Moonstone Shadows

by Patricia Rice

  Hannah lined up all the instances she’d researched about the rocks in Keegan’s possession, the ones found in Keegan’s caves, the ones used in paint for the commune, and those in assorted collections. “We know too much and too little,” she concluded. “Hillvale is near a cave with a streak of malleable crystals Keegan can turn into diamonds, if he wants, but the process is destabilizing for him as well as the crystals. Keegan, Teddy, and Harvey all possess old rocks from their families, rocks that are not quite normal. We have a painting of a jewel casket containing rocks and mention of a healing stone. Lucinda Malcolm’s journal and an earlier geologist theorize the crystals reflect the intent of the user and help access talent. We have the geologist’s journal with some of the experiments that have been done on those old rocks, but it contains nothing conclusive.”

  “Because the man who wrote it was a scientist and would not conclude anything without evidence,” Aaron added. “But all of us in Hillvale are aware that the older crystals Harvey adds to our walking sticks pick up energy vibrations, and they have also absorbed particularly strong spirits. Keegan isn’t ready to let us play with the new crystals he’s found until he’s certain they won’t cause harm. Teddy has locked up the rocks she considers evil.”

  “None of that explains why Carmel thought her raw crystals were valuable. Yes, the artists in the commune believed when they were ground into their paints, they enhanced their talents. And apparently they were right, since most were extremely successful before they self-destructed. But Carmel wasn’t an artist. Neither was Francois.” Hannah picked at the remaining crumbs of her sandwich.

  Aaron rummaged in the freezer of his small refrigerator and produced two ice cream bars, handing her one. “And no one in any of your immense library mentioned crystal stones that absorbed evil?”

  And there it was—their shared vision. Hannah opened the ice cream bar rather than meet his eyes.

  “Did you hear the voice inside the soldier’s head?” he demanded.

  “I was the voice inside his head,” she whispered.

  Seventeen

  Instead of returning his shop to the gloomy cave he preferred, Aaron left the lights on and spent the afternoon sinking into the first-edition classics lining his walls. He dusted the books, then sampled favorite scenes, while trying to block out the disturbing idea of Hannah talking inside his head three centuries ago. Or that he might once have been a Spanish soldier. Thinking like that was a sure road to Aunt Jia’s madness.

  He spent the evening telling himself that his gift was for objects, not people. But even as he dug into his steak, he knew he was lying to himself. He’d simply learned to block people. He would never survive otherwise. Opening his mind to a living human being blasted him with thoughts, images, and emotions more powerful than having a bomb dropped on him. He did not want to go there, ever.

  But even using his blocking ability, he could read Hannah. Or she read him. Hell if he knew.

  It was becoming agonizingly clear that he couldn’t stop evil with a walking stick. What if someone else died on his watch because he wasn’t willing to push his limits? He didn’t consider Francois or Carmel part of his duty, but a killer on the loose endangered the entire town—and the people who trusted him.

  He was at the shop early and waiting for Hannah when she came down from her room. There were shadows under her long-lashed eyes that indicated she hadn’t slept much better than he had. She glanced at him questioningly, then to the dark corners where he’d turned off the damned lights. The sunshine seeping below the boardwalk roof was all he needed.

  “I need to start interviewing people,” he stated right up front. “We’re getting nowhere looking for rocks and things cops can find on their own.”

  “I thought the crystals were key and police interviewed suspects.” She didn’t sound argumentative but. . . neutral, as always.

  “People are key. The sheriff has no reason to suspect individuals like Lance. They can’t see inside our heads. And they don’t comprehend the history of the crystals or why it’s important. Lance and Val once lived at the commune. Xavier and Cass knew the artists. Harvey’s grandfather gave him a cache of crystals that may have come from the same place as the ones the commune had, since he owned land up the mountain. Even Walker doesn’t have any idea why he should talk to Lucys and their friends, and he’d probably scare them into silence if he tried.” Aaron had spent the night thinking about this and had his plan in place, he hoped.

