Before he could figure out the rest of his life, he had to find out who had killed his father. He had the sneaking suspicion that Juan’s death was in some way related to the discovery of his father’s corpse, although that made sense more in his mind than on paper.
Juan had been blackmailing people? Damn. That opened whole new avenues.
He’d already checked and knew the Kennedy Escalade was parked in the reserved spot. He’d never bothered to learn where Francois hung out when he wasn’t driving. Since the homicide team was here, he tracked them to a meeting room.
“Have you interviewed the chauffeur yet today?” he asked after providing a report on what he’d learned from the Lucys about Francois being a snitch and possibly a stoner.
“He’s on the list,” the detective in charge said. “But we have no motive. We were hoping something would turn up before we questioned him.”
“Loyalty to an employer is weak. But if he likes easy money and drugs, there’s potential,” Walker said. “And if Juan was in the habit of blackmailing people, what are the chances he might have had something on Francois?”
“Shooting someone in the back would be the MO of a slacker like Francois,” the detective admitted.
But would Francois hit a man over the head with a shovel? Or could they have two murderers on the loose? Walker shifted his shoulders uneasily inside his shirt as he waited.
Kurt returned with the officer sent to find Francois. He nodded at Walker but spoke to the detective in charge. “Francois had some kind of breakdown last night. We had him taken to the city for evaluation. My secretary can give you the name and the number for the facility. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d need him for further questioning. He’s an old family retainer, and we treat him like one of us.”
“What kind of breakdown?” the detective asked impatiently.
Kurt looked uncomfortable. “The lodge has a reputation for being haunted. I’d rather you didn’t carry this further than this room.” He waited expectantly. When no one responded, he continued, “Francois began screaming Juan’s ghost was haunting him. He grabbed the keys of the car, but I didn’t think he was in any condition to be driving. When I took the keys away, he had a. . . meltdown. He began babbling about ghosts and fires and then rambled about how he’d only wanted to help us. He wasn’t coherent.”
“Does he do drugs?” the detective asked curtly, making notes.
Again, Kurt hesitated, before giving a brief nod. “I think so, although probably just pot and only when he isn’t driving.”
Walker hid a grimace and accompanied Kurt out when he was done.
“That didn’t go well, did it?” Kurt muttered as he stalked back toward his office. “But that old man wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
“Even out of loyalty to your family?” Walker asked.
“Shit.” Kurt halted and stared at one of the more modern artworks on the corridor wall. “But my mother isn’t here. He’s loyal to her, not any of us.”
“But the lodge represents her. If he suspected someone was a danger to the lodge?”
“Like Juan? Juan was our head security guy. No, that doesn’t make sense either. The only thing that makes sense is that everyone up here goes crazy,” Kurt muttered bitterly.
“I think that’s what the Lucys are saying,” Walker said in amusement. “But the cover up could go further back than Juan. Was Francois here when your father died?”
Kurt glared at him. “You mean, when your father was killed? Francois would have been here, yes. He’s the son of a cook my family employed in the city. He was unambitious then, and he hasn’t improved with age. But he can drive a car, and he’ll do anything for my mother. I doubt that even she could persuade him to dirty his hands and lift a weapon heavy enough to crack a skull.”
Walker nodded agreement. “Yeah, he sounds like a victim more than someone who takes action. You might want to send a lawyer to be with him when they question him.”
Running his hand through his hair, Kurt nodded. “Thanks. That’s something I can do.”
Walker shook hands and walked off. Kurt Kennedy was a man who liked tight control over all aspects of his life. A murder investigation on his doorstep had to be driving him around the bend. . . right along with the Lucys, he thought in amusement.
Sam was right. They needed a better definition of crazy.
“They’re bringing Valdis home,” Mariah murmured as she tied on her apron and passed Sam behind the counter. “She and Daisy will be staying with Cass tonight so they can be sure she’s stable. Don’t spread the word yet.”
