Spy High

by Diane Henders

  “Jeez, Nichele! I don’t even want to think about his underwear! Until this moment I was perfectly happy believing everybody calls him that because he’s the closest thing to a mechanic they have out here in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere. Funny, though, he’s the only one who doesn’t have some hippy-type name. Everybody else is Flower this and Rainbow that.”

  “I still think it’s hilarious that you have these freaky-deaky relatives you didn’t know anything about until this year. ‘Uncle Karma and Auntie Moonbeam’. What a hoot! I’d love to come out and meet them!”

  “No!” I converted my yelp of dismay to a calmer but still discouraging tone. “You’d hate it here. It’s really primitive. We only have power four hours a day and we get hot showers on a twice-a-week rotation, so just about everybody reeks of body odour. And anyway Karma and Moonbeam aren’t really my aunt and uncle. They’re cousins of my aunt, but they were close friends with my mom before she died…” I let the lie trail off before I could dig myself in any deeper.

  “That’s so weird.” Nichele sounded dangerously pensive. “I was at your place pretty much every day when we were kids. They must have visited if they were that close to your mom, but I don’t remember them. And I know I’d remember wacko names like that.”

  Shit, shit! Time for a distraction.

  I hurriedly reintroduced the apparently-fascinating topic of my sex life. Or lack thereof. “Um, one of the guys here is kind of interesting…” I let the sentence trail off tantalizingly.

  Thank God, she took the bait.

  “Oooh, Aydan, that’s awesome! What’s his name? What’s he like? Tell me, tell me!”

  I drew a silent breath of relief. “Everyone calls him Orion Moonjava. I don’t know what his real name is; Moonbeam gives everybody a new name when they arrive at the commune and she’s such a sweetheart that everybody just plays along…”

  I bit my tongue. That wouldn’t help discourage Nichele’s visit. I returned to my distraction. “Anyway, Orion’s probably too young for me, but-”

  “How old is he?” Nichele demanded.

  “I don’t know, maybe mid-thirties? Or maybe a little older, but it’s hard to tell. He’s in really good shape.”

  “Mid-thirties isn’t too young. Half your age plus eight years, that’s the rule. So thirty-one-and-a-half is your bottom limit.”

  “There’s a rule?” I massaged my blossoming headache with my free hand.

  “Of course there’s a rule. Now dish, girl! And please tell me he doesn’t reek of B.O.”

  “He doesn’t reek of B.O.,” I parroted obligingly before reeling off the description I’d provided in my secret report to Charles Stemp. “He’s about six-foot-one, brown hair, green eyes, athletic build; maybe one-seventy-five, one-eighty pounds. He sounds just as Canadian as the rest of us, but every now and then there’s a turn of phrase or a funny… I don’t know… cadence or something in the way he talks that makes him sound British.”

  Which was why I’d flagged him in my security report. He just didn’t quite fit in with the back-to-the-earth types around here. And now I’d overheard that odd conversation…

  Nichele’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Oooh, British! I loooove a man with an accent! Is he hot?”

  I diverged from my official report. “Smokin’, and he’s been flirting with me ever since he got here in January. But like I said, he doesn’t really have an accent.”

  “But he’s young and hot and interested and you’re turning him down?” Her voice rose to an incredulous crescendo. “Girl, are you nuts?”

  “Probably.”

  I was definitely nuts. And I was also under orders to observe Orion Moonjava without engaging him, but I couldn’t tell Nichele that.

  “Well, if you aren’t going to give Mr. Smokin’ Hot Brit an entry visa and you hate it there, why don’t you just come home?”

  I crossed my fingers to dilute my lie. “I can’t yet. The commune is in the middle of an audit. They’re hippies, not bookkeepers, and their books are a total disaster. I’m trying to help them but it just keeps dragging on and on.”

  “Aydan, that’s a load of crap and you know it!”

  My heart stopped. Oh shit, how had she found out it was all a cover story? Had Dave blabbed? Shit, shit…

  Before I could blurt out anything incriminating she went on, “You were supposed to be back by the end of February. It’s nearly the middle of April, and I don’t care if you’re getting a free vacation in their so-called paradise; they’re taking advantage of you. They never bothered to say boo to you for forty-some years of your life, and now all of a sudden they want to be your favourite aunt and uncle until you solve their financial woes? Tell them to stick it.”

