Bloodstone

by Gwen Hunter

  Having waited patiently while we showered and dressed and ate, Aunt Matilda now asked, “Do you remember what happened?” It was a strange question and we looked at her, confused. “The doctor warned me that hypothermia could affect your short-term memory among other things. So, do you remember much about this afternoon?”

  I shivered, big horrid, earthquake shivers that rattled my teeth. When the movement abated, I shrugged. “Maybe the doctor was right. I don’t remember much about today.” I didn’t add that I didn’t want to remember.

  Evan said, “I’d estimate that we walked through the snow for more than three miles after Jubal was airlifted out, and were nearly three hours without proper clothing on the mountain in a winter storm. Before that, Jubal was shot. That’s about it. I admit the details are kinda muzzy.” We smiled at each other as he pushed his bowl and mug away and laced his fingers through mine.

  Aunt Matilda watched the gesture, and she seemed pleased. Of course, she would be. She had probably planned out our attraction from birth. I shivered again. She tossed me another blanket, though I wasn’t shivering from the cold this time.

  We had all been dangerously hypothermic when we piled in the SUV. Lopez had made it to the hospital in record time, even with the snow. I had no memory of the drive into town at all.

  At the hospital, while being treated for exposure, we had talked to the police investigator on call, who just happened to be Jack Madison, a man not happy to be dealing with us again, and even less happy to have a gunshot on a mountain crime scene that was now under several inches of snow and wouldn’t be accessible for days, if not weeks. Or maybe he was just not happy at being called back to work at the end of a quiet shift. He had questioned us for over an hour, stopping only when the ER doctor told him we needed rest. It seemed doctor’s orders superceded even a cop’s persistent urgency.

  Now, dressed and warm, but still feeling the chill of the storm in our bones and teeth, we waited for news. Isaac was at the hospital, and had called us twice to update us on Jubal. My best friend had been to surgery for repair of the artery in his upper arm, along with tendon and muscle damage, and had been admitted to ICU in stable condition. He had lost a lot of blood and been given two units to replace some of what he had lost. There was no damage to the nerve that served the arm, but the tendons and muscles at the rotator cuff had not been so lucky. He would likely need more surgery to correct the problems there, but he was alive and expected to live, barring complications—doctor-speak for, Don’t sue me if he croaks anyway.

  Evan squeezed my hand. “Hmm?” I could tell he had asked me something and I had missed it entirely.

  “How did you know about the shooter?”

  I blinked. The shooter?

  “Before he shot, you yelled, ‘Get down.’ You dove to the ground before the shot.”

  I flicked a glance at Aunt Matilda, who was rocking and watching us with something like blissful self-satisfaction. I pulled my hand away from Evan’s and laced my fingers in my lap. My nails were ragged, broken. I didn’t remember tearing them on the mountain. “I, uh…I was in the head of the shooter. I touched the quartz to try to get Davie. I did, and it was weird. But then I saw this scene, sort of superimposed on the first one. I saw four people in the crosshairs of a rifle scope. The scope settled on a short woman with her bare hand on a rock. It was me.”

  Aunt Matilda had the gaze of a hungry hawk looking at its next meal. She was no longer rocking, but sitting completely still. “I heard—no, heard is the wrong word. I just sort of knew what he was thinking. ‘The troublemaker.’ I was inside his head.” I peeled off a broken nail, stroking the ragged edge with my thumb, remembering. “My finger tightened on the trigger, and I took a deep breath and let it out. Long-range shooters do that to steady their bodies for a shot?” I looked the question at Evan who was watching me with a penetrating green gaze, his face intent.

  “The man thought, ‘I’ll kill her. The one who’s touching my gold. I’ll kill them all.’ And I screamed out to get down, and I fell.”

  It hit me then. Just as always, the gift had failed me. I had warning and Jubal had still been shot, because I wasn’t good enough. The gift wasn’t good enough. Ashes and spit.

  “And before that, when you scanned for Davie? What about then?” Aunt Matilda asked.

