“Or responding,” Syd said with a shrug. “We didn’t come with instruction books. We learn by doing.” She checked on Mia and Jeb busily scribbling fish on construction paper. “I wish I could teach them better than we were taught.”
“I don’t think you can teach kids the correct way of hearing ghosts. Just accepting that Mia can should be enough for now. It’s not that any of our extra gifts are of much use, but we shouldn’t have to pretend we don’t have them.”
Although she had done that most of her life. From harsh experience as a child, she’d discovered that knowing things others didn’t had made her different. And when her Inner Monitor had hurt her one too many times, she’d figured out how to shut it down. After a while, it had been easier to just leave it off. Only after learning her crystals actually affected others had she gained the courage to explore her odd ability. If she’d been brought up in an environment that encouraged her oddity, she might be further along the path to enlightenment.
“Hiding Mia’s gift would be like hiding a wart on her face,” Syd said in exasperation. “She really will have to control it when she’s older or risk being ostracized. Our gifts are a little easier. People just think we’re intelligent or creative.” Syd pinned a red fish on the wall.
Teddy laughed. “And still despise us for being different, unless we hide our light under a barrel as women have done for centuries. I think I’ll enjoy being scary.” She set the glass display case on a low counter beneath the plate glass window where the light would refract through the gems. “Here comes Sam with Chief Walker. Do you think they’ve found Thalia?”
Syd arranged a crystal vase of flowers from Samantha’s garden. “As long as they’re not coming to tell me that Ash is on the way, I’m good.”
“Did you even tell Walker so he’ll know to be on the lookout?”
Syd shrugged again. “I don’t like asking for trouble.”
“You are such a crab, and I mean that in an entirely astrological way.” Teddy opened the door for their visitors. “Tell me good news first.”
Sam laughed. “Walker’s brilliant crew has created posters of our triptych pics, and we now have another one hanging at Dinah’s. Should we hang the spare pics on the walls in here just to fill them?”
“What, Harvey’s staffs aren’t enough? Wouldn’t it be better to leave space for any art leftover from the Kennedys’ destruction of everything in Town Hall? Can we get you anything? Coffee only takes a minute.” Teddy gestured at the kitchen.
“Why don’t we leave Sam here to help the kids with their paintings while we go back to the kitchen?” Looking official even wearing jeans, Walker gestured for them to precede him to the back.
“Not sounding good,” Teddy said in a low voice. She hurried to the back to set the coffeemaker on.
“Just not anything we want spread around yet. Kids hear a lot more than we know.” The newly installed police chief leaned against the counter while Teddy added coffee to the machine. He accepted the bottle of water Syd handed him.
“You tracked down Thalia’s address?” Syd asked.
“We did. No Thompsons live there. Neighbors have no recollection of her. It’s a rental, so she may have lived there years ago, and no one would remember. The more important point is that we have the rental agency records. A Donnie Thomas rented it ten years ago.”
“Lonnie Thompson, Donnie Thomas—if mail was addressed to either one, the mailman would just think it was an error and deliver it.” Teddy got down mugs from the newly-scrubbed cabinets. “So even though Mom had an address, that didn’t necessarily mean Thalia lived there.”
“Exactly. And after Thompson moved, if he left a forwarding address, her cards would have continued being delivered for another year. And you said she stopped sending paper cards some years back, so she may never have had them returned to her.” Walker helped himself to a spoonful of sugar from the bowl. “Since this is a murder case, the sheriff’s department is handling it. They’re running credit bureau and DMV checks under that address and both names.”
“But Thalia’s e-mail address is still good? I was afraid to send anything, but Mom likes electronic cards now. She sends them out on birthdays and holidays, scheduling them when she has internet access. She apparently thinks that address works.”
“She sets up the cards so she knows if someone doesn’t open them,” Syd added.
“That’s what we need to talk about.” Walker sipped the coffee Teddy poured for him. “E-mail addresses can float out there into eternity if no one closes them. If the cards are being opened, Thompson could be checking regularly or just around holidays. We’d have to get a court order to go into the account. We have almost no basis to go to a judge and ask for an invasion of privacy. I’d like to experiment and send a test e-mail.”
