“I don’t know anything about that,” Wainwright said. “Gabriel told charming stories of his childhood summers playing with the other children here. He complained bitterly about spending his winters in the mansions of his wealthy stepmothers. So maybe he was cracked from birth.”
Preferring sunshine and freedom with a mother who loved him to the wealthy prisons of adults who didn’t care didn’t seem cracked to Mariah, but it may have created a fissure in a vulnerable child.
Susannah and Val must have known Robert as children. But she and Keegan hadn’t confided in them. The Ingerssons had no reason to mention Trevor Gabriel’s son spending summers here, if they even knew his parentage. He could have been one of the many children in the photograph of the archery contest.
She watched Walker and Keegan carry the injured man down the hill, in the direction of the road and the police chief’s car. She could hear the ATV returning, probably with Brenda, the nurse.
Information just wants to be free had been her mantra for years—until it had hit her upside the head, destroyed her life and that of countless others, and deposited her here.
She no longer knew how to be honest or what should be made known and what shouldn’t. She looked at the big man returning for her and swallowed hard.
She didn’t want Daisy’s peace-loving image ruined by revealing that she had had an unstable child by a criminal who had defrauded hundreds of vulnerable women. Trevor had taken advantage of an innocent. Mariah wanted to rage at the selfish ways of men, but Keegan had made her realize they weren’t all like that. She couldn’t be equally selfish by deciding who got to know what.
She had to trust someone, and that was Keegan.
July 14: Saturday evening
Keegan slammed the hardhat on his head and paced up and down Mariah’s front room. “If Robert Gabriel is the son of Trevor, the charlatan, and your Daisy, then he knew about the Hillvale crystals. Since Robert wears his father’s signet ring, he must have inherited his paranormal ability. If Wainwright claims Robert was helping them with the crystals, then his ability must be similar to mine. If making gems broke his mind so much that he killed his mother in a bout of paranoia, I don’t think I want to touch rocks anymore.”
What the hell would he do with himself if he couldn’t hunt minerals?
“I only told you as a warning,” Mariah said, refastening her braid after their shower. “All our talents have limitations and dangers. Now that you know yours, you’ll have to find a way to work with it, just as I must.”
“You stuffed your talent under a rock and hid.” He glared at her. “Not helpful. I need those books.”
“Aaron will find them,” Mariah said reassuringly. “With his psychometry, he might learn a thing or three while he’s there. He, at least, has learned to deal with his talent.”
Keegan lifted the hardhat to run his hand over his still-damp hair. He couldn’t stop fretting over all the dangling threads left undone and unanswered. He was relieved that they now had evidence of his family’s innocence, but he didn’t think Mariah grasped the next step. “Wainwright’s confession could clear my family’s name, but if he hires a lawyer. . .”
He watched Mariah grimace as she grasped the implication. She would have to testify—in court, under oath, under her real name. He hated this.
“I caused your family’s problems. I’ll fix them,” she said flatly. “But right now, we need the rest of the story. I’ll hope Gabriel is confessing to Thompson’s murder as well as Daisy’s. I’d hate for there to be more than one killer around. But Edison is not innocent. He’s been meeting with the others for a reason. We need to find out what he wanted out of cryptocurrency.”
“We can guess that—unrecorded funds for his father’s political campaigns. And probably bribery or worse.” Keegan scowled and donned the tool belt he wore when rock hunting. “But your reporters have left town. They’re all down the mountain, calling in Gabriel’s story, or what they know of it. Your element of surprise is gone. Edison will have run.”
She shrugged and finished clasping a silver cuff on her upper arm. “We can hope Edison is arrogant enough to believe he’s safe. The reporters will be back for free food and drink. So I guess we just give them the party we promised.”
Keegan wanted to pour himself into kissing her rather than think of a party on top of this afternoon’s stress. He felt drained from repeating his story to Walker and again to the sheriff. He needed a corner of quiet to process all they’d learned. “I’m glad Wainwright spilled his guts to you. That helped tremendously.”