  “I found him.” Exhaustion pulled at my shoulders and bowed my spine. I had the remnants of a headache that Tylenol hadn’t helped. I rubbed my forehead, then dropped my hand back to my lap. “A woman came into the room. I think she was one of the first people who kidnapped Davie and she was giving him up to another group of people. And I sensed, I knew, that she had hurt him but he wouldn’t let me see how. I couldn’t tell what she had done to him. He was—” I searched for a word but couldn’t find the right one and so settled on “—ashamed. Embarrassed. So it must have been pretty awful, what she did.

  “She had left a ring on his bedside table. I recognized it. Jubal made the ring several years ago. A gold band with rubies. I remember it was a specialty piece, a commissioned work. But I didn’t get the chance to ask him about it before the shooting started.” The skin on my hands was dry. I needed more cream. “All I remember is that the client provided the rubies from a damaged family heirloom and Jubal worked them into the design. I could swear that I’ve seen it recently, but I can’t remember where. If I can’t ask Jubal about it tomorrow, I’ll start a search in Bloodstone’s records. Maybe I’ll find who commissioned the ring. But even if I do, I’ll know who took Davie, but I won’t know who has him now.”

  Aunt Matilda walked over and handed me a nail file and I smoothed the broken nail as I talked. “There was a negotiation. That’s what Davie called it. Like a bargain struck. Someone else was about to take Davie. I got the feeling that they already tried to take him once and things broke down. And I don’t know why or who. I don’t know anything.”

  “But you do know gold is at the heart of this problem, whatever it is.” Aunt Matilda bent over us, gathering the bowls and tableware. “You know it’s important enough for someone to try to kill you for it. And you’re still alive, though he had you in the crosshairs of a rifle scope. It seems your gift was useful after all. I’m turning in. You young people don’t stay up too late. And drink plenty of water to combat the dehydration.”

  Again I couldn’t sleep. There were too many people in and around my loft—Aunt Matilda and Jane bedded down only feet or inches away, Evan asleep in the workroom of the shop—and too many people missing: Jubal and Isaac at the hospital, Davie gone. Nothing was right. Nothing was where or as it should be. Wide awake, jittery, apprehensive and exhausted, I used the laptop and went online. It had been days since I had checked my e-mail and emptied my spam filters, which I did quickly. When I saw three files with attachments on investment folios I almost deleted them, until I remembered wanting to look into the companies who had offered for Davie’s land—ComPack, HFM, Inc., and Julian Rakes Mining. I had forgotten that Isaac was going to get the investment broker to take a look.

  Because none of the companies had asked for rights to the exact area where we found the gold, I didn’t know which one to concentrate on, so I downloaded the files and opened the first at random. I quickly scanned all the info on ComPack, and looked over their list of board members and chief investors. It was amazing what you could learn if you pretended to be a potential investor. Nothing I saw looked suspicious.

  The Henderson Family Mines was wholly family owned and the broker had had little luck with them. That left Julian Rakes.

  Within minutes, I hit paydirt. I stared at the list of company employees, focusing on the name of the president’s executive assistant. The hair on my arms stood up and cold chills raced across my flesh. I remembered seeing her face at the county council meeting. Another memory assaulted me. She had been wearing the ring I saw on Davie’s bedside, the globed gold and ruby spray. Eloise Carter. Was she another nutcase who had once thought she was going to marry my brother? Had she been in
my apartment?

  Further down, on a list of board of directors, was Jack Madison, detective with the local cops. I remembered the cheap haircut, the off-the-rack clothes, and the cop’s total lack of style. How did a cop get enough money, power or leverage to sit on the board of a mining company that was big enough to be traded on the U.S. stock exchange?

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Evan asked. “Yesterday left you pretty frazzled.”

  “Thanks a lot. Every girl wants to know she looks shredded,” I said, as I allowed Lopez to wire me up with a hidden microphone. His hands came up under my shirt, over my boobs and clipped the mike to my bra. I was shocked at the familiarity but kept my mouth closed. Evan was far too amused at my expression as it was. I was just glad I’d worn a new bra with both lace and shaping and not a ratty one with pilled fabric and webby elastic. I had also shaved my legs and washed my hair, piling it up in a loose bun on the crown of my head with a butterfly hair clasp inlaid with faux ivory and faux turquoise. I looked good and I knew it, and I was only halfway sure Lopez had be so familiar.

