundane hazards.
He was even a little worried that Fiona’s name was Malcolm. That was the name on most of the centuries-old journals Keegan kept in his Scots castle library. The people who’d written those journals experimented with gifts well beyond those of the normal population. And he was pretty much ready to accept that Fiona had some kind of freaky gift for food.
Monty waited until most of the crowd settled in, and Walker closed the doors, before he rapped his hand on the old wood of the podium. Dinah had chased them all out of the café after they’d eaten, including Fee. Monty couldn’t blame the cook. Paying customers had been waiting in line.
“This is your meeting,” he shouted over the chattering crowd. “I’m just here because Fee asked me. She’s the one who knows the story and the people, but she doesn’t know all of you, and I do. Which means I’m not letting the lot of you drive down to Waterville with big sticks.”
Laughter. Good, they were still being rational. He kept an eye on Cass, who had showed up just as the crowd moved from the café to the hall. The Lucy doyen had been leaving the meetings to the younger crowd lately, but only when things proceeded according to her wishes.
“Fiona, you want to tell your story the way you told me?” He turned so she could step up if she wanted.
She shook her head. “I can’t talk loud enough. You tell them.”
“You’ll have to speak up if I go astray,” he warned. At her nod, Monty gave an abbreviated version of the alley beating and the dog being kicked a week ago. Then he reminded everyone of the key in the dog’s collar—and Fee’s arrival with the dog on a bike similar to Peggy’s—on Tuesday, the morning Peggy was killed.
He then gestured for Walker—another Null—to step up to the podium. “What have you discovered about the fight in the alley last Sunday night, if anything?”
His police chief didn’t often wear his gun, but Monty could tell Walker had a holster under his jacket this morning. That meant events were serious.
“There was no police report on the incident Fee reported behind the Waterville diner,” Walker said, addressing the crowd. “My men have located a few potential witnesses, but they aren’t talking. Word is that there’s a power struggle between rival gangs, one local and one from San Francisco. The one from the city has money. The locals are organized thugs with a wide-spread member base.”
“Gonzalez is local,” Fee said, almost too low for Monty to hear. She was staring at her Nikes, but he thought she was pondering events and not her shoes. “He may be Peggy’s ex-father-in-law. He knew my boss. Felix is a cousin of Peggy’s ex. That’s how I got the job. It’s a small town.”
Monty repeated what she’d said so everyone could hear.
Mariah waved her phone. “Peggy was married to a Darren Gonzalez. One child, Stacy Gonzalez. Darren is currently married to a Nadia Lee.”
Monty bit back a whistle of appreciation. Mariah was not normal. She had not made those connections normally. She had sucked that info right out of the ether or hacked government websites or both.
“We need a whiteboard,” Sam called. “We need to draw connections.”
Monty’s Uncle Lance lumbered to his feet and headed for the closet behind the triptych. Lance was a Null, but he was also an artist, an architect, and ran the gallery in his shambling way. He emerged with an old-fashioned chalkboard and a handful of colored chalk.
“I swear, we’ve turned the whole town into a paranormal detective agency,” Walker muttered under his breath. “Who needs a police force?”
To Monty’s relief, Fee took the chalk and neatly lettered in the names of the parties involved so far. He could talk, but his scrawl was illegible.
Mariah called out the wi-fi password for the gallery and the name of an internet drive-sharing application where they could all take notes. Monty rolled his eyes. “If Hillvale is going to have a public internet, I’m raising your taxes to cover the cost.”
Mariah circled her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture a little politer than a middle finger, before she returned to typing. Monty was glad Keegan could sit on his anarchist wife when she got too far out of hand.
“Does Stacey’s family have any connection to people in Hillvale besides Peggy? Is that possible to check?” Fee asked, speaking louder than earlier.
“Like to Roper and Portelli?” Walker asked, typing into his own phone.