  I drew a secret breath of relief and tried to keep the tremor of adrenaline out of my voice. “I’d love to, but I can’t.” I hoped the sincerity of my desire to escape was sufficiently concealed by my fake concern. “They’re really nice people…” At least that part was the truth. “…and I just can’t abandon them in the middle of this mess.”

  Nichele’s voice softened and I could hear the smile in her words. “You’re such a pushover. But if it makes you feel any better, there’s still a foot of snow here in Calgary and we’re freezing our asses off. You couldn’t start your garden anyway.”

  “Thanks, Nichele, that’ll keep me from screaming for one more day…” I glanced up as a wrinkled apparition in a rainbow tie-dyed caftan floated around the corner. “Aunt Moonbeam needs the phone so I have to go now. Take care, and say hi to Dave.”

  “I will, and you take care, too. And have a little taste of Britain. Seriously, girl, I mean it. You’re cranky as hell. You need to get laid.”

  “You are ‘way too interested in my sex life. Pervert.”

  Nichele’s giggle dissolved in the click of the disconnect as I hauled myself upright to replace the phone in the cradle.

  Moonbeam’s sweet face crumpled into concern. “Oh, Storm Cloud Dancer, I didn’t need the phone. You didn’t have to hang up on your friend.”

  “That’s okay, we were done.” I hesitated. I knew there wasn’t much hope, but I had to try. Again. “Storm Cloud Dancer is such a mouthful. Why don’t you just call me Aydan? Or Storm like everybody else does?”

  “Oh, no, dear, the vibrations are all wrong. With your aura, you need a name that emphasizes your artistic expression. In numerology that’s a three, so you need C and L and U.”

  “Are you sure about that aura thing?” I asked as deferentially as I could. “I haven’t painted in thirty years and I wasn’t any Picasso back then. I don’t write poetry or play a musical instrument or anything. I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. I can’t even draw stick people.”

  “Well, of course. That’s exactly what I mean.” Moonbeam nodded as though we were in perfect agreement. “By the way, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did I hear you call me Aunt Moonbeam?”

  “Um.” I tried to suppress the guilty flush that warmed my cheeks. “I… um, didn’t want to explain to Nichele why I was here so I kind of… fibbed a bit. I told her you and Karma were my distant aunt and uncle. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh…” She hesitated. “That does explain the grayish overlay on your aura. It always indicates deception.” Lines of concern furrowed her forehead. “But why are you concealing the truth from your friend? There’s no shame in retreating from a trauma to heal, and a true friend would support you through the process.”

  “I, uh…”

  Damn cover stories. I cast my gaze down to my toes, hoping I looked traumatized instead of guilty. “I’m not… ready to talk about it yet.” I changed the subject. “I’m sorry if my lie bothered you. I’ll call her back and confess if you want, but…” I gave her my best pleading big brown eyes. “If you could just play along as Aunt Moonbeam and Uncle Karma, I’d really appreciate it…”

  “Oh, my dear, it’s quite all right. We’d love to adopt you. But please, it’s Aunt Moonbeam Meadow Sky and Uncle Karma Wolf Song. Sho
rtening our names…”

  “…messes with the vibrations,” I finished with resignation. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember.”

  “You’re completely forgiven.” She hugged me, her arms remarkably strong despite their apparent fragility in the billowing caftan. She smoothed the hair away from my face with firm hands. “Please don’t hold guilt, Storm Cloud Dancer; it makes your aura so murky.” She gazed at me, her faded china-blue eyes focused somewhere beyond my physical form. “But your aura is much clearer now than when you came, thank the Spirit. And I notice you’re sleeping better, too.”

  My flush returned with a vengeance. Goddamn tents; if you so much as farted in the night, the whole commune knew. My screaming nightmares were sheer humiliation.

  I hid my discomfiture as best I could. “Yeah, it’s been nearly two months since I woke up the whole camp. I’m sure everybody else is just as happy about that as I am.”

  “Oh, my dear, don’t be embarrassed. Cosmic River Stone said you’d been through some terrible experiences. We knew you were coming here for healing, and I’m glad you’re finding it.”