A frown formed between her eyes. “It was a little weird. I thought people only did that in mystery books when they’re about to kill their victim. If he’d lawyered up instead of talking, we’d still know nothing. It’s not as if paranormal gems and cryptocurrency are the kinds of fraud and theft the law understands.”
“Maybe he felt guilty for pinning the fraud on my father. Who knows the way the criminal mind works? Let’s go. I hope there’s lots of food. I’m about to eat my arm.” Keegan put a hand at the small of her back and nudged her toward the door before she could fiddle with her bands again.
Keegan admired the sway of her full hips in the tight suede pants as she sauntered out ahead of him. If he could just think about sex, he might make it through this evening.
It was early yet. The meeting hall held mostly locals milling around the food tables. Mariah squeezed his arm and nodded at a group of gray heads by the refreshment table. “I think the couple in tie-dyed shirts are the married artists from the mural, the ones without the red eyes, the Morrisons.”
He ambled in that direction for a better look. “Is that Bradford Edison with them, the elderly politician?”
“Shit, yes.” She hung back, scanning the crowd. “I don’t see his son. And that looks like a Menendez hanging with them. I’ve seen some of them around but never been introduced.”
“The only Menendez in the mural was Dolores.” Keegan studied the distinguished man with gray at his temples and the brown skin of a weathered native. “And she was a Wainwright. Could this be Susannah’s husband, Carlos, or one of his relations?”
“Maybe. Where’s Harvey? He was supposed to drag his whole family here, not just Carlos.” She released his arm to swing around and scan the room. “The dirtbag is hiding.” She marched off toward a coven of women still setting up the refreshment table.
That left Keegan alone when Caldwell Edison entered with a stunning ash-blonde on his arm. About the same age as her escort, she had a familiar square-jawed face and held herself as if accustomed to peons scraping and bowing. From all he’d heard, Keegan assumed he’d just had his first glimpse of Carmel Kennedy.
The couple strolled directly toward the older generation congregating in the back corner.
A stunned hush fell over the meeting hall. Mariah turned from her conference with the women, apparently to see why. Keegan loved the way her thick-lashed eyes widened at sight of Carmel. He could almost see the wheels grinding behind them. She sent one of the younger women off. He hoped it was in pursuit of the errant Harvey, because one of the goons had just slipped in.
So, maybe they still had unfinished business here.
Keegan idled over to the AV presentation and flipped it on. The speakers burst into life with a soaring orchestral production. As if the music introduced them, Sam’s mother and the man who must be her husband strolled in—which meant the older man standing with Edison wasn’t Carlos, but one of his family. This had all the earmarks of a planned meeting.
Keegan couldn’t make himself small, so he simply sauntered over to the refreshment table and began filling a plate. He didn’t want to meet the evening on an empty stomach.
The slides streaming across the far wall didn’t appear to interest the older generation. A few of the locals who hadn’t been around earlier wandered over to admire the flashing images taken by commune members half a century ago, interspersed with the biographies Mariah had compiled.
To his r
elief, Mariah joined him and began filling her own plate. “They’re plotting. How can we find out what?”
“Without planting electronic equipment or developing super hearing? I have no suggestions. They’ll shut up if we intrude. We need Samantha or Kurt or someone they consider family and harmless.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied the hall’s occupants. “Speaking of harmless, where’s Dinah?”
“Hiding, like Harvey, I suspect.” Keegan scanned the room. “Tullah is either talking to herself or there is someone in that closet in the back corner.”
Mariah snorted. “Or both. We need to make an announcement thanking Dinah for her hard work and saying there is a donation jar at the reception desk to defray the expenses of this event. We set the official opening as 7:30, right? Is it almost time?”
He checked his watch. “It is. Do we have an official speaker?”
“The mayor, if he was here. Do you think he actually went into town with Kurt? Or is he hiding too?” Mariah washed down Dinah’s quiche with bottled water.