  Hannah nodded thoughtfully. “You want me to run the shop while you talk with them?”

  Here’s where the faex hit the fan. He tried not to clench his fists. “No, I would like you to go with me.” He didn’t want to command her to do this. Even he was uncertain of the efficacy or wisdom of his plan, but he could not sit back and do nothing. “If what you’re doing is enhancing my ability and not time walking, then it should be safe if we need to get to the truth.”

  “I think you better let me have breakfast before I consider all the ramifications of that request,” she said dryly, heading for the door.

  Faex. Of course, she hadn’t spent the entire night dreaming this up. “Bring it back here so we can talk, and I’ll pay for it. Just tell Fee to put it on my tab.”

  From beneath that cap of honey-gold hair, she gave him a wide-eyed look that shivered more than his timbers. He was treading dangerous territory. Natalie had got under his skin. Hannah was inside his damned brain.

  “Shall I bring you back anything?” was all she asked.

  He could almost love a woman who asked about food and not if he was crazy. “I’ve eaten. I’ll fix coffee. Fee would feed me wheat sprouts.”

  Her generous lips tilted, and she drifted out, gifting him with the sight of well-worn jeans conforming neatly to a rounded posterior. The loose t-shirt did nothing to disguise her slender waist or the sway of her hips. He should have gone into the city last night instead of working himself into a froth.

  He had absolutely zero interest in the narcissistic airheads he cultivated in the city. That told him right there that he was in a heap of trouble.

  Summoning every Latin insult to his intelligence that he could retrieve, Aaron typed up his battle plan in his notebook computer. It wasn’t much of a plan, but he phoned his starting point and made an arrangement to meet with him. Lance was a little startled at his request, but he suggested meeting at the gallery instead of his studio at the lodge.

  When she returned, Hannah handed him a small paper sack, then repositioned one of the tragic coffee tables and set it in front of the Victorian loveseat, oblivious of the history clinging to the furniture.

  Rather than watch her sit cross-legged on the velvet while visions of the prostitute who had once used it danced in his head, Aaron examined his bag. “Bacon? You persuaded Fee to fix bacon?”

  “She’ll do it, if asked. Everyone just gets used to letting her choose their foods. I suspect her choices are healthier, but you’re allowed to rot your own stomach lining.” She nibbled at what appeared to be a small egg burrito.

  Aaron drank his coffee and bit into his bacon. Fee cooked it far better than he did. “Lance has agreed to meet with me at the gallery in half an hour. There is no sense in us second-guessing what Francois was thinking before he died. Let’s find out what Lance knows about the stones, his sister, and Francois.”

  “Word at the café is that Lance inherited Carmel’s third of the Kennedy property.” She added a packet of sugar to her tea.

  “Ouch. That’s a slap in her sons’ faces after all the work they’ve done, and that’s not all. Did you know that this half of the mountain once belonged to Cass’s mother? She married a Kennedy, and he inherited instead of Cass. So Carmel leaving the property to her brother, who has utterly no relation to either Cass or the Kennedys, was a blow to Cass as well.”

  Hannah nodded. “I’ve seen the genealogy. It’s not pretty. And then there was the feud over the other half of the mountain with the Ingersson and Menendez families and t
he Kennedys cheating people out of their property.”

  “So we have a small town seething in old animosities that Carmel liked to keep stirred. Lance can tell us the Kennedy perspective, from back in the days before Kurt and Monty were born.”

  “If the stones are the reason for Carmel’s death, we need the history,” she agreed, looking thoughtful. “And Cass isn’t likely to tell us.”

  “I’m more comfortable starting with Lance and Xavier. Cass and Val. . . are laws unto themselves.”

  “I’m interested,” she replied. “But I fail to see how I can help. None of these people know me. They have no reason to trust me.”

  “They have no particular reason to trust me either.” Aaron shrugged and finished his bacon. He had the annoying need for one of Fee’s organic, wholesome breads. Grimacing, he glanced in the bottom of the bag. Fee had provided a wheat-sprout bagel. If he were superstitious, he would take it as a sign that Lucys would provide what was needed.