Sam thought she ought to ask why not, but sometimes it was safer to see for herself. Around here, everything was subject to interpretation. Did she really want to make Hillvale her home?
Alan Gump came in for lunch with a group of men in business suits. It seemed odd not to see Xavier’s green jacket in the crowd, but Sam did as the others had warned her earlier and didn’t speak to the asshat.
The burly real estate mogul in his designer suit behaved as if she didn’t exist, and that was fine too. Bringing the group their drinks, she heard them talk of access roads and engineers. She really needed to see that trust fund document Walker claimed existed. She should have the lawyer handling her parents’ estate look at it.
Maybe she ought to have a will drawn up first.
Where that had stray thought come from?
Feeling restless and uneasy, fearing Hillvale might be starting to get to her, Sam hurriedly cleaned up the counter and tables after the lunch rush. “I want to talk to Cass about her roses,” she told Dinah as she tugged off her apron.
“Take some of those sandwiches with you,” Dinah called. “You may need to feed that man of yours.”
Her man? Sam smiled and took the sandwiches, but the notion of having a man of her own—was a little unsettling. Of course, she was in a nervous mood anyway. She conjured up a memory of Walker’s bronze visage, wicked smile, and cowboy hat, and felt a warm rush that steadied her.
By the time she put the food in the studio refrigerator, showered, and grabbed her walking stick, Mariah was already sitting with Cass and Valdis on the Victorian front porch. Valdis had her bandaged foot propped on a cushioned wicker stool with an ice pack on it.
“Where’s Daisy?” Sam took the seat on a wicker settee Cass indicated and accepted a glass of whatever they were drinking—spiked punch from the taste of it. She could be generous and call it sangria since orange slices were involved.
“She’s back at the farm, making more lamassu.” Valdis didn’t seem any worse for her ordeal. The black gown she wore looked as if it belonged in a Spanish Doña painting—all black embroidery and heavy rustling damask. She’d thrown her veil off her face so she could sip from her glass. All the black made her fair complexion even paler and the scar on her jaw more livid.
Sam searched for some sign of the beautiful woman from Lance’s portrait, but Valdis had done all she could to erase her past, even using dark eye make-up to enhance the paleness of her fair skin. After the prior night’s ranting, though, she seemed almost normal.
“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Valdis said politely. “How did you find me? I thought my time had come.”
“Harvey’s walking stick.” She ought to feel like an idiot admitting that, but oddly, a dowsing rod that found people made insane sense here. “It would have been a lot easier if I’d been told earlier that your parents weren’t in the cemetery.”
Mariah looked surprised. Cass didn’t.
Valdis shrugged. “Their spirits belonged in the land they polluted. Their mortal remains are irrelevant. They were both cremated and their ashes scattered on Bald Rock.”
“It’s no matter,” Cass said, passing a tray of shortbread cookies. “What matters is who else knows that Sam is an Ingersson? The name alone makes you a threat to the Nulls.”
“I wish everyone would quit calling them that,” Sam said irritably, probably bec
ause she shivered at the perceived threat. “Name calling does not lead to rational discussion.”
“Sorry, a bad habit, you’re right. But the land destroyed us before and will do so again, unless we exercise caution.” Cass rocked in a golden Bentwood rocker piled with red pillows.
“Explain why being an Ingersson is a bad thing?” Mariah asked from her seat on the steps. She worked one of her nets as they talked.
Valdis remained silent. Cass looked to Sam and asked, “You know, don’t you? That nosy cop of yours knows everything.”
“If Walker knew everything, he’d go back to LA. I keep telling you that secrets can only hurt. If we’d known the Ingersson graves were on the mountain instead of in the cemetery, we could have found Valdis sooner.” Sam bit into her shortbread in hopes it would sweeten her disposition.
“So all of you know something I don’t?” Mariah complained.
“You’re a fine one to talk. How long have you and my mayoral uncle been holding secret meetings?”