“Why do I have the perilous feeling that this battle is being orchestrated by our elders?” Frustrated, Keegan continued plowing through Dinah’s delectable dishes.
“Well, if no one else shows up, I’ll have to step up to the podium. I know most of the reporters are gone, but I really don’t want to put myself on display.” Mariah eased closer to the chatting group at the end of the tables while she eyed the forbidden dessert tray.
“Everyone went to a great deal of trouble to put this together in a day for us. We ought to get something out of it.” Keegan fretted, not wanting to put Mariah on display either.
The audio-visual presentation abruptly cut off and a more dramatic orchestration rose from the speakers. The gallery lighting dimmed. At the same time, balls of light floated down from the ceiling.
Mariah hissed. “Cass.”
But it wasn’t Cass entering through the open double doors at the front of the hall. It was Valerie Ingersson, aka Valdis, goddess of death. Keegan recalled her operatic keening over Daisy’s body and shivered. “Where’s Lance?” he whispered.
“Damn.” Mariah searched the dimming room. “In back, guarding the triptych. I can only see his shadow.”
“I don’t like this, but we need to separate. You head for Val. I’m putting myself between Lance and the crazies.” He set down his plate, kissed her, and eased his way into the milling audience.
Weird choice but Mariah supposed men had to stick together—and the position would give Keegan a better view of the room and reassure Dinah in her closet.
Which meant she was on her own now, with potential killers, vultures, and a coven of unpredictable witches. Oh, joy.
Thirty-three
July 14: Saturday evening
The crowd separated to let the drama queen pass. Wearing an elaborate black lace mantilla over her hair and face, Val dragged a long black train of ruffles, probably from a vintage role in Hello, Dolly. She’d prepared for this—with Cass’s help, for sure.
Mariah fell in behind her, keeping to one side. It was dark enough in the center of the hall that she didn’t worry about being recognized, unless reporters were looking for computer engineer Zoe de Cervantes as a caricature of a back-to-nature hippy.
She could see Keegan in his miner’s hat easing along the wall toward the podium. The track lighting on the artwork had gone out, but it was still daytime outside. Sunshine filtered through cracks in the wall and the open front doors. Cass’s damned weird light balls added to the illusion.
It was intuition, pure and simple, that made Mariah turn and look behind her.
While the audience watched Val and her spectral form drifting toward the back of the hall and the podium, Cass and her cadre were slipping through the entrance. Mariah nearly expired of relief, followed by a rush of terror. What did it mean that Cass had dared bring Sam and Teddy here?
She hated not being in on the plot.
Helplessly, Mariah continued after Val. She eased to one side, placing herself between the podium and the older generation watching the performance. Keegan took a position behind the podium, near Lance and the talking closet. Mariah could see Dinah’s full pink skirt peeking from behind Tullah’s statuesque form—not far from one of the goons who had bought Teddy’s gems. Dinah feared the law. If she thought the sunglasses and a gun meant the feds, no wonder she was hiding. Maybe she had a point.
When Val reached the podium, the music abruptly halted. Waiting for one operatic moment, until she was certain all attention was on her, Val burst into a heart-wrenching rendition of Amazing Grace that filled the entire hall to the rafters. By the time she finished, half the audience was in tears, and Sam and Teddy had taken up positions in the center front, facing the podium.
Cass was barely an arm’s length behind Mariah, which meant Cass was in Carmel’s direct line of sight. The silence was deafening as Val began to speak.
“Kris Kristofferson once famously wrote ‘Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.’ I am free. I have lost everything and everyone I have ever loved. I have lost myself. All I have left to lose is a meaningless plot of dirt and rocks that once housed a vibrant, loving community, a community that lost its soul to greed and ambition.”
Mariah had goose bumps just hearing the anguish Val poured into her speech.
The crowd murmured. Mariah tried to keep an eye on the wealthy, powerful clique to her side, the ones to whom Val was really addressing this speech. Poor Lance stood like a frozen shadow in the background. No one stepped forward to interrupt. Most of the audience thought Val as mad as Daisy had been. But Val had hidden depths and a simmering anger begging to emerge. Mariah recognized the symptoms well.