  Still, he admitted, “I hate asking this of you even more than you hate being asked.”

  After that less-than-impressive acknowledgment of her potential use, Hannah laughed at Omniscient Man’s expression at discovering the bagel. “Leaving Comfort Zone and entering the Twilight Zone, Commander. Or in the words of the man you’re currently reading, ‘no man is an island.’”

  She didn’t need to be psychic to know how very much Aaron hated asking for help—especially from a woman. She was starting to understand his psyche, or maybe his past lives. The Lucys were right. Aaron was meant to be a guardian—but as much as he would like to be, he was no stone statue.

  He glanced down at the John Donne he’d taken off the shelf and bit savagely into his bagel, chewing it thoroughly before replying. “I will not believe the spirits put that book in my hand. And yes, I dislike working with others. But I know how to do it if needed.”

  “Then start by explaining how I can help instead of why you don’t want me.” She finished her burrito and glanced at a clock. All Aaron’s clocks kept perfect time. It was almost time for the shop to open.

  “Because if they stonewall, you might help me catch them in a lie or in a memory they don’t want to relate. It might not work, but I’m willing to experiment.”

  “Okay, who’s handling the shop?” Hiding her excitement that he actually thought she might help, Hannah picked up her trash and started for the back.

  “Wan Hai,” he said grimly. “I may as well hang a CLOSED sign, but rearranging makes her happy, which makes Walker, Sam, and Pasquale happy.”

  “Hire a real salesperson,” she called back. “Give me a minute to wash up, and I’ll be ready.”

  She was shivering with anticipation and terror. Whatever she’d been in a prior life, she’d been sheltered in this one. Investigating murder suspects was so not up her alley.

  She gave her hair an extra brush and donned a gauzy over-shirt so she didn’t look as if she’d just crawled out of a jungle. When she returned to the shop, Wan Hai was already turning on all the lamps and moving furniture so the chi energy could flow smoothly.

  “Don’t scowl,” Hannah warned at Aaron’s frowning disapproval of his shop’s rearrangement. “You feel energy with your stick. The world is full of different energies.”

  “Yeah, well I like mine and not hers.” He held the door open so Hannah could pass by.

  He smelled of coffee and a deeply sexy shaving soap that heightened her awareness. Bad Hannah, she mentally scolded. She tried to tell herself that Aaron’s grumpiness was distinctly unsexy, but she was starting to understand the guardian in him too well. The shop was his fortress, his main line of defense. Wan Hai had breached it. And maybe Hannah had also, just a little, which deserved a happy dance. She restrained herself.

  Lance had set up an easel in the old church/meeting house he’d converted into a gallery for local artists. Tall and lean like his sister, his golden hair faded to gray and tied in a ponytail, he glanced up at their entrance with interest.

  Hannah knew he’d once been an architect, got involved with drugs and the commune and possibly Val, the Lucy’s Death Goddess. He’d probably fallen apart about the same time the Kennedy fortune collapsed. But it appeared he’d turned his head around since then. Hillvale was all about second chances, apparently.

  “Aaron, how can I help you?” He nodded genially at Hannah. “You’re the new school teacher, right? I’ve already told Kurt I’d be happy to add murals to the schoolroom.”

  “Thank you. We appreciate that. A school should be a community undertaking.” Having no idea what Aaron wanted her to do, she examined the first painting she came to—Val playing the part of Lady Macbeth would be her guess.

  “I need to probe your memory. Where did the commune get the crystals they used in their paints?” Aaron took a seat on one of the benches and pulled his electronic notebook out of his jacket pocket.

  Lance snorted. “That was Daisy’s doing. She grew up in these hills. Mariah claims she had Ohlone blood, but by the time I met her, she was like all the other young blonde hippies running around the farm. Except she was crazy, of course.”

  “Fey,” Hannah corrected from the exhibit. “Fairy-touched. It sounds as if she was able to take care of herself, so she wasn’t mentally challenged.”