The shade of an old pine tree hid Mariah’s color, but Sam thought heat darkened her friend’s brown skin.
“Monty isn’t like Kurt,” Mariah protested. “He may not believe in ghosts, but he accepts that I can send them on.”
“Like the Grim Reaper?” Sam asked, just because.
Mariah snorted and took a sip of her punch. “A scythe would be wonderful. I could try carrying one if it would help. But no, I just see ectoplasm and have the ability to zap it beyond the veil. And you’re diverting the subject.”
Ectoplasm? Sam tried to piece that into the world as she knew it and failed.
“If Mariah is consorting with the enemy, it’s better you don’t tell her everything just yet,” Cass warned. “Too many people died last time. I don’t think I can bear to lose more.”
Last time—as in twenty-five years ago when the nephew Cass had raised as her son had died, along with the Ingerssons. And the Ingersson daughters had fled Hillvale and not returned. But now Valdis and Susannah’s daughter were back—and it was all about the land somehow. Evil and ghosts and even water rights and fire all led back to the land.
“I don’t think Monty and Kurt are like their father,” Sam said tentatively, trying to sound Cass out. “Things have changed.”
“They consort with Evil,” Valdis chanted in her banshee voice. “It infects the land and the people who dwell on it.”
“Short of an earthquake, I don’t think you can eliminate the mountain,” Sam said gently. “Are you saying the farm contains toxic chemicals?”
Cass gave a curt laugh. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. Who knows what the crazies mixed into their paints and hallucinogens? And sanitary conditions weren’t the best. They used chemicals on the marijuana they grew. If it makes you feel better to call it pollution, go ahead.”
“Greed,” Valdis intoned. “Greed infects the land. Greed and ambition and unhealthy desires.”
Sam exchanged glances with Mariah and refrained from snickering. Did Valdis even know what unhealthy desire was?
Then she sobered. If Valdis once had a real life in the theater, she had once been young and alive and extremely talented, if Lance was to be believed. What had brought her back here?
Chapter 29
Walker was patrolling the roads, boring himself by looking for DUIs and speeders, when his personal cell rang. He was far enough down the mountain for reception, so he pulled over and answered.
“I may have found something, boss,” Sofia said.
“I’ll be off duty early. Just shoot me an email,” he advised. Being a deputy might be the world’s dullest job, but he wouldn’t take the county’s money and shirk his tasks for his own personal gain.
“It’s got to do with now as well as then,” Sofia said, sounding excited. “You told me to see if anybody from eighteen or twenty years ago is still in Hillvale now, besides the ones you know about.”
Walker picked up his tablet and opened his notes. Getting Sofia off the phone would be faster if he listened. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”
“He doesn’t live there,” she warned. “I’ll email you the file, but I thought you ought to know that an Alan Gump worked in the development department of Commercial Contracting before they went belly-up with the dissolution of the Kennedy mortgage company eighteen years ago.”
“Gump, the real estate guy working with the Kennedys now?” Walker opened his notes, scanning the file on the condo developer.
“One and the same. He was prettier when he was younger,” Sofia said with a chuckle. “I’m comparing the old brochure with his current website. Definitely same guy, although that green coat they’re all wearing back then doesn’t do him any favors.”
Green coat? Why did that ring bells?
“Have Dave run a financial analysis of Gump and his condo company and look for connections to the bankrupt contractor. It could be nothing. He would have been a junior employee back then. That doesn’t mean he had any access to Hillvale at the time.”
“He was in Hillvale all right,” Sofia said. “He was photogenic, so they must have hauled him up for the condo brochure. It shows him in a group of smiling faces with Geoff Kennedy in front of the lodge. And one more thing—”
Walker waited for the bombshell she’d saved for last.
“There’s a Menendez listed on Commercial’s board in the old brochure. I think Dave already sent you their file. I’ve scanned the brochure into it.”