  The shop phone rang and Evan handed it to me. I answered the call while Lopez tested the mike and then started on the hidden camera in the lapel button of my best power suit, an ocean-green silk with tight-fitting jacket and short skirt. Thankfully, the camera went on top of my clothes and around into the lining of the jacket. “Bloodstone Inc., Tyler St. Claire,” I said into the phone.

  “Tyler!”

  I could tell from Isaac’s voice that he had good news, and relief flooded through me. “How’s Jubal?”

  “Coming home tomorrow. Crabby. Liking the morphine way too much. Did I say coming home tomorrow?”

  Sudden tears flooded my eyes as his words assuaged my deeper fears. “You did,” I said, wiping the tears carefully. “Is he awake enough for me to talk to him?”

  “Sure, hold on.”

  The next voice was Jubal’s, slurred by drugs and very happy for a man in pain. “Tyler, baby. Howsh my mind-reading, redheaded, gypsy queen?”

  Through laughter I said, “Holy medical miracles, Batman. It’s alive, I tell you, alive!”

  “You’re mishing up your movie genres, honeybunch, but ish no matter. Ish uh thought that counts. Are you coming to take me home tomorrow? They’re coming to take me away ho-ho, he-he, ha-ha, they’re coming to take me away!”

  “You’re stoned out of your gourd, aren’t you?”

  “Totally. Thish ish really good stuff.”

  “Yes. I’ll be there. And I’ll bring flowers tonight.”

  “Skip the flowers, honeybunch. Bring me shom decent food. They got me drinking my meals, and I’m decades away from finding broth and melted Jell-O a tasty meal. Not while I shtill got my own teeth.”

  We chatted a few more minutes and I said, “Okay, Jubal, focus. Business question. Do you remember making a gold-and-ruby ring a few years ago?” I described the delicate circlet and what I could remember about it, while Lopez went back to work on my bra. I slapped at him twice but had the feeling that he found me amusing, rather than someone who might kick him where it hurt if he got fresh again.

  “Yesh, I remember that one. Isaac, don’t flirt with the doctor. Hesh old enough to be your uncle.” Drugged laughter. “Some cop commissioned it. Had the rubies from his mother’s engagement ring. Ugly thing from the fifties. No class at all, that ring. The one from the fifties, not mine. It was exquisite.”

  “Do you remember who it was? Maybe Jack Madison?”

  “Yeah, yeah! Guy with a neck like a turkey? Yeah, thash him.”

  I nodded to Evan and Lopez, said my goodbye to Jubal and hung up. “Jack Madison.”

  “Well. I reckon that makes this an official unofficial investigation. Don’t it?” Lopez said. “Nice bra, ma’am. I really like the black lace.”

  Evan looked interested. I blushed. “Stuff it, Lopez. Let’s get this on the road. Does this surveillance stuff work okay?”

  “Yep,” Evan said. “Loud and clear. Lopez and I’ll be in the van parked just down the road. Do you remember the panic word?”

  “Lucky.”

  “Good. You say ‘lucky,’ and I’ll be there in an instant.”

  “If you get anything we can use, I’ll take it to my boss and then to a judge,” Lopez said. “With any luck, we’ll have a warrant by two.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “We don’t have a warrant?”

  Lopez didn’t look up, too busy with a round disc and the front of my jacket. “You’re not a law-enforcement officer. You’re a private citizen who decided to tape her interview.”

  I didn’t like the way that sounded. “This isn’t legal, is it?”

  “It isn’t exactly illegal,” Lopez said.

  “Not exactly,” Evan parroted.

  “Ashes and spit,” I said.

  “That picked up nicely,” Lopez said. “Let’s try it again.”

  My appointment with Julian Rakes Mining had been hurriedly set up just after the company opened for business, worked into the president’s lunchtime schedule between corporate meetings. I was getting in by a ruse and a lie. I had suggested that I was Davie’s executor, which I was, and that I was ready to negotiate a buyout or a deal on mineral rights, which I wasn’t. But I did have a list of questions suggested by Evan and Lopez, and I had the letters of offering found in Davie’s box of papers.

