Well, I’d come here for an answer from the universe. I supposed I’d better see what it wanted.
I moved forward as the sound of the water grew louder and louder. The path, to my relief, was fairly well marked and not too rocky, telling me this same route had been used by many people before me. A few yards more, and I reached the river bank.
The San Ramon was bigger than I’d expected, maybe around five yards from bank to bank. It moved briskly, too, chattering over rounded granite stones as it flowed to the southeast. Where all that water was coming from, I didn’t know for sure, although I vaguely recalled that there were large mountain ranges to the north, places that might add their snow melt to the river in front of me.
Growing up in Southern California as I had, flowing water always fascinated me. Sure, I was used to the ocean, but the only time I’d ever seen an honest-to-goodness river was when I’d made a trip up to Big Bear years earlier.
The pendulum swung from my hand, pulling me toward the south. I did my best to follow, glad of my hiking boots, which I’d bought a couple of years earlier with the conviction that I was going to get up at the crack of dawn every day and hike Runyon Canyon in the Hollywood Hills. That particular resolution hadn’t lasted very long, but at least I’d had the foresight to hang on to the boots instead of donating them the way I’d done with so many of my other belongings.
Despite the boots, I had to occasionally move slowly to maintain my footing. The cottonwood trees on either side of the water provided shade, but I realized it had been silly to come running out here without a bottle of water. Yes, there was the river, although I had a city girl’s wariness of drinking anything that hadn’t been filtered a hundred times. Who knew what might be living in there?
I shook my head at myself and trudged on. The pendulum still tugged at my hand, pulling me toward the south. I knew I needed to keep following it, even though I was already starting to feel as if this had been a crazy errand. What was I expecting to find? I knew that Calvin Standingbear’s team wouldn’t have left any evidence behind.
Physical evidence, I reminded myself. In places where people died violently, psychic residue often lingered. I hoped I’d be able to sense it, to get some kind of a read from those energies, even though I wasn’t technically a medium and didn’t have any real experience speaking with the dead.
About twenty yards down, the rocky bank smoothed itself into a stretch of coarse sand, almost like a miniature beach. Almost at once, I noticed footprints in that sand, and my heartbeat sped up a little. Was this where Lucien had been killed?
But even though I wasn’t a forensics expert, I could tell right away that the prints were of various sizes, and crisscrossed the miniature beach before heading into the stand of cottonwood trees that sheltered the spot. I guessed they must have been left behind by Calvin and his team, or maybe some locals who’d come here to fish. He’d said that was who found the body, after all — a couple of local men whose fishing plans probably hadn’t included walking onto a murder scene.
I didn’t have time to be disappointed, though. As I took another step onto the little beach, a stab of fear went through me like the proverbial knife. I stood stock still, body thrumming with flight-or-fight responses, even as I told myself it was all right, that I was alone and nothing could hurt me here.
Pain and shock and fear. They reverberated all around the spot, and I realized this truly was where Lucien had met his end, even if these footprints might not be his, even if his body was now miles away at the local medical examiner’s office.
I swallowed, and began to wonder whether this had been such a good idea after all. Despite my inner reassurances, I honestly didn’t know whether I was all that safe. What if Lucien’s vengeful ghost lingered in this place, just waiting for a chance to strike out at any hapless passersby?
But I wasn’t just any stranger, blundering onto this spot. We’d known each other in life, and if there was even a chance he’d begun to haunt the scene of his death, I needed to try to reach out to him.
“Lucien?” I ventured, hating how shaky my voice sounded. There’s no reason to be afraid, I told myself. Ghosts can scare you, but they can’t hurt you.
At least, that was the standard party line when it came to the spirits of the departed.
No response. The air seemed heavier than it should be, laden with a memory of the violence that had happened in the secluded little spot.
The pendulum hung straight down from my hand, unmoving. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? If there was any evil spirit activity nearby, wouldn’t it have been swinging wildly, telling me to get the hell out of there?
Maybe…or maybe not. I’d never been in this particular situation before…and neither had my pendulum.
Better to try again. “Lucien?” I asked.
A breeze fluttered by my cheek. It could have been just a bit of late afternoon wind, nothing supernatural at all.
Or maybe not.
The wind picked up, tugging at my loose hair. A few dark strands blew past my cheek, and I pushed them back with the hand that wasn’t holding the pendulum.
The breeze seemed to be moving toward the water. Was there something in the river itself, something Calvin’s team had overlooked?
I guessed I needed to find out.
The ground got rockier again at the water’s edge. Gingerly, I made my way over the river stones, moving a few feet away from the bank. My boots were halfway submerged, but I’d splurged for the waterproof versions and had to hope they’d live up to their manufacturer’s promises.
Wait — was that a glint of something metallic wedged down between the rocks?
I leaned down, squinting as I tried to make out the shape of the object between the mossy stones. Closer…closer….
“Hey!” came a man’s voice, and I startled.
I caught a quick glimpse of Calvin Standingbear striding toward the water, brows drawn together in annoyance. And that was the only glimpse I got, because as soon as I glanced back at him, I promptly lost my precarious balance and went ass over teakettle into the water.