“And maybe Ramon and Ramirez,” Monty added, recalling the names of the psycho Jag driver and the thief Fee had nailed. “Did Ramirez ever talk about who wants the dog?”
“He denies knowing anything about the dog,” Walker said grumpily. “He just claims he was looking for a restroom when he broke into the store. He’s out on bail now. Someone with money posted it.”
Monty grimaced. “Not to sound bigoted, but is the Waterville gang Hispanic by any chance?”
“Pretty much. Ramon and Ramirez had Waterville ties, as does Gonzalez, but Darren Gonzalez now lives in the city,” Walker said.
Fee chalked the names into separate lists, one for Stacy’s city family and the other for Waterville gang-related names.
“Roper once managed a chain of boutique hotels in the city,” Samantha called out, reading from her phone. “He’s still listed on the board of directors, along with Randall Lee.”
Roper’s name went on the city side of the board with Stacy and her father, Darren Gonzalez, right under Nadia Lee, his new wife, and her wealthy parents, Randall and Sophia Lee.
Fee chalked Peggy onto the Waterville side of the board, under Eduardo Gonzalez, Stacy’s grandfather.
Monty waited for Mariah to top that. When she said nothing, he glanced her way, then studied her with growing alarm. Keegan saw his look and turned to regard his wife. Mariah had a bad habit of slipping down electronic bunny holes in search of information. Monty figured she focused so hard, she was unaware she was slipping away.
“Waking her is a bad idea,” Cass called from the back of the room. “She needs to be called back on her own.”
“Everyone shut down your damned phones,” Monty called. “Give her juice or the internet will implode.”
Looking a little frightened, Fee glanced at him, then escaped out the side exit behind the chalkboard she’d been working on. Damn. He didn’t want her out there alone—but leaving all the Lucys rumbling was equally dangerous.
Dinah watched Fee gather an assortment of smells in one of the café’s takeaway boxes. The cook was busy frying bacon for the non-Lucys at the counter and didn’t waste energy asking questions, just waited expectantly.
“It’s Mariah,” Fee explained. “I don’t understand what’s happening, but she’s gone silent and they’re afraid to wake her.”
Dinah nodded as if she understood and waved her off.
When Fee had what she needed, she darted down the back alley to the meeting hall again. If there were bad guys in town, they apparently weren’t early risers.
Monty looked so relieved when she returned that her heart did a backflip, then pounded like a timpani. That last could be because everyone watched her as she approached Mariah with her box of goodies. She hated being on display. She hated worse letting people see her weirdness. But there wasn’t any way she could sneak a box full of cupcakes into the room, then offer them to the one person who wasn’t awake to appreciate them.
“I could have used granola and those things the child craves,” she whispered to Mariah’s formidable husband. “But I didn’t know if that would work fast enough. I haven’t experimented with just the scent of food.”
She knew smell caused her to react, but most people needed to eat her food to respond to the ingredients.
Keegan nodded worriedly and opened the box so the rich scent of chocolate and honey wafted upward.
Mariah twitched. Keegan hel
d a cupcake closer to her nose. She blinked. She looked down at the frosted cake, then up at her husband with a frown.
Fee nearly expired in relief. Leaving them with the one cupcake, she took the box and returned to the front.
Monty held out a demanding hand. She glared back and shook her head, not wanting to stand at the podium. He glanced down to indicate he wanted the cupcakes. Like anyone who dieted too often, his inner sugar fiend had woken, the same as Mariah’s.
Defiantly, Fee passed the box to skinny Lance, who’d been hovering by his closet door in case they needed anything else. The graying artist looked startled, then gratified, especially when he noted his nephew’s frown. Skinny Lance took the box back to his closet and firmly shut the door on temptation.
“Muffins,” she whispered at Monty. “You had muffins already. Cupcakes are for tourists—and Lance.” The mayor glared but turned back to his audience.
Fee felt a little thrill that she’d understood the man and had stood up to him without having a meltdown.