  Keenly aware that everything I did was to be recorded and viewed, I went to the bathroom just before leaving Blood-stone. If there was anything worse than having Lopez comment on my underwear, it would be for the men to see me in the bathroom. I’d have made a pathetic undercover cop.

  Totally entertained by the cops-and-robbers stuff, Noe offered to run the shop alone all day in exchange for an extra Saturday off in April. Traditionally, Monday was slow this time of year, and Noe was getting the better part of the bargain, but I was in no position to haggle. She even came in early to open the shop and help me accessorize.

  What did a jewelry designer wear when going undercover? According to Noe, it required minimalist, traditional and pricey. She picked out three items in our current stock—an estate ring with a large, square, blue emerald stone surrounded by tiny sapphires we had gotten cheap, a gold bracelet with faceted aquamarine and emerald stones, and a necklace made of interlocking red-gold leaves, all of which complemented the shade of green in the silk suit. Maybe Noe had a point. Good underwear, expensive fabrics and pricey jewelry did make me feel confident, even with only four hours of sleep. And no woman wearing Manolo Blahnik shoes could ever feel insecure.

  What didn’t add to my sense of assurance was the sight of Aunt Matilda and Jane at the shop front door when I was ready to leave. Aunt Matilda had a look of pique, and Jane was filled with excitement. I had tried to keep my thoughts shielded from them as we planned today’s little adventure. Clearly I had failed. The sight of them brought back the understanding that I was going after Davie. And that if I didn’t find him, he might never be found. Ever.

  Jane rushed to me, throwing her arms around me and burying her face in my stomach. “You save my daddy. He’s in trouble and you can save him. I know it.” I wrapped my arms around her, keeping my eyes on Aunt Matilda.

  “We were trying a simple read of the Major Arcana and the court cards in a primary Celtic Cross spread,” the older woman said. “Jane pulled the Knight of Swords, the Tower, the High Priestess, the Ace of Swords, Justice reversed.” She stopped as she saw something in my eyes or in my mind. I wanted to push past her into the street, but I blocked the impulse.

  “Go on,” I said, fighting to get the words out. I hugged Jane to me, keeping my wall in place with a fierce effort.

  “The King of Cups. And the World. This means something to you, doesn’t it?”

  A feeling settled on me, a feeling that I knew something but didn’t know what, as if it was there on the tip of my tongue or hiding in the shadows of my brain. “Yes. Sort of. It’s weird, but yes.” When she just waited, I asked, “What d
id Jane get?”

  “I don’t know. She jumped up and ran down here. I followed.” But Aunt Matilda was troubled and not bothering to hide it.

  My niece pulled away, a euphoric smile lighting her face. “You’re my Knight of Swords. Bad stuff is happening right now, but you’re going into battle, ready to use your gifts and fight. Someone from the past is involved. I don’t know who, but you do. At first it’s going to go against you, but you’re a fighter. You’ll find Daddy and bring him home. I know it.”

  I touched her head, almost in blessing. “I’ll do my best.”

  “We shall pray for you,” Aunt Matilda said, the tone formal. I nodded and went through the door and into the morning, Evan and Lopez behind me.

  The trip to the Asheville office of Julian Rakes Mining took up the rest of the morning and I was glad to let Evan drive my Tracker while Lopez followed in a van. The snow was still falling, but snowplows were clearing the primary roads and rock salt and sand had been put on bridges to provide traction. Recognizing my state of mind, Evan put on a classical station and didn’t offer conversation. I put my head back, closed my eyes and tried to rehearse my lines, but Jane’s reading kept intruding. Especially the one phrase: Someone from the past is involved. I don’t know who, but you do.

  17

  Monday, 11:42 a.m.

  Feeling like the fraud I was, I entered Julian Rakes Mining with an assumed saunter. The building was the East Coast office of a company that had national and international interests, and the decor showed it. It boasted a stone-and-concrete exterior with arches, huge paned windows and exceptional landscaping. Inside, it was all leather seating, soft-charcoal-and-taupe marble flooring. Display cases in the antechamber—it was too fancy to be called a waiting room—exhibited one of the finest private mineral collections I had ever seen. The seating was scattered throughout the room, positioned to allow visitors who were forced to wait to view the success of the company. A well-dressed receptionist provided me with a cup of decent tea as I wandered through the cases.