My day just kept getting better and better.
8
Tea and Sympathy
“Just what the hell did you think you were doing?” Calvin asked.
At least he’d waited until I staggered out of the water, jeans dripping, before he started the interrogation.
“Looking around,” I replied. I’d already figured there wasn’t much point in trying to cover up what I’d been doing, so I thought it was better to tell the truth. “I was hoping I could pick up on any vibes that might help point me toward Lucien’s murderer.”
“‘Vibes,’” Calvin repeated, expression still irritated. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. “How did you know this was the place where he was killed?”
Despite everything — and despite my waterlogged clothes and boots — I couldn’t quite hold back an inner rush of triumph. So, my pendulum had led me to the right spot. “My pendulum,” I answered.
That reply didn’t seem to have mollified him. “Your what?” he asked.
I reached into my damp pocket and pulled out the object in question. Thank the Goddess I’d stowed it there before venturing out onto those precarious stones, or I might have lost it when I got dunked. Whether my phone and key fob had survived their immersion was something I’d have to wait to discover. “It’s generally used for divination,” I explained. “But I thought it might help as a guide for other things…and it looks like I was right.”
Calvin appeared nonplussed. “You shouldn’t be poking around out here. There are snakes and bobcats and coyotes. Bears and mountain lions sometimes, too.”
“I thought the snakes hadn’t started to wake up yet,” I said innocently. “I read somewhere that it’s still too cold overnight for them.”
“That still leaves the bears and the bobcats and the coyotes…and the mountain lions. And that’s leaving out contaminating a crime scene.”
“Was I,
though?” I asked. I didn’t know whether I liked this gruff, official version of him, although I suppose he had every right to be annoyed with me. “It looks to me like you got everything cleared up pretty efficiently.”
It wasn’t intended as a compliment; I was only telling him the truth. Still, his expression softened just a bit. “My deputies and I went over the area, true.” He seemed to take in my dripping clothes for the first time and added, “You need to get out of those wet things. My house is only about five minutes away — I can take you over there to get dried off.”
Under most circumstances, I would’ve been overjoyed to get an invitation to Calvin Standingbear’s house. As it was, I could tell he’d only decided to take pity on me, nothing more.
Still, I wasn’t about to turn down his offer.
“My car is parked over in the lot — ” I began, thinking I should offer some kind of token protest, but he shook his head.
“It’ll be fine. You can come back and get it when you’re ready.” A twinkle entered those dark eyes as he went on, “I’ll make sure no one writes you a ticket.”
Those words seemed to seal the deal. “Okay.”
I squelched along behind him as he led me through the trees and to a rough forest road a hundred yards or so away from the river. His white Durango waited there, and I climbed into the passenger seat after he opened the door for me.
Thank goodness the seats were leather. If they’d been cloth, they would have been as soaked as I was.
We rattled our way down the forest service road for a minute. To my surprise, we seemed to be heading deeper into the wilderness, rather than driving back out to the small lane that serviced the river recreation area.
Maybe I lifted my eyebrows or something. Whatever the reason for his response, Calvin said, “My place is kind of out in the middle of nowhere. Off-grid.”
That sort of setup seemed more plausible out in the wilds of southeastern Arizona than it would have back in Southern California. “What if there’s an emergency and someone needs to reach you?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “CB radio and satellite phone. And satellite for internet.”
Well, at least it didn’t sound as if he was being totally Amish or something. “I guess that could work.”
We drove along in silence after that, as the road got progressively rougher and I hung on to the door handle, trying not to wince every time we hit a particularly nasty rut. It didn’t help that I could feel my soggy jeans getting smashed against my rear end with every bump.
But, as he’d told me, although it seemed as though we’d been driving for much longer, it only took a few more minutes before he pulled off onto a lane marked “Private Property.” I hadn’t noticed any houses as we drove, so his comment about being in the middle of nowhere seemed to be only the truth.
The lane curved, and at the end of it stood masses of trees, cottonwoods and oaks and sycamores, and what I thought were poplars. All of them were bright with fresh spring-green leaves, sheltering a low, sprawling house built in what I thought was the typical Southwest pueblo style, with rounded edges and thick beams protruding from the sides of the structure. A little ways off was what looked like a detached garage with three bays.
Something about the place seemed to exude a sensation of peace, of harmony with nature and its surroundings. Despite my sodden clothes, my spirits lifted.
“I can get you some sweats to put on while we throw your clothes in the dryer,” he said as he got out of the SUV. “Maybe get you a cup of tea, too. You must be cold.”
Actually, I was. By that point, the sun had descended almost to the horizon. It would be full dark by the time I got back to my car.
That thought didn’t seem very confidence-inspiring, even though Calvin had told me it would be perfectly safe where it was.
“That sounds great,” I said, following him along a flagstone path that led through a nicely landscaped yard all done in native, drought-tolerant plants, with large sandstone boulders placed here and there to artistic effect. I wondered if he’d planted the yard or had someone design the layout for him. It seemed very professional.