Keegan strode up to join the men at the podium. Holding Mariah’s phone, the big Scot geologist held it out to Walker. “I think this is the research you asked for earlier.”
Mariah was on her feet and heading for the front door. “I’ll work on it at home, where I can use Keegan’s magic mouse,” she called over her shoulder. Then she stopped and looked in Fee’s direction. “Make those cupcakes without sugar, would you?”
Half the audience laughed as she walked out. The rest simply waited expectantly.
Magic mouse? Fee waited for explanation, but everyone else seemed to understand. She had a lot to learn about this town, but the one thing she knew for certain—she was definitely not the weirdest person in it.
“Portelli is on some of the same boards as Roper,” Walker said, scrolling through Mariah’s phone. “Randall Lee is on the same boards. Presumably, he’s the grandfather offering the reward?”
Fee scribbled Portelli on the city side of her board. Randall Lee and Roper were already there.
“That’s how money works,” Monty acknowledged. “My father used to be on boards with half the movers and shakers in the city. They choose people they know. It’s not criminal.”
Walker continued scrolling through Mariah’s phone. “Randall Lee is heir to a shipping magnate. Mariah resisted searching police and FBI files this time, so I’ll have to call for information. But she does have the public records showing indictments for smuggling and fraud against several of the Lee organizations. They have high-end lawyers to save their asses.”
Cass stood at the back of the room. “You are saying there is a cast of thousands who could have kidnapped Peggy’s child for nefarious reasons related to drugs and smuggling. This is going nowhere. I think it’s time we repaired to our inner circle. Sam, if you’ll gather at least half a dozen of us, we’ll see if we can reach the spirits.”
Fiona hid behind the chalkboard as lionesque Samantha gathered Lucys and followed her aunt. Fee wanted to help Stacy and find Peggy’s killer, but she’d prefer not to learn about spirits just yet.
Not that Monty would let her out of his sight, she noted. He stood with his back to her, blocking anyone from approaching. “I want to go to Waterville,” she whispered, amused when he whipped around so fast she feared he’d break his thick neck.
“Over my dead body,” he rumbled.
“I don’t need to kill you,” she whispered back. “I can knock you unconscious. You’d better stay far away from me if you think you can stop me.”
“Want me to wiretap Roper?” a male voice in the remaining audience asked.
Monty had to spin back around again. Fee figured this was what he’d meant about keeping control—Hillvale residents had a loose interpretation of law.
“None of these images I’ve seen so far are the woman I saw trying to steal Sukey.” Fiona stepped from behind the blackboard. “If the Lees are the city gang, does that make Gonzalez leader of the Waterville gang?”
“You think Stacy’s grandfathers are the reason for the turf war?” Walker typed in a search term.
“Gonzalez was feared and hated and didn’t belong in that diner.” Fee called up her few memories of the man. “He came in and talked to other fishy types every so often, but he wore business suits and the others didn’t. Our area of town was strictly blue-collar. Peggy was educated, but the part of her family I met was working class.”
Walker nodded, letting her ramble about her incoherent thoughts.
“The only person we’ve actually seen trying to steal Sukey was the woman who rode away in a big Lincoln during the reception,” Fee explained. “If we can find her, then we know who wants the key. That doesn’t mean they have Stacy, I know, but it’s all I have.”
“Let me talk to Francois first,” Walker warned. “They had him sedated last night.”
“Roper and Portelli?”
“Aren’t answering their phones. So, yeah, let’s wait on those too.”
“And then someone will take me to Waterville?”
Monty loomed over Walker’s shoulder. “You’re not going near Waterville until this is resolved. Let Walker do his job.”
When she’d first arrived in Hillvale, she’d been wary of authority, of men like Monty and Walker. And she’d been terrified to reveal her oddity.
She still shivered in her shoes at their steely-eyed determination. But that poor baby overruled terror. She, of all people, knew what it was like to be young, helpless, and scared.
