Kurt winced. “Crap. Did you get a chance to check out Syd’s story?”
“I verified the details this morning. Ashbuth has been written up before for heavy-handedness, but no one has pressed charges until Syd. I have no proof he’s a bad cop, but my gut says Syd and Teddy aren’t lying. They’re vulnerable out there with those kids at the end of town.” Walker glared out the window to the street where a few early tourists roamed the boardwalk, along with the usual regulars. “Cameras on the parking lot and on the road coming in would let us know when people come and go.”
“After the fact,” Kurt said, gripping his hands into fists in frustration. “We can’t monitor them constantly, watching for the bastard, even if we knew what he looked like.”
“I sent Sam over to the shop,” Walker admitted. “The Lucys have their own weird system of protecting their own. I try not to ask, but it seems to involve those sticks they carry.”
“Magic wands?” Monty asked in amusement. “That’s taking the superstition a step too far, isn’t it?”
“Probably, but you weren’t there when the avalanche halted at Daisy’s guardians. Sam and Valdis could have been buried alive in that bomb shelter they pretend we don’t know about, but the Lucys chanted and pointed their sticks and the rocks stopped. The whole scene was spooky weird.” Hands behind his back, Walker continued to study the street.
“Rock guardians and walking sticks don’t stop guns,” Kurt said. “If this bad cop is working a desk job, why can’t we just have him followed? Stick a monitor on his car or something.”
“Same problem as the camera—we need someone monitoring the GPS. And he has access to more than one vehicle, so we’d have to follow multiple cars. If I had a camera right there at the corner where he’d have to enter town. . .” Walker glowered. “It would have to beep every time a car passed. There are no good solutions.”
“Looks like Sam is performing her pied piper act,” Monty said from the window. “There goes Harvey, carrying sticks to our new residents. Hell if I know what Aaron is taking over there, but it doesn’t look like cookies.”
“What do you mean, pied piper?” Kurt looked past his brother. He didn’t see their niece, but there did seem to be quite a bit of purposeful movement in the direction of the opposite end of town—and Teddy’s shop.
“For whatever reason, people just naturally follow Sam’s direction,” Walker said, as if he merely announced his girlfriend was serving supper. “She never says much. It just happens.”
“I don’t need to hear more weird,” Kurt said in frustration. He thought his head might explode as it was. “I want to hear what action we can take. And if we can’t take action, I’ll just bulldoze the damned house and send the women to the lodge—where we do have security cameras and monitors.”
He stalked out, knowing Teddy’s defiant response to that. She’d already given him her opinion last night.
Teddy polished the mahogany-colored obsidian, deciding the stone reminded her of Kurt’s eyes and worrying about the reddish overtones. Still, the stone emanated a fierce protective aura and a gentle grounding that would serve him well once she chipped it into pieces and fitted them into a silver ring.
She only wished she could feel equally confident about the protections she’d given Syd and the kids. If only she’d realized earlier that there might be more to her jewelry than she knew, she could have experimented and known if they’d help.
She worked and watched as the Lucys gathered in the shop. Harvey had presented her and Syd with his beautifully carved walking sticks. Teddy’s was made of a fabulous redwood with a raw fuchsite crystal stained with ruby corundum. The crystal was astoundingly rare, beautiful, and powerful. When she’d asked Harvey where he’d found it, he’d shrugged and said it was inherited.
Like hers. There was history here, should anyone look into it. She’d paid him well, even knowing he hadn’t a clue of the value.
Tullah was apparently channeling an African goddess today by wearing a colorful dashiki and spreading dried herbs along the walls. Amber, the sociable tarot reader, had chosen to paint protective sigils in places that weren’t covered by artwork. Daisy’s stone guardians seemed to be multiplying. Teddy had found one on her coffeepot this morning.
She just wished that she could believe hocus-pocus would help against human interference better than it had against Thalia. Syd had refused to even participate. She was upstairs with the kids, playing computer teaching games—although she’d gripped the walking stick fiercely and carried it with her, like a weapon.
