It was old Mrs. Purdy Anderson who broke the ice. She planted herself in front of me, flowered straw hat flapping as she walked, muumuu encasing her voluminous figure in a brilliant field of fuchsia hibiscus, handbasket filled to the brim with tea and crackers. In voice loud enough for everybody in the shop to hear, she said, “Emerald, I want you to schedule an hour tarot reading for my daughter, and another for me. You’ve never led us astray.”
I blushed. “That’s very sweet of you, but you don’t have to do this—”
“Nonsense!” She cut me off. “Trisha and I love coming to you for readings, and we wouldn’t go anywhere else.”
Grateful—for as eclectic as she looked, Purdy’s whims and declarations led the charge for many of the other ladies who frequented my shop—I escorted her to the front desk, where I penciled her into my appointment book. That opened the floodgates; eight of the women rushed the counter, all clamoring for tarot readings. As I scheduled appointment after appointment, the rustle of gossip began.
“Can you believe the nerve of that young man—”
“He didn’t have a lick of sense in him—”
“Heavens, you’d think that he’d be more careful, bad-mouthing a woman like our Emerald—”
“You ought to sue him for slander, Emerald! That’s what I’d do, in an instant—”
Within five minutes, my bad mood had turned around. My friends and clients trusted me, they didn’t believe some idiot’s ranting. I looked around at the ring of women, all waiting for me to speak. My eyes moist, I gulped down a maudlin urge to sniffle.
“Thank you, thank you all. I can’t possibly express how much your support means to me… but at least I can show my appreciation by offering you free tea and lemonade today!”
Cinnamon, who had been watching the proceedings, ran over to the reader-board, where she chalked “Free Tea & Raspberry Lemonade Today.” That was enough to turn the tide of conversation and the wave of women moved over to the tearoom, where they began oohing and aahing over the pastries as they made their selections.
Feeling a glow of warmth, and gratitude for a potential disaster forestalled, I busied myself, humming under my breath. Tonight was the Street Dance and I wanted the shop to sparkle. I polished and rearranged and tidied until the shelves gleamed, then stood back to survey my work. The Chintz ‘n China was in its best condition ever. Ready for my lunch break, I headed toward the tearoom when I heard a familiar voice.
“Hey chick!” Murray, dressed in a grey pantsuit, gave me a hug as I turned. “Thought I’d have my lunch here today since I was in the neighborhood.” She leaned closer so no one could overhear us. “I’ve got some interesting things to tell you about Scar’s autopsy.”
I nodded toward the tearoom. “I’ll be over in a sec. Cinnamon?”
“Yes, Emerald?” Cinnamon had just finished ringing up a sturdy old-fashioned brown teapot for Maeve Elliston. Maeve seemed like an interesting woman, and I wanted to get to know her better. Around fifty, she kept herself in shape, never wore any makeup other than pale pink lipstick, and always dressed in jeans and cardigans or rayon blouses.
Aside from having a name straight out of Celtic mythology, Maeve didn’t quite fit into Chiqetaw. A newcomer to the town, she’d shown up at my shop during late springtime and was a regular customer now. Within the space of four months, I heard that she’d planted an herb garden the size of my entire house, that she was raising llamas for her hand-spun yarn, and that she worked a loom and sold blankets, caps, and sweaters from her home.
I glanced at the clock, wishing I had time to do more than say hello. I waved at Maeve as I told Cinnamon, “I’m taking lunch. I’ll be in the tearoom if you need me.”
Maeve abruptly spun around, blocking my way. “Emerald, may I give you a piece of advice? Ignore the idiots of the world. He’ll find his little tantrum coming back to slap him in the face. You know what you can do, and so do your friends. That’s all that matters.” Before I could say a word, she marched out the door, bag of goodies in hand.
Cinnamon raised one eyebrow. “She’s… a little abrupt.”
“Yeah.” I glanced at the door. “Very.”
Lana had brought Murray a chicken salad sandwich, a bowl of gazpacho, and a slice of chocolate cake. I selected a cheese-and-watercress sandwich and a bowl of chicken soup. I added a slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie to my tray. Please, don’t ever let me lose Larry, I whispered to the universe. He was my source for all the delicious food we served, delivering it fresh every morning.