  Yeah, right; healing. And to secretly protect his parents and watch everybody else at the commune. I respected his expertise, but Cosmic River Stone, a.k.a. Charles Stemp, was a lousy, manipulative bastard.

  “You’re very dear to him, you know.” Moonbeam’s gentle voice interrupted my dark thoughts.

  “Huh? Dear to whom?”

  “To Cosmic River Stone, of course.” At my strangled half-laugh-half-snort, Moonbeam’s brow furrowed. “No wonder your aura has that gray overlay. You’re deceiving yourself if you think he doesn’t care for you. He has never sent a female friend to be with us before.” Her expression grew dreamy. “How wonderful it would be to have grandchildren. Cosmic River Stone is a good man, you know, and his manager’s position at the research facility is very secure. And he’s only forty-three. Not too old to start a family-”

  My bark of laughter made her start. I hurriedly hunched over, elbows on knees, hacking and gasping theatrically. “Sorry…” I choked. “Spit… down the wrong… pipe…”

  That seemed more tactful than falling to the ground and kicking my heels in helpless hilarity at the thought of Stemp and me together. Never in a million years; unless the profound desire to place my hands around his throat and squeeze counted as ‘being together’.

  Time to nip this in the bud. I straightened slowly, wiping my eyes and letting out a few last fake coughs.

  “Oh, Storm Cloud Dancer, I’m sorry I upset you,” Moonbeam cried, her face drawn in distress. She stroked my hand. “It was insensitive of me to say that. I’m so sorry. I should have known by the brown shadow in your aura around your uterus.”

  “Uh… wha…?” I croaked. I shook off my sudden sense of unreality and returned to the point I’d intended to make. “Ste… Char… jeez, Cosmic River Stone and I will never be a source of grandchildren for you. In the first place our office has rules against employee relationships…” I held up a hand to forestall Moonbeam’s protest. “…and in the second place I can’t have children…” My words slowed as I considered the fact that she’d apparently already known somehow. “…I’ve had a hysterectomy,” I finished lamely.

  “Oh…” Her face clouded, and guilt prodded my heart in spite of myself. Then her luminous smile broke through again. “I’m glad that’s all it is. I was afraid the shadow might have been some reproductive illness.”

  “Oh. Um, no, I’m fine.” I backed away. “Well, nice talking to you. I’m going to… um… go check on the garden.”

  “That’s a good idea, dear. Your aura clears so beautifully when you’re in the garden. You have so much green in your aura, you know. I can tell you’re deeply grounded in the Earth Spirit…”

  I smiled, nodded, and fled.

  Chapter 3

  Rattled, I strode along the path to the garden without appreciating the vivid greens of the rainforest as much as usual. I didn’t believe in all that woo-woo stuff, but Moonbeam’s diagnosis had given me a distinctly creepy feeling. What if there really were auras and she could see them? If grey meant deception it was a miracle she could see any other colour in mine, since I’d been spouting Stemp’s cover-story lies for the past four months…

  The sound of voices ahead jerked me to a halt near the garden clearing and I sidestepped into the thick undergrowth to listen. Aurora’s brassy tones penetrated the forest silence, interspersed with a softer male voice. That would be Zen Earth Star, her more-or-less constant companion, though they didn’t seem to be in a relationship. No more so than anybody else here, anyway.

  Aurora let out a piercing laugh that set my teeth on edge. Damn, not again. Once a day was more than enough.

  I turned and retraced my steps as quietly as possible.

  Wandering down the path, I considered my options. I needed to wash a few clothes, but the idea of scrubbing them on the washboard and wringing them by hand didn’t appeal. Better to wait until the power came on in a few hours and then jockey for position at the ancient wringer washer.

  I wanted to report to Stemp, but I had to let the memory of his mother’s matchmaking subside or I was likely to either laugh or gag at the sound of his voice; I wasn’t sure which.

  Working out was always an option. The gym was the only up-to-date part of the whole commune, and I’d made good use of it in the past few months. I was in better shape than I’d ever been, but I was still feeling the effects of the previous day’s hard workout. Skip that.