The interior of the house was cool and smelled faintly of wood smoke. Not a lot of furniture, but all the pieces seemed to have been chosen to exactly fit the Southwest architecture — heavy oak and what I thought might be juniper, spare and simple, like a sun-bleached skull you might find in the desert.
“Hang on a sec,” Calvin told me. “I’ll go grab some sweats for you.”
“I promise I won’t sit down on anything,” I said, and he flashed me what looked like a genuine grin.
“Thanks.”
As I waited in the living room — he’d flicked on the lights, since it was already fairly dim inside — he headed down the hall, presumably to the bedroom. Part of me was dying to see what his room looked like, even as I told myself to stay where I was.
Besides, if I got really lucky, maybe someday I’d get to see that room for myself.
A minute later, he returned, carrying a pair of dark sweatpants and an oversized Arizona State University sweatshirt. “These will be huge on you,” he said, “but at least it’s something.”
“Thanks,” I replied as I took the sweats from him. “I’ll just roll up the sleeves.”
“The bathroom is down there,” he said, pointing.
Right. I nodded and headed in the direction he’d indicated, then went in the bathroom and closed the door. It was only a powder room, with a toilet and a pretty antique wooden cabinet acting as the vanity, complete with a hand-painted sink of Mexican ceramic.
Being a tribal police chief must pay better than I thought.
Or maybe he’d built the place himself, or inherited it. I didn’t know, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask. Still, I thought it must be a positive sign from the universe that I felt so comfortable in Calvin’s house…or at least, I would once I was out of those wet clothes.
I peeled myself out of my wet jeans and T-shirt, then debated for a moment whether I should leave on my bra and panties or go commando. Something about that felt just a little too risky, so I decided to keep them on, although I blotted the bra with one of the hand towels. Honestly, my panties weren’t completely soaked, just sort of damp, and so I hoped they’d dry quickly once I was wearing Calvin’s sweats.
To my infinite relief, my phone seemed to have survived. The key fob I’d just have to test once I got back to the car, but since the phone appeared intact, I had to hope the fob was similarly none the worse for wear.
After I’d changed — and rolled up the bottoms of the sweatpants and the sleeves of the sweatshirt so I wasn’t tripping over myself, then stuck my phone and key fob in the sweatshirt’s kangaroo pocket — I wadded my clothes into a ball and went back outside. He was still waiting in the living room, although he reached for the bundle of clothing I carried as soon as I got close.
“Let me throw those in the dryer,” he said. “You might as well follow me — the laundry room is off the kitchen, and I’ll get the tea going once these have started drying.”
That sounded like a sensible plan, so I padded along after him in my bare feet as he headed down the hall toward the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it seemed pretty luxe for a rural police chief living on his own — polished concrete counters and stainless appliances, including a high-end six-burner Viking monstrosity that I coveted immediately. The kitchen in my own apartment had been updated beautifully, but there just wasn’t room for anything quite that lavish.
Calvin disappeared through a door that opened off the kitchen. After a few beeps I assumed came from him pushing his selections on the dryer, he came back in and headed over to the stove so he could collect the kettle that waited there. He filled it and set it down on one of the front burners, then turned back toward me.
“Any particular tea preferences? I think I have some English Breakfast, or there’s chamomile, peppermint, Lemon Zinger — ”
“Lemon Zinger,” I said,
figuring that would pep me up a bit. It had always been one of my favorite herbal teas, although my supply was getting low and I’d probably have to mail-order it, since I couldn’t find it at the local Walmart.
He got out a couple of mugs and some tea bags. Once that was done, he leaned against the counter and sent me a very direct look.
I did what I could to match his stare. The one good thing about my dunking in the San Ramon River was that it hadn’t been deep enough for me to get entirely underwater, so I had to hope my makeup was intact. The ends of my hair had gotten wet, but it was so stick straight that it had just dried back to more or less its natural state.
“Did you sense anything out there?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes,” I said, again because I’d resolved to tell him the truth. Lying would only make me look guilty.
“What did you feel?”
“Fear…pain,” I replied. “It wasn’t pleasant.”
His fingers tapped against the edge of the concrete counter. “No, I guess not. You think it was him?”
Calvin hadn’t said who he meant by “him,” but I didn’t have to ask. “I don’t see who else it could be,” I replied. “Well, unless you get a lot of people murdered down by the river.”
“Not generally, no,” he said. “That is, we had a case of drowning one year when a tourist decided it would be a really good idea to go wading in the river after he had a twelve-pack of Coors, but as a general rule, it’s a pretty quiet spot.”
I reflected that it was quite an accomplishment to drown yourself in a river that wasn’t even two feet deep. But maybe there were sections where it wasn’t quite as shallow.
“Did you see anything else?”
For a moment, I hesitated. Yes, I’d sworn to tell Calvin the truth, but I didn’t know whether I wanted to let him know about that metallic glint I’d detected down amongst the river stones. It could have been nothing — a smashed beer can or something similar. The glinting object had looked smaller than that, though, like a coin or maybe a piece of jewelry.
Grave Mistake Page 9