Murray was two bites into her sandwich when I sat down. She swallowed and wiped her mouth on her napkin. “Busy?”
I gave her the rundown on what had happened after we opened. “I guess my regulars won’t be paying much attention to George, thank goodness. I’d hate for them to think I’ve been cheating them.”
“They know you’re not like that, Em. Don’t sweat it.” She took a sip of her lemonade. “Okay, here’s the deal with Scar’s autopsy.” She leaned in. “I talked to Bob Stryker’s assistant. She says that he told Coughlan the fact that Scar had bat guano stuck to his shirt might place Scar somewhere else than Miner’s Lake when he was killed. Now, if that’s true, then somebody had to move the body. For one thing, no animal could have buried him in leaves. And for another, there aren’t any bat colonies right near the lake. But Coughlan told Stryker that a bat must have pooped on Scar when it flew overhead, so they’re still calling it an animal attack.”
I frowned. “And if somebody moved the body, that somebody is probably the person who killed him. What about the rest of the evidence?”
Mur thoughtfully chewed her sandwich. “Deacon and Sandy are a little put out about that. They insist there were several potential clues, but when I called the crime lab, the report said that all the evidence was pretty much dead-end material. Just forest debris, stuff like that.”
“Hmm,” I said, picking up my sandwich. “Interesting. Cover up?”
“I don’t think Coughlan would deliberately tamper with evidence, but he might conveniently look the other way if it’s vague. I have no idea what to do about all this, Em.” She was quiet for a moment, then pushed away her plate. “Coughlan has closed the case and he’ll have my head if I investigate any further. Officially, that is.” She gave me a long look, and I knew she was taking as keen of an interest in this case as I was. Maybe more, because of Jimbo.
If Coughlan had his way, Scar’s death would be swept under the rug. It wasn’t fair, not to Scar, not to his girlfriend, not to his unborn child, and not to Jimbo, his best friend. “So what are we going to do? What’s our plan of action?”
Murray warily raised one eyebrow. “Hmm… talk to the bikers, I guess. If they’ll speak to me. Maybe I can find out more about Scar’s past; that might tell us something useful. I can’t help but wonder now if he got his money for the Harley the old-fashioned way… by stealing it.”
I sighed. “You know the guys out there would clam up in a second if you brought up that possibility. I guess we should start with Jimbo. He’s convinced the Klakatat Monster’s to blame, but maybe he’ll remember something. Somebody who had a grudge against Scar, or maybe some woman he jilted. We could go from there.” Before she could change the subject, I grinned at her and added, “Speaking of Jimbo, you promised to tell me everything.”
Murray seldom blushed but when she did, her cheeks grew fire-engine red. She lowered her eyes to her plate, playing with the remains of the chocolate cake.
“C’mon on, spill it.”
She coughed. “Well, shortly after you two rescued Kip last April, I hand-delivered the notice that we had dropped all charges. Considering how much he helped the two of you, it seemed only polite to give him the news in person rather than just drop some bureaucratic note in the mail.”
I nodded. Jimbo had come through all right. “Go on.”
“I drove out there on one of my days off. Jimmy was out seeding his kitchen garden. I noticed
that he was starting to plant the carrots next to the tomatoes and told him to stop—that they’d do better next to the onions, and that he should plant basil next to the tomatoes and then ring the whole bed with marigolds. We got into a discussion on companion planting, and I ended up helping him finish up the beds. We had fun, Em. The kind of fun you have when you’re not worrying about what the other person is thinking about you. Before I knew it, the afternoon disappeared. He asked me to stay to dinner, and we ended up talking for the rest of the evening.”
There was a softness in her eyes that gave her a glowing radiance. “Tell me the rest,” I said gently.