  Or I could re-read one of the tattered paperbacks from the tiny library. At least it was in the main building so it was dry and relatively warm, unlike my dank canvas tent…

  I sighed and kept walking. God, I was going slowly crazy here. Surely it must be safe for me to resurface in my real life by now. After nearly four months all the bad guys from my last case should finally be behind bars.

  A dark suspicion crossed my mind. Maybe Stemp was lying about the potential danger back home. Maybe he had decided to protect his secrets by warehousing me permanently out here, isolated from the rest of the world and slowly rotting away until I became just another bump under the moss of the forest floor.

  I kicked at an inoffensive fern as I passed. Maybe I should just say screw it and leave against his orders…

  A narrow offshoot of the path caught my attention and I turned down it, desperate for any form of novelty.

  The faint trail wove through deep undergrowth, the soggy earth squishing under my hiking boots and the wet ferns soaking the legs of my jeans.

  But at least it was silent and I could savour a few rare moments of solitude. I drew a deep breath of moist spicy forest air, feeling the tension easing between my shoulder blades.

  After ten minutes of unhurried uphill walking, my equanimity was almost restored and I was beginning to wonder where the trail led. I hadn’t met or heard another human being, but the trail showed signs of recent use in its squashed moss and the occasional broken fern frond.

  I was debating whether to turn back when a thicket of bright green a few yards off the path made me pause. A couple of steps closer, my heart lurched into a rapid rhythm.

  Shit, I’d stumbled onto somebody’s marijuana crop. Bad place to linger unless I was looking for a neighbourly greeting from the business end of a shotgun.

  I was turning to hurry away when a shout jolted adrenaline into my veins. My hand twitched reflexively toward my ankle holster, but I squelched the urge. The commune members might be a little naïve, but even they wouldn’t believe a bookkeeper needed to carry a baby Glock.

  Scanning the forest, I tensed at the sound of another yell, then relaxed when I identified the words.

  “Skidmark! Where are you? Get out here, old man! You lazy, useless…”

  The rest of the shouted insults were obscured by my sigh of relief. Not busted after all. Now I just needed to get my ass out of here before I really did get caught.

  The pot garden was probably Skidmark’
s private stash, and at least now I knew where he wasn’t. Better to head for the commotion and look innocent when he arrived than to get caught scurrying guiltily away in the direction I’d come. I fled up the path as quietly as possible toward the sounds of irritable impatience.

  A few minutes later the verdant shade lightened as I approached a clearing, and I struck out into the undergrowth to circle it and approach from the opposite direction.

  When I stepped out of the forest, a skinny dark-bearded young man jerked around to face me, his black brows knotted in annoyance. His camo pants and military boots looked familiar.

  Orion’s companion.

  He cast a single glare at me before turning his back to rail at the trees again. “Skidmark! I need this truck now! Get out here!”

  Thus soundly ignored, I took in the scene at my leisure. I had obviously arrived at Skidmark’s automotive empire via the back way. Grass and weeds almost hid the gravel that paved the small clearing, and to my left a narrow gravelled track wound through the forest downhill to the main road. The commune’s dilapidated 1970 Chevy one-ton truck sagged dispiritedly beside a moss-covered garage, and the other communal vehicle, a gigantic rust-pocked station wagon, slouched across from it.

  The rodent-faced young man’s complexion was reddening and cords stood out in his neck. “SKIDMARK! Curse you to a thousand hells, I NEED THIS TRUCK NOW!”

  This didn’t seem like a good time to visit. I began to retreat.

  The crunch of my boots on gravel made Ratboy whip around to face me again. As he did, Skidmark shuffled out from behind the shed.

  “Dude,” he mumbled. “Be cool, man.”

  Ratboy spun, his fists clenching, and I took a couple of quick steps closer in case he attacked the older man.

  I wasn’t sure who might win if they actually fought. Skidmark was probably in his early seventies, but his arms were corded with ropy muscle. I’d seen him work out and I was pretty sure he could take Ratboy if he was sober.

  But he wasn’t. As usual.

  Slack-faced, he swayed gently as he worked grubby fingers through his long grey beard as though searching for his own chin. In his other hand a twist of cigarette paper emitted a thin curl of smoke, and the sickly-sweet odour of smouldering marijuana drifted to my nose.