She glanced over the remaining crowd. Aaron was back, watching the proceeding with his cynical dark gaze. Harvey leaned against the wall. She had a feeling that it had been Orville, the vet who’d looked at Sukey, who’d suggested the wiretap. In fact, it was mostly men left in the audience. Even Hillvale’s Lucys parted along gender lines, interesting—and daunting. She may have taken the wrong side.
Gripping the chalk so hard that it broke, Fee stepped around the two big men and placed herself in front of the podium. The audience silenced. She thought her heart might beat through her chest as she arranged her thoughts into coherent speech.
“I need every stranger in town to be steered into Dinah’s,” she said as loudly as she knew how.
Her audience leaned forward. She did her best to meet their eyes.
She spoke louder. “Anyone leaving the diner smelling like coconut means I found their smell to be suspicious. They should be followed, wiretapped, stalked, whatever it takes to see who else they talk to.”
“Illegal as hell,” Walker noted loud enough for all to hear.
Fee glared at him, then continued as if he’d said nothing. “If you find any reason at all to suspect them of knowing where Stacy is, return them to me. I don’t have to slap them with dead people to make them talk.”
Before the voice of authority could intervene, she walked out the side door, leaving the men to do what they wanted to do.
She’d made her appeal. Now, she supposed she should talk to the Lucys.
Twenty-five
Sunday
Monty paced up and down Walker’s office. “No more anarchists. No more Lucys. As soon as this is over, I’m looking for a job in the city and a normal woman. They’re all hopping mad up here. Let me be the one who talks to Roper.”
He’d told everyone to forget Fee’s idiocy and go home, but half the men in the meeting had been Lucys or bewitched by one. He didn’t have a hope in hell they’d listen to him. Even Xavier, his own damned rental agent, had defected to the dark side. Monty suspected the old lawyer had an age-old, hopeless crush on Cass. And he was pretty sure Uncle Lance had defected since he and operatic Val had been a pair once.
The Lucys were witches, no doubt, the time-honored siren type who enthralled men. That was the only explanation for why he cared about protecting a defiant brat who could take care of her own damned self.
Walker continued working on his computer, wearing his flat-lidded stoic face as he set the ancient printer chugging. He swiped a ha
ndful of papers from the tray and handed them to Monty. “Kurt investigated your lodge manager well. There is nothing dubious on Roper’s record except for his association with Lee, who has never been convicted of anything.”
Monty read through Roper’s background check. “Roper lives way above his means. We’re not paying him enough to own one house, and he owns two mansions and a yacht.”
“Understood,” Walker said, leaning back in his desk chair. “Kurt hired him because Roper once managed a five-star resort. He claims he left that job because of his health, but that covers a lot of territory—like being threatened by people with more power than he has.”
Monty studied Roper’s resume, seeing why Kurt had hired the man. His record was impressive. “He’s been in the hospitality business most of his career. Why would anyone threaten him?”
Walker shrugged. “Looks like he’s what we call a fixer. He arranges private conferences, not just the public ones on his resume. Men with wealth and power visit those high-end resorts. Once they trust him, they pay him well, probably under the table, for providing privacy and security for discreet meetings. They’d pay him even better for meetings less public, like on a yacht. Still, we can’t arrest a man for doing his job or for keeping bad company.”
“I can’t even justify firing the man.” Monty flung the papers down. “Our hands are tied.”
“Lucy hands aren’t,” Walker said in amusement.
“Roper could be using the lodge for his discreet meetings, bringing these criminals up here,” Monty realized, outraged. “How many hideaways do gangs need?”
“Lots. Developing a pattern of meeting in the same place is always stupid if you have bad guys after you. So they move around. Heck, the feds probably do the same. Maybe you need to take a look at your guest list.”
“We house hundreds on any given night—and that’s not counting the partners of the people on the guest list. No way.” Monty continued pacing, shuffling through Roper’s records. “What about Portelli? How many mansions does an investment broker own?”
Azure Secrets Page 20