“I went home. Three days later, he called me and hemmed and hawed, then finally asked if I wanted to go hiking. I knew that I shouldn’t get involved, but there was something about him when we were alone, a vulnerable side that shone through. I went. We got trapped in the middle of a ravine during a sudden rainstorm.” She shrugged helplessly. “By the time we got back to his place we were cold and wet. I took a bath, he knocked on the door and handed me a cup of tea. One thing led to another and… well, it was wonderful. I can’t deny it. We click together.”
I knew she was waiting for me to bitch at her, to tell her I thought she was making a mistake, but how could I? The softness in her eyes told me that she was happy. Jimbo seemed good for Murray; whether he was good for her career was another matter altogether.
“So you’ve been seeing each other all summer?”
She nodded, again looking helpless. “It’s getting harder to keep it secret. Can you imagine the uproar it would cause if our relationship became known in town? Coughlan would see to it that I’d lose my job. Jimmy would lose a lot of his friends. We’ve gone over and over the situation and can’t figure out a way to resolve it. All we know is that we don’t want to stop seeing each other.”
I thought of my own relationship with Joe and how easy it was. Even though he was ten years younger, nobody put up an argument or made any nasty comments. Murray was walking an uphill road when it came to people at her work. I knew Jimbo had a good side, and Joe, Harlow, and James would all accept him because they loved Murray. But not everybody would see it the way we would. And Chiqetaw was a small town, where word traveled fast.
I reached out to take her hand. “I’m happy for you, Mur. And things will resolve themselves in time. I won’t say a word until you give me the go ahead.”
She gave me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Em, for understanding. I need the support. I’m so glad you know, I hated keeping it a secret from you. Even Jimmy felt bad about it.” She pushed back her plates. “I’d better get back to work. Coughlan will be on my ass if I’m late.”
As she left, I couldn’t help but think about her situation. I hoped that it worked out; she seemed so happy, but there were a lot of sticky issues involved and, no matter how optimistic I wanted to be, I couldn’t foresee an easy resolution.
I wandered outside. The street detours gave us two full blocks in which to prepare for the dance. City workers were hanging banners from the lampposts. In Chiqetaw, all the towering street lamps downtown had given way to shorter, old-fashioned black steel posts shaped like the old-time gas lanterns, giving a quaint, old-world flavor to the shopping area. In a couple of hours, the vendors would start setting up their stalls; mostly artisans with home-crafted wares and artists willing to wing a pastel sketch or a caricature, but a few hotdog stands and cotton candy vendors would also find their way into the evening’s event.
I perched on the bench in front of my shop, breathing in the warm air. Even though I was an autumn person, I had to admit that the summers here were beautiful; seldom too warm, seldom too cold. I leaned back and closed my eyes.
“O’Brien! You ever do anything but sleep outside your shop?”
Startled, I sat up. Jimbo again. I patted the bench. “Siddown and quit pickin’ on me.”
He slid into the seat beside me and snickered. “I pick on you because you ask for it, babe, and don’t forget it!”
“You just missed Murray,” I said, lowering my voice.
He set his helmet on the sidewalk next to his feet. “Oh yeah? Too bad, but then, we couldn’t have said much to each other. Too many people around.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say so left the subject alone. “She told me about the autopsy report on Scar. Has she had a chance to talk to you yet?”
He nodded. “Yep. She did. Man, I just can’t believe he was involved in those heists. You think you know somebody and…”
“Sometimes people aren’t what they seem, Jimbo. You know that. I know that. Once in a while, the past catches up to us.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I still think Scar was killed by that creature. Dead bodies don’t just get up and move by themselves, and something big has been prowling those woods lately. Which brings me to the reason why I’m here. I got another favor to ask you.”
“What is it? You do realize I’m not particularly keen on staging a repeat of the last favor?” I had no intention of playing ghost-hunter again.
He scuffed his boot on the sidewalk, leaving a black mark. “I think I know where Scar was killed.”
“What? How—where?” My hope that we might be able to solve Scar’s murder suddenly brightened.
Jimbo used his finger to sketch out a map on the bench as he spoke. “Remember I told you that Goldbar Creek heads through a short patch of woods, then opens into the southern tip of Klickavail Valley?”
I nodded.