Teddy raised inquiring eyebrows.
Walker explained. “One, we’d like to draw a response from him so we can find his ISP. Two, if we can come up with just the right message, we might draw him out of hiding, or at least, get information from him—provided he opens it. This could be a long-term maneuver if we have to wait for a birthday.”
Syd poked around on her phone. “I have a copy of Mom’s on-line calendar. Thalia’s birthday is early July.”
Walker shrugged. “Worth trying.”
“Saying she’s won the lottery won’t do it, will it? No one believes that.” Teddy sipped her coffee. “But bait draws cockroaches.”
“It would help if we knew what he was doing now,” Syd added. “If he’s still working with pottery, free clay or discounted tools might draw him out. Otherwise, it almost has to be cash.”
“But we don’t have his e-mail. If this is Thalia’s address. . . Is there some way of mocking my mother’s e-mail address and telling Thalia about a new art gallery for displaying her work?” Teddy wasn’t fond of the idea of sleuthing or even e-mailing a possible murderer, but if Thompson had sold their house. . . She wanted him nailed.
“We can set up the e-mail account to use your mother’s name and run it through a different website,” Walker explained. “Most people don’t look to see more than the name, or they assume the correspondent changed providers. But Thompson won’t be interested in an art gallery— unless he’s still doing pottery, and we mention the gallery accepts all kinds of art. He needs to see something in it for himself.”
Teddy grimaced at Walker’s sensible words. “We’d just about have to invite him up here— ‘Grand homecoming of Hillvale Commune and Art Walk.’ Then mention Kurt plans on razing all the houses after the get-together. Wonder if that would frighten him into looking for bones?”
“If he’s a potential killer, it’s too dangerous,” Walker decided. “If we sent an e-mail requesting a correct address so your mother could send a package, we might frighten him off. Maybe we can say the Ingerssons left a legacy for all members of the commune, and Thalia has to go to a certain bank to pick it up. He might assume he qualifies too.”
“Good one,” Teddy said admiringly. “No time frame in case he doesn’t check soon. It could be forever before he shows up, though. How will you manage the bank end?”
“Bank of Walker,” he said with a decided twinkle. “It’s a basic mail-drop set-up. We do it frequently. If I have your permission to pretend to be your mother, I’ll get to work on it.”
“We probably ought to have Mom’s permission, but start work anyway. I don’t want to worry her if Thalia really is alive, and we’re jousting at windmills.” Teddy led the way back to the front room where Sam was hanging the kids’ wall art in the empty spaces.
“She wants kids,” Walker said, admiring his significant other, but giving what sounded like an unhappy sigh.
“She can have Syd’s.” Teddy refrained from opening her Inner Monitor to what was a private issue between the chief and his girlfriend. Sometimes, her gift was too much like spying.
He laughed, breaking the tension so Mia and Jeb had no reason to suspect anything was wrong.
“Ummm, were you expecting package delivery by golf cart?” Syd asked, glancing out the front window to the street.
The golf cart stopped in front of the store, on the narrow potholed road instead of in the parking lot. A woman with a wild head of gray hair and wearing a feathered cape lumbered out—Crazy Daisy. After their discussion of differences, Teddy would have to quit using the Null epithet for her.
“I asked Daisy if she’d bring me some of Thalia’s artwork,” Walker said, watching with surprise. “I don’t know how she knows where I am though.” He jogged out to help with the awkward canvases stacked in the back of the cart.
“Prepare yourselves for a trip beyond known boundaries,” Sam whispered. “I’ll go help. Daisy is sane enough most days, but her head isn’t always in this time frame.”
Teddy exchanged glances with Syd. “Do we need to take the kids outside?”
Syd held up her finger, then crouched down to admire their artwork. “Those are really good, but we’ll need the walls for a little bit. Why don’t you take your drawings upstairs and watch one of those new DVDs I brought for you?”