  “Sorry. When you’re young, you’re not into nuance. She danced around with flowers in her hair and collected pretty rocks and made weird sculptures.”

  “Where did she find the rocks?” Aaron asked, taking notes.

  “She roamed,” Lance explained. “I don’t know if they were the same rocks the kids found in the waterfall. No one paid much attention until some wiseacre decided to grind a crystal into his paint to make it sparkle. LSD inspired, most likely, but the paintings sold like hotcakes.”

  “So everyone wanted crystals,” Aaron prompted.

  Hannah studied a portrait of Val as a teenager standing on a rock in what appeared to be a grotto. Lance had to have been considerably older to have painted this with such talent. Was this the waterfall?

  “It became a stupid game,” Lance said, waving his brush with impatience. “They followed Daisy to find their own crystals after she raised a stink when they stole hers. And then the kids found a supply in the waterfall. None of them were any more than sparkly rocks, quartz, I think. Keegan can tell you the geology better than I can.”

  “Except some of them turned out to be valuable?” Hannah asked, curiosity winning over neutrality.

  He cleaned off his brush. “I didn’t live at the commune and don’t know the inside story. Some of the stones may have come from Keegan’s cave for all I know. I’ve been told some they found were semi-precious, but in a raw state, they weren’t worth much. What I saw was a bunch of starving artists trading with each other and the town for what they needed. One artist might trade a crystal for a brush. Geoff and the other merchants might take pieces of art if someone wanted a room for the night or groceries.”

  “Geoff?” Hannah asked, then found the name in her memory. “Geoffrey Kennedy?”

  “My brother-in-law, right. He was the only one in town with money before the art started selling. Carmel loved jewelry, so I think Geoff sometimes took stones and had necklaces made up. That was back before she fixated on gold as her signature look.” Lance glanced up. “My sister was a piece of work, I know, but back then, she was just a young wife and mother.”

  “So the stones Carmel kept may have been those Geoffrey traded for favors from the artists?” Aaron asked.

  Lance shrugged. “Keep in mind that I worked in the city and got high every time I came here. Carmel and Geoff didn’t exactly confide in me. I was just the wastrel baby brother.”

  “Yet she left you her share of the corporation. Do you think Francois knew that?” Hannah asked, assuming that wild guess might be interesting to confirm.

  Lance shrugged. “Francois and Carmel were more brother and sister than I was, so yes, he probably knew about her will. I sure didn’t. I can’t even
say if she thought she was taking care of me or being spiteful.”

  “Were you aware that your sister tried to protect you by keeping your mail to Val from going out?” Aaron asked without inflection.

  Hannah could almost feel the impact of that question on Lance. She winced and glared at Aaron.

  Lance looked startled, but he unhurriedly returned his paint brush to its container. “How do you know that?”

  “Because we found a letter taped under a drawer in Francois’s room. Ask Walker. Would Val know more about the stones in Carmel’s possession?” Aaron asked.

  But Lance was done talking. Looking dazed, he covered the canvas he’d been working on and departed through a side door without explanation.

  “I can’t decide if telling him was mean or necessary,” Hannah said quietly, watching as Aaron got up to retrieve the paint brush Lance had been holding.

  “Hell if I know, but it was probably a mistake. At least we know the concealed letters didn’t drive Lance to kill his sister. But all I’m picking up from this brush right now is a flash of anger at Carmel’s interference. And an image of Val when she was younger. Want to try?” He held out the brush.

  Hannah pointed at the can of brush cleaner. “He held that before you lobbed the bomb. He was talking about the commune, crystals, and Daisy. I’d rather see those memories.”

  “Okay, how do you want to do this? Touch the can? Let me touch the can and you hold mine?” Aaron waited, not touching anything else.

  “If my recollection of various psychometry journals is correct, I’m not sure it matters. Pick up the can, and I’ll cover your hand with mine.” To touch Aaron’s hand, Hannah had to stand close, inhale his spicy scent, sense the tension in his long, lean muscles as she put her fingers over his.

  Instantly, she was transported to a different scene.