“Well, there’s an access road back there—a fire road. Once you ease out into the valley proper, to the left you’ll see the biker’s enclave. To the right is a narrow stretch of woods and behind that windbreak, a thin meadow girds the base of Klickavail Mountain. There are caves in that mountain. And there are several bat colonies that hibernate in those caves.”
“Which might account for the bat guano they found on his clothes.” I eyed Jimbo speculatively. “You know, I have to ask this. Could one of the other bikers have done him in? Considering his background, maybe Scar had a beef with somebody? Maybe one of the guys knew about his past and threatened to expose him and they got in a fight?”
Jimbo looked shocked. “You think one of his buddies killed him? Get outta here! Regardless of what they did in the past, the guys out in the valley live by a code. They cover each other’s asses. Some of them dudes have been there for years. They rode together while they were on the road and now they’re building a place where they feel accepted instead of outcast.”
He let out a long sigh. “Listen, O’Brien… the way it works out there is like this. If a couple of the boys start mixing it up, Clyde—who pretty much runs the enclave—makes sure that the fight is fair, with no weapons allowed. Afterward, all grievances are left in the ring.”
“Reminds me of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome.”
“A little,” he conceded. “But these aren’t death matches and both men come out alive. Besides, everybody liked Scar. He was always laughing, cracking jokes. Always had a joint for you if you needed one, or a bottle ready, or a buck or two for beer or food. And not many people know this, but he sent a lot of money to the Bread & Butter House.”
That didn’t surprise me. The Bread & Butter House offered the homeless a place to stay, and a food bank for those in need. Anybody who’d ever made use of the place usually gave back at some point, when they could. No doubt a number of the bikers had relied on the charity from time to time.
“Scar seems to have been pretty flush,” I observed.
“Sure, he had the bucks, but I don’t think for a minute that he was still out knocking off convenience stores. I think he earned them fair and square.”
I pressed the issue. “And how did he do that? What did he do?”
Jimbo let out a loud sigh. “I dunno,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I just don’t think he was still hanging in that lifestyle. He had a girlfriend and a kid on the way. He wouldn’t endanger the
m.”
I sighed. Jimbo sure could turn a blind eye when it came to his friends, but then, if anybody came to me suggesting that Murray or Harlow had committed a murder, I wouldn’t want to listen, either. Since Jimbo wasn’t willing to entertain the idea that somebody in the Klickavail enclave might have betrayed Scar, I backed away from the subject. “Okay, so we’ll go on the theory that nobody had a grudge against him.”
Jimbo stared at the sidewalk, scuffing it with his boot. “Well, I guess I don’t know that for sure,” he said slowly. He tugged on his beard and once again, I cringed at the cornrows. Finally, he shrugged. “Maybe somebody might have had some beef against him, but I never heard a bad word turned his way. Considering all the other creepy stuff going on, as far as I’m concerned, the Klakatat Monster killed him.”
“What was the favor you wanted to ask?” I gently brought the conversation back on track.
Jimbo shifted into shy-mode, scuffing the pavement with his boot. Finally, he blurted out, “I want you and Anna to go up to the area near the caves and do your hoodoo thing. Keep the monster from hurting anybody else. You know, slap a hex on it or something.”
Slap a hex on it or something? Had I heard him right? “Let me get this straight. You want us to go up there and cast a spell on a creature that’s supposedly older than mankind? Just what do you expect us to say? ‘Back off and don’t eat anybody?’”
He gave me a sheepish grin. “Sounds good to me.”
“And what did Murray say when you asked her about this?”
He pretended to stare at the snakebark maple overhanging the bench. The leaves were swaying in the gentle breeze. Rather hypnotic, actually.
“Jimbo, what did Murray say?”
He sighed. “Well, she didn’t exactly say she would, but she didn’t say she wouldn’t, either.”
Jeez, getting a straight answer out of him was like pulling teeth. “Then what did she say? Exactly.”
“She says she’s game if you are. She really doesn’t want to mess with it, but agreed that if you would take charge of the… whaddaya call it? Oh yeah, the ritual, she’d go along and help out.”
Murder Under a Mystic Moon Page 10