“Thalia feels agitated,” Teddy said, just to remind her company that she existed. “I’m not sure protection is what she wants.”
“She’s vengeful,” Tullah said. “She’s looking for trouble. How does Harvey’s staff feel to you?”
Setting down the stone she was rubbing, Teddy lifted the gorgeous staff. “I feel the crystal’s power. I don’t think Harvey recognizes the dangerous energy of this particular stone. I think he was just matching the color with the wood. If I could learn more about how crystals work, I could probably summon lightning with this thing.”
That would be preferable to the gun Syd had in her sweater pocket last night. She’d promised to unload and put it away. . . But Syd was seriously frightened, and Teddy couldn’t blame her.
“Try not to set fires,” Sam said wryly from the corner where she was labeling one of the artworks Syd had hung. “Do you feel the power as vibrations? I only feel it when I’m outside, near nature.”
Aaron plugged in the small stone fountain he’d brought over. He’d set it on one of Teddy’s shelves, moving some of the guardians to make room for it. “If we conclude staffs resonate with our varied gifts, then mine is probably reacting to strong emotions.”
The antique dealer had the slightest accent that Teddy couldn’t place. He intrigued her. Why couldn’t she be drawn to him or Harvey, men who understood weirdness?
“My staff is pretty neutral in nature, unless it’s in a battlefield,” Aaron continued. “But it vibrates almost convulsively in here. Thalia has left her mark.”
“Thalia vibrates almost convulsively,” Tullah said. “She must have been truly volatile in person. I don’t know how you’re staying here, Teddy. You really should look into one of those rental cottages.”
“I can’t rent both the shop and the cottage. My finances are in precarious shape right now. What does that fountain represent, Aaron?”
“Chi energy, mostly. I’ve been studying it since I found this thing. The previous owner left a strong positive mark on it, as if he might have been one of us. The fountain itself radiates a powerful force.” He flipped a switch, and the water he’d added began to trickle, making a pleasant splashing noise. “It isn’t the ocean, but it should help soothe restless spirits. I’m hoping it will be stronger than that, but it’s untested.”
Like her. Teddy wanted a teacher who knew what she and the others could accomplish. They needed psychic journals and websites to educate themselves.
“Isn’t it odd that most of us have peaceful gifts, not violent ones?” She returned to sorting through her treasured box of inherited crystals. Her stupid ex had taken the jewelry with the monetarily valuable gems, without touching the worn box with the powerful stones her parents had given her. She tried to be grateful for ignorance and a narrow escape, but the loss of all that work and the extra cash needed to buy more had set back her efforts to help Syd.
Apparently no one else found non-violence odd, so Teddy continued, trying to find more pleasant subjects than worrying about Assbutt, “Do you think we could incorporate chi energy in the town park if we added a fountain?”
“We’ll ask Walker’s mother,” Sam said, finishing her label work. “She’s coming for the art walk, and he says she’s a feng shui expert. I’m terrified about meeting her, and that will give me a topic to talk about. I need to find a book or website and study up.”
“I have some reference material.” Satisfied that
the fountain was running properly, Aaron headed for the door. “But a lot depends on the fountain itself and the placement. Stop by anytime and borrow whatever you need.”
Once Aaron had left, Amber rubbed her ample hip and crossed the room to study the stone fountain. “It does seem to exude powerful energy. I wonder if it will soothe Thalia.”
Teddy put down her work to join her. “I can see and feel that it contains complex crystals. Whoever built this had a sensitivity to the power of stone. But I don’t think it can stop guns, or even fists, and those are my main concerns.”
“Here comes Walker. He’s not looking happy.” Preparing to leave, Sam had her stick in hand.
“How can you tell?” Tullah asked, looking over her shoulder. “Even with those big green eyes, he works that Asian inscrutability well.”
Sam chuckled. “That’s his mother’s training. Just wait until you see him angry, then he’s all Irish fury, I assume like his father.”