“Finding Dory,” Mia said in satisfaction. “C’mon, Jeb, you like fishes.”
“You’re raising sea creatures?” Teddy asked as the kids trudged off with their colors and papers.
“When we had the apartment with the swimming pool, Jeb practically lived in the water. And we visited the marina right before I got mixed up with Ash. That’s a happy memory I encourage.” Syd held open the door so the others could enter with a trio of different-sized paintings.
Teddy had them line the canvases along the back wall where the light from the window would catch them best. The oils didn’t seem very striking or interesting.
Daisy fluttered nervously, glancing at Harvey’s walking sticks and the crystals in the floor display. “I brought you guardians,” she said. “You will need them.”
Sam headed back for the door. “Daisy’s guardians may have stopped an avalanche, so do not scorn the offering.”
Walker went out to help carry in the boxes that had been hidden under the canvas.
Better than the paintings, the stone-and-wire figurines had character. Teddy sorted through them in admiration, sensing their power. “These are fabulous! Look at this one—she looks like she’s holding a crystal sword! They’ll be perfect in here.”
“Do you want them to remain as guardians, or is it all right for Teddy to sell them?” Sam asked as Daisy started distributing the statuettes around the room.
“I’ll only take a small commission for handling,” Teddy explained, worried that Daisy appeared confused. “Your pieces will draw in customers to buy my stuff.”
“They will be needed soon,” Daisy said, nodding. “The art is safe, but you are not. Spread the army around.”
Teddy hated opening her Monitor where there were so many people and mixed emotions, but she didn’t want to take advantage of Daisy’s lack of business knowledge.
The instant she opened up, a tornado of fury and anguish struck. The canvases flew across the room. Prince Hairy howled.
And Mia screamed.
Eighteen
June 30: early afternoon
* * *
Kurt stepped out of his car in the town parking lot, annoyed with himself for doing so. Why did Monty think he ought to check on Daisy’s arrival with a cartful of canvases? He had bankers breathing down his neck and the lawyer to call back and—
The howling dog and a child’s scream drove all practical thought from his head. He ran for Teddy’s shop. That damned building was cursed and needed to come down—now.
Half the town poured toward this end of the boardwalk. Kurt waved them back. “Someone go around back and check on the dog,” he shouted over the animal’s howls. “We don’t want to frighten the children more by everyone crowding in. Wait here.”
To his amazement, they did, although he was barraged with warnings about negative energy and suggestions for warding off evil as he shoved open the door.
Before he could roll his eyes at the insanity, a hurricane wind nearly blasted him off his feet. He hung on, got inside, shoved the door closed, and the wind reduced to a nasty breeze. Damn, that felt just like the pressure that had knocked him flying off the stairs. There was a bad wind funnel in here somewhere. But no one was lying flat on the floor this time. He studied the front room warily.
Syd was holding her excited daughter—undoubtedly the issuer of screams. Mia was safe, so he relaxed a fraction.
With narrowed eyes like some stone-faced cop on a TV show, Chief Walker stood protectively in front of Sam while he surveyed the circus. Paper and stone statues flew. Harvey’s sticks rattled in the weird breeze. No one seemed overly concerned —because of the woman holding their attention.
Kurt had been avoiding looking directly at Teddy. He didn’t want to acknowledge that she might be the instigator of whipping breezes and flying figurines. Gritting his molars, he shifted his gaze to watch Teddy using both fists to hold up two of Daisy’s stone sculptures as if they were victory trophies. Sunlight played in a few fiery red strands of her hair as her compact body swirled. Her eyes were shining that weird gold he’d occasionally noticed. She winked at him and continued circling.
“She’s saying look at the pictures,” Mia said from the safety of her mother’s arms. “I think she’s crying.”
What the hell?
Deciding they could all go crazy as long as they were safe, Kurt looked for Jeb but didn’t see him. He edged around the perimeter of the shop, in the direction of the kitchen.