He’d investigated the Menendez clan inside and out. They were mostly prosperous and scattered around the country. The only one of the family currently interested in Hillvale was Hector, who owned a small share of the family plot. He was too young to have been featured in a twenty-year-old brochure. But back then—one of the family patriarchs might have had a foot in the door.
“Good job, Sofia, thanks. I’ll start asking questions.”
He hung up, opened his email, took a look at the brochure scan, and agreed the skinny blond kid in the green sales jacket and tie was the same Alan Gump he knew today. There was no photo of the Adolpho Menendez listed as a director.
As far as Walker was aware, the Menendez land hadn’t changed hands in a century. They came out of the Kennedy debacle just fine. What reason would they have to want his father dead?
Alan Gump had been too young to be a major player in the commercial company that had collapsed when the Kennedy fraud caught up with them. Could he have had family wealth invested—money he’d lost when the company went belly up?
If Xavier Black was the lawyer working with the Kennedys, as Cass had said, then he might know more about the contracting company. Xavier supposedly had all his wits back then.
Deciding he wasn’t shirking his duty if he was working an open case, Walker forwarded the information on Gump to the detective handling his father’s file. Then he called the agent he’d assigned to follow up on Xavier. Xavier had to know more than he was sharing. Whether he was coherent or not was a different question.
“He’s awake,” his field agent reported. “The cops have already been there and the facility is reluctant to let me in, said he was extremely agitated after the last visit. Want me to keep on it or do you need to check with your buddies?”
“Hold off unless I call you back. I need to see what they found out.” Hanging up, Walker put the car in gear and drove down to the office. He could finish a few reports and check on what they’d learned from Xavier before signing out for the day.
How was this new condo company planning on developing Hillvale? Had the Menendez family finally sold out? Sam and Valdis certainly hadn’t. Maybe the land under the town was sufficient for now, and they just planned to squeeze the Ingerssons out later.
But the situation made Walker edgy. Eighteen years ago, his father had died while uncovering the fraud that had driven out half the town. Was this an extension of the same scam that had claimed the Ingersson property before that? The Ingerssons had died long before his father had come to town. They�
�d died while still fighting the bank, and even after the family had won, the daughters had scattered to the winds—for a reason?
That’s what he kept coming back to. Sam had inherited a troubled legacy and been sent far away with no knowledge of it—as if someone hadn’t wanted her to know about her family farm. To prevent the land from being sold?
And now she was back. How many people knew she and Valdis owned that mountain?
Mariah’s question: Explain why being an Ingersson is a bad thing? still hung in the air. It was obvious not everyone knew about the farm’s ownership.
“Walker is still working,” Sam told the others who waited expectantly for her answer—the one Cass refused to repeat. “Will Monty be in his office? I want to say this only once.”
The sangria tea party had expanded and gone inside with the arrival of Amber and several of the other Lucys. While they talked of how they could stop development with protests and hiring environmentalists, they weren’t telling her what she needed to know about her family and heritage. It was time to move matters forward.
“Our mayor is always in his office. You’d think we were a mega-metropolis requiring a squadron of paperwork.” Mariah watched with interest as Sam divided Amber’s tarot deck in piles on Cass’s dining table. “But he’ll know something’s wrong if I walk in with you. What you have better be good.”
“I have no understanding of what you just said, and what I have is probably not good, so maybe we should call it off. We can go help Daisy make lamassu.” Sam sat back in her chair and let Amber do the honors of turning the cards.
Amber flipped the first three and looked alarmed.
Plied with Cass’s sangria, Sam wasn’t too concerned. “If you don’t like what you see in the cards, do we need an astrologer to tell us if the sun is in the wrong house?”
“The planets, poppet, and no, the cards are enough. Maybe you shouldn’t go anywhere today. I’ve never drawn the Devil, Death, and the Hanged Man in sequence before.” Amber stared at the cards. “The forces are very strong right now. Forget Monty. Go home and stay there.”
Sapphire Nights: Crystal Magic, Book 1 Page 27