“Stereotypes, ladies,” Teddy scolded. “Kurt is just as stoic as Walker, and his family probably came over on the Mayflower. And Syd and I test nearly half Irish, and we don’t drink or lose our tempers.”
“But you have to admit, it’s a convenient label,” Amber argued. “Redheads are supposed to be thin-skinned.”
“Thin-skinned in that I have circles under my eyes and puncture easily, yes, but it takes a lot to make me angry. What I lack is impulse control.” Teddy shut up as the police chief entered and looked warily around. His eyes warmed when he saw Sam, so he wasn’t all enigmatic.
“The town has no money for security cameras,” he said into their silence. “And I’ve received a few reports on the writing on Thalia’s paintings.”
“And?” Teddy prompted when he didn’t continue.
“And, she added more crystals to her paints every time her husband hit her. She seemed to think it would reveal his evil. The journal entries indicate when she upped the formula and why.” Walker waited expectantly.
They all turned to look at Thalia’s paintings prominently displayed on the back wall. Each one had red eyes or red stripes where eyes might be depicted.
“That only reveals bad paint technique, not evil,” Sam argued doubtfully. “And evil tells us nothing. We already knew they didn’t get along.”
“She started adding what she called almandine to his clay to see if it would make his hands turn red,” Walker continued. “His pots started selling for a lot more, if we’re translating her notes correctly.”
“Almandine is a common form of garnet.” Teddy reached for her books. “It can run as deep as purple but is usually a dark shade of red—like the stones we found in the attic. One of its uses is to eliminate inhibitions.”
That would explain a lot. Remembering the Shower of Love, Teddy buried her head in the book to hide her pink cheeks and look for anything she’d forgotten. “For the Nulls among us, almandine is a type of ferrous silicate and can contain aluminum, but it’s not inherently poisonous. I’ve never seen it turn anything red though.”
Sam was the first to connect the dots. “My grandparents’ paintings started selling for small fortunes after they added crystals. That could be because the crystals in some way removed their inhibitions, allowing them to more freely access the creative parts of their brains, like alcohol or pot.”
“But with inhibitions removed,” Teddy said, following the path of her thoughts, “they may have developed tastes for bigger, better, more. . .”
“And learned greed,” Tullah said sadly. “If those crystals are in our mountain, they’ve been bleeding greed into the ground for millennia.”
Twenty-four
July 1: afternoon
* * *
“Kurtis Dominic, what are you doing up there?”
There was no need to turn around to recognize the speaker. Kurt continued chipping away at a strip of peeling paint behind the ice cream parlor counter and dabbed at the next stretch. “Remembering the good old days,” he retorted.
That hadn’t been the point when he’d first removed the chalkboard covering the wall, but he’d enjoyed this past hour of working with his hands. He’d already stripped enough paint to recognize the rainbow painting Lance had described. He even vaguely remembered it from his youth, although he didn’t recall much of the art shop.
“You need to be updating our financials,” his mother complained. “Where is the profit in uncovering obscene graffiti?”
“Have you never done anything for the pure pleasure of accomplishment?” His mother was an unhappy woman. Kurt was fairly certain she had never done anything just for fun. “Studies show non-essential acts are more satisfying than essential.”
On the other end of the counter, the parlor owner had stripped enough paint to reveal the VW bus. Midweek on a gloomy day was slow for business, and he’d happily joined the project. Rainbow walls brightened the gray light.
Kurt’s question apparently perplexed his mother. He’d never known her wealthy socialite parents well—they’d always been too busy to visit with their grandchildren. He assumed his mother and Lance had been raised by nannies until they were old enough to contribute to the household. His mother never talked about their childhood. He should ask Lance—if his uncle stayed coherent.
“It’s graffiti,” she repeated. “You could at least paint City Hall so Monty doesn’t die of mold poisoning.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we did that first. Anyone can paint walls. Uncovering art is more delicate. Hire an accountant if you need the financials immediately.”