Crazy Daisy sat against the back wall, mending one of the figurines apparently damaged in the storm or whirlwind or whatever it was. The high-end businesses he envisioned for Hillvale wouldn’t allow a bag lady like Daisy across the threshold, much less let her play with the merchandise. Where would Daisy go if he tore down the town? Should he care? His head started to pound, and he slipped past to the back of the house.
Jeb sat on the back step with a box of cereal in his lap. The dog had stopped howling—apparently because Jeb was feeding the creature cereal. One of the women—Amber?—waved to indicate she was keeping an eye on the kid. Reassured that some form of normal existed, Kurt returned to the spectacle in the front room.
“I think she’s wearing down,” Teddy called, gingerly setting the figurines on the floor instead of a shelf, evidently to prevent further flying objects.
The breeze did seem to be dying. Kurt leaned against the door jamb, crossed his arms, and observed these seemingly intelligent people going ga-ga over a little wind. These mountains were windy. The cursed house apparently funneled it. Flying stone statues. . . that was a bit much, admittedly. Maybe they weren’t really stone.
“Should I fetch Tullah?” Sam asked, stepping out from behind Walker and studying the shop’s damage.
Since there hadn’t been a lot of merchandise to begin with, the debris mostly consisted of fallen rock sculptures and the canvases Daisy had brought to town. Even Harvey’s sticks hadn’t come off their hooks. Kurt didn’t see where his aid was needed, but he lingered anyway.
“I don’t think our resident spook is likely to be any more coherent with Tullah present.” Teddy lifted one of the smaller canvases. “Mia is translating pretty well.”
Mia was clinging to her mother’s neck, looking proud of herself. More at ease with mundane tasks than the supernatural, Kurt joined Teddy in righting the artwork.
“I don’t suppose there’s any sensible explanation for this?” he asked, with no hope that they were practicing a scene from The Exorcist.
“Depends on whether one believes in ghosts. Otherwise, a stray wind blew from out of nowhere, and Mia is hearing voices in her head.” Teddy sat back to study the canvases. “But just in case, I wouldn’t comment aloud on the quality of the work.”
“Primitive style?” Kurt suggested, studying a painting that appeared to depict several crudely drawn tents and campers. A campfire burned in the fore
ground, and sturdy, faceless, almost square figures frolicked around it. Several had red stripes where the eyes should be.
“Cubist,” Sam said, displaying another work consisting mostly of colorful rectangles.
The whirlwind circled in agitation, but nothing went flying. Kurt refused to believe a ghost was pacing the floor.
Walker turned the largest canvas so everyone could see it. “This one is more realistic, but it’s corroding.”
“Evil,” Daisy said succinctly from the far corner, by the counter.
“Those are the red eyes Lance says are caused by the decaying crystal in the oils used by the artists in the commune.” Sam sat beside Walker to examine the third canvas which appeared to depict a night time scene of hell—or a kiln. “Daisy calls them evil, and she may have a point. Kurt, did you ever see that painting of Alan Gump? His eyes were red like this.”
Reminded of the real estate mogul who had destroyed his dreams of a condo resort, Kurt studied this more realistic piece. Teddy took his arm, steadying his earlier unease at her swirling ritual. Together, they studied the hellish scene. The painted figures working on various stages of pottery gave him the creeps. He didn’t think it was just their red eyes but something in the intensity of their posture, but he wasn’t about to admit that aloud. “I tend to agree with Lance. He’s been experimenting with that crystal paint for decades. The oils are corroding. How old are these pieces?”
Knowing Teddy hadn’t come to any harm let him relax a little. He generally wasn’t comfortable in informal social situations, but these people didn’t seem to mind his reticence. He just needed a moment to recover from a near heart attack at hearing screams emanating from her shop.
“If it’s Thalia’s work, then it’s probably only twenty or thirty years old at most. She wants us to look at the art, but I’m not seeing anything useful,” Teddy complained.
“Thalia?” Kurt asked warily, seeing no stranger in the room.
Topaz Dreams Page 16