“Before I let one more person die for that land,” Val continued, “I will set it free as well.” Playing the audience like a pro, she waited until the crowd quieted.
Mariah had a feeling this was Cass’s work, and the real reason she’d wanted Sam to stay behind.
“In memory of Daisy,” Val continued, “in memory of the family we once were, in memory of the brilliance that died for dirt, my niece and I give the Ingersson property in its entirety to the town of Hillvale for the betterment of the community, for the education of artists and musicians, in perpetuity. Samantha and I reserve the right to choose the first board of governors, who will then choose their replacements when the time comes. There will be no politics, no filthy lucre, nothing but love and hard work involved in this land. The town will make of it what it will.”
Mariah heard a male curse nearby, but she didn’t recognize the voice. Someone wasn’t happy with Val’s decision, though.
“This is your work, you old hag.” A female cry followed the curse.
That voice, Mariah recognized—Carmel.
Still attuned to Val at the podium, Cass didn’t acknowledge the insult—or the truth. Of course Cass was behind Val’s decision. The consequences might destroy any hope of the Kennedys expanding the resort.
Val turned toward Cass and the gathering of elders. Cass’s floating balls of light framed a halo over Val as she raised her voice.
“Bradford Edison, you were once a friend of my father’s. You know the tragic circumstances of his death. I do not blame you for not helping him when he needed it. He was lost to his addictions, to the greed and ambition that consumed him. No one could have saved him.”
The older gentleman who had once worn a bear claw for a mural and played folk music for the commune stepped toward the podium as if wanting to speak. As a life-time performer and politician, Bradford Edison was accustomed to commanding attention.
His son caught his arm and held him back, while whispering urgently to Carmel. Caldwell Edison appeared intent on dragging his father from the hall, but the old man refused and shook him off. If any of that crowd carried a gun—Mariah couldn’t stop bullets. She swallowed hard and prayed Val would use common sense.
The death goddess wasn’t known for common sense.
>
Trust Lucys and no one else, Cass had said. Lucys were stirring this dangerous pot. Mariah had to trust that they knew what they were doing, because it certainly looked as if the pot was about to boil over.
“But the evil that pollutes this land continues to poison it,” Val said in a ringing voice. “Until we learn to work for the good of all and not just the wealthy few, we will never know harmony.”
“That’s socialism, Val.” Caldwell Edison gave up on persuading his father to leave. Brushing off Carmel’s restraining hand, he took a step toward the podium. “Every man has an equal chance to get ahead in this country. Some are just better at it than others.”
“Oh right, like a kid from the slum has the same exact opportunities as the trust fund set,” a voice cried from the back.
Intent on his own purpose, Caldwell ignored the cry. “You’re preventing the town from succeeding, with this hare-brained scheme of yours, Val.”
Before Mariah could intervene, Cass caught her arm and dug her long nails into bare skin in warning.
Val pointed her finger at Caldwell, broke out in an operatic song in Italian, then flung back her veil.
The lights came on.
The audience gasped as Val stood there in all her ruined beauty. Cameras flashed. Mariah glanced over her shoulder—the reporters were returning. One of them had probably been the heckler. They would eventually recognize the local actress who had once achieved stardom. Val had come out of hiding.
“You, Caldwell, haven’t changed,” Val declared. “You still think men are created equal, and that women don’t figure into the equation, you poor pathetic soul. Now I understand why you destroyed me—not out of jealousy, but because a woman had the fame and power you craved.”
Cass muttered under her breath and didn’t release Mariah from her grip.
“That’s a lie!” Carmel cried. “Caldwell would never lift a hand against a woman. You’re the jealous creature here, denying everyone else the happiness you lost.”
“Old bones,” Mariah murmured, trying to tug away from Cass. The older woman’s nails dug in tighter, and then Cass nodded in a signal that stirred Sam from her post near Val.
Crystal Vision Page 31