It felt good to say that. He despised accounting. Come to think of it, he despised glad-handing guests. There was very little about his job that he enjoyed except the chance to rebuild and create the village he envisioned. Ugly rainbows hadn’t been on his restoration agenda, but it was a cheap improvement not requiring bank loans—which was what his mother was after.
“You know we can’t afford accountants,” she protested, keeping her voice down.
Kurt thought about that as he peeled off another strip of acrylic. Of course they could afford accountants. Basically, his mother couldn’t afford them to take a close look at the books she’d cooked for years. Probably best not to make that argument in public.
A damp wind fluttered a poster as a customer entered. Kurt didn’t turn to see who it was until Teddy spoke. “That’s pretty damned impressive graffiti. Good day, Mrs. Kennedy. I didn’t figure you for the ice cream type. What’s your favorite? I like the toffee.”
This conversation could have gone so many different ways—Kurt climbed down from the ladder prepared to act as shield. Even though he knew Teddy was being facetious, she didn’t deserve to be hit with his mother’s foul humor.
Carmel didn’t deign to answer the question. She merely glared at Kurt. “I’ll need those financials by this evening. Kylie and her father will be dining with us.”
“Have a nice dinner,” he said with malicious intent. Bringing Kylie back into his life was one step too far, even for his mother. “I’ll be eating at Dinah’s. Teddy, would you and your family care to join me?”
The black dye had been eradicated from Teddy’s hair, leaving a rich sheen of waving copper. She wore it tied back in a green ribbon, but stray curls brushed her cheeks and framed her topaz eyes—which were currently dancing with mischief. She was enjoying the confrontation.
He breathed a deep sigh of relief that she was warped enough to have forgiven him for last night’s humiliating scene. When had he developed a taste for weird women?
“I can’t answer for Syd,” she replied, “but I’d love to. It’s good to get out of the house, occasionally, you know?”
Hooking her thumbs in her faded jeans—had she come here to help him?—she turned back to his mother, who was dressed as if she were heading for Rodeo Drive. “You must have been here when my cousin Thalia and her husband sold my house to your company. Do you remember the transaction?”
Wham, bang, right upside the head. No one h
ad ever dared tackle Carmel Kennedy front and center on her potential thievery. Kurt’s first instinct was to step in and shield—who? His mother? Teddy? Both of them? Or maybe himself from the backlash, because there would be a horrendous blow-up later, in private, usually ending in tears and hysteria.
Maybe it was time he stepped back and let his mother flame out.
“I do not deal with business,” Carmel said coldly. “I pay people to handle it for me.”
“Oh, then Xavier Black had power of attorney to purchase the house?” Teddy screwed her face into a puzzled pout. “I thought Mr. Black was. . .” She hesitated as if searching for a polite word. “He wasn’t quite up to his legal self ten years ago, when the transfer was made. If he was in charge, the transaction could be questioned in court.”
Kurt suffered a familiar squeeze in his gut—she’d said she’d hired a lawyer. She hadn’t been kidding. He needed to remember that.
Xavier had been a drug addict for decades and not completely in his right mind for years—one of the reasons Kurt and Monty had to take over the family business. That had been right about the time the house was sold, except he didn’t remember the purchase or Thalia or her husband, so Xavier probably had handled it—with their mother’s consent.
Xavier was gradually recovering, but ten years ago he might have bought the Golden Gate Bridge had it been offered cheaply enough.
“You will have to discuss this with our attorney,” Carmel said, before turning her glare on Kurt. “The financials, by this evening.” She stalked out on her high heels.
Her chauffeured Escalade waited, engine running, in the parking lot. Kurt rocked back on his heels and watched his mother parade across the crumbling street in an outfit that would have fed a family of four for a year.
“The mural in here isn’t important, you know,” Teddy said softly, watching with him. “I was just curious to see if Mia really was talking to a ghost who knew things we didn’t. Pity Thalia isn’t more coherent about her death.”
Topaz Dreams Page 22
