Topaz Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  “If I believed in ghosts—which I don’t,” Kurt said in consideration, “I’d say Thalia suffered from the same delusions as my mother. In which case, her poor husband was probably expected to adhere to her demands, and when he didn’t, she erupted like Vesuvius. And she’s blocking that out by not telling you everything.”

  Teddy whistled at his insight. “You could be on to something. I wonder if your mother ever dabbled in crystals?”

  “Not buying crystals either. See you at Dinah’s at six.” Roiling with anger and frustration, Kurt climbed back up the ladder and jammed his paint scraper into the peeling acrylic.

  “No, I don’t want to horn in on your date with Kurt. I want to go home, lock the doors, sit at the window with a shotgun, and watch the road.” Syd angrily whacked a nail into a newly-painted City Hall wall. “I’m only out here now because I know that’s not normal.”

  Syd had tucked her dyed-brown hair into a painter’s cap and covered her slender frame in bulky overalls—and she still looked like Syd. She couldn’t disguise herself if she tried. Teddy handed up the canvas her sister wanted to hang and wished she really did have a magic wand.

  “It’s not a date. He’s furious with me. He thinks I’ll roll over on giving up my house so he can rebuild Hillvale into his dream town. I can appreciate having a dream, but he’ll have to take it elsewhere. There are a blue million pretty developments in this world, but only one Hillvale.”

  “Hillvale creaks,” Syd reminded her. “It needs to be bulldozed. I don’t want to be up here come winter.”

  “What if all Europe thought that way?” Teddy asked in horror. “We’d have nothing of history left!”

  “So?” Syd climbed down to check how the painting hung.

  “It’s not as if we can rely on ghosts to transmit information on our pasts! If we don’t know our history, we’re doomed to repeat it.” Teddy stepped back to admire the gallery effect Syd was creating on the white walls.

  It needed more lighting, but the artwork stood out now. They’d cleaned up a few of the older pieces so the colors caught the light from the front window, adding a mosaic of brilliance to the otherwise boring room.

  “If we didn’t know about the commune and Lucinda Malcolm, we wouldn’t have any understanding of what’s happening here. We’d be wallowing around in superstitious ignorance,” Teddy argued. “If only we had Lucinda’s knowledge, we could educate each other, and we’d better understand our weirdnesses. If someone had taught me, I’d know how to use my crystals. Without history and a solid education, we’d all be living in caves.”

  “Some people prefer living in caves,” Syd said cynically. “And my ability to visualize a welcoming room or a dignified showplace is not weird.”

  “You could do it before you went to school for formal training. I know you use objects that have power, because I’ve felt them. I bet if Aaron tested one of the rooms you’ve designed, he’d find objects with positive memories or chi energy or whatever. You’re playing with dynamics you don’t understand but react to instinctively. Think how much better you could work if you’d had training in the weird.”

  Syd snorted but didn’t argue. Teddy took that for agreement that her sister felt something in the objects she chose for a room. They’d just never really questioned their abilities until they’d met Hillvale.

  Seeing Mariah crossing the street carrying her satchel of ghost-catchers, Teddy and Syd waited before packing up. Teddy was convinced the black-braided waitress was far more than she appeared, but she and Syd weren’t in a place to debate the need for disguise.

  “A van is coming up the road,” Mariah announced without any preliminaries as she entered. “Could be your pottery. Better have the mayor call our police chief down here, just in case.” She glanced around at the artwork and nodded in unsmiling approval.

  “Why do we need Monty and Walker to help unload pottery?” Syd asked, reasonably enough. “The van drivers will do it for us.”

  Mariah dragged the stepladder over to a corner and swept the ghost-catcher there with her fingers, performing a ritual Teddy had seen her do elsewhere, calling it ectoplasmic exorcism. “Because the ghosts are quivering and you have a stalker who may have followed the van or be driving it. Stranger danger applies here as well as anywhere.”

  Syd drew in a sharp breath, put down her tools, and hurried out. She’d left the kids with Amber. Teddy watched out the window as her sister half-ran to the tarot shop. “That was fear-mongering. Why do you do that?”

  Mariah shrugged and climbed down. “Evil exists. We need to learn wariness.”

  Apparently drawn by Mariah’s voice, Monty emerged from the rear of the hall. “Goodness exists as well. Why don’t you look for that instead?” He turned to examine the work they’d accomplished this morning. “Your sister is talented. I didn’t think those ugly old oils could look this good.”

  Teddy almost laughed at his pointed lesson. “Find the positive, I like it. We could fill the town with rainbows and unicorns and drive out the blackness.”

  Mariah wrinkled her nose in distaste. “And carry a big stick. This isn’t Candyland.”

  Teddy shrugged and finished packing up Syd’s tools. “Come over and help us unload the pottery my folks collected. They liked the colorful and unusual. I think if evil exists, it does so in darkness and ignorance and only creeps in where it’s welcomed. If we fill the town with color, cheer, and positivity, we create barriers against depression and paranoia.”

  “Jobs and money help,” Monty said dryly, holding the door for her.

  “Well, they certainly add to the good cheer, granted. Are you coming with us?” Teddy asked over her shoulder as she carried out the box of hammers and nails Syd had gathered from all over town.

  “Do I need to lock up now that we’re displaying valuable artwork?” Monty followed them out but hesitated at the door.

  “Those locks could be picked by an infant. Just kiss them with good cheer, and I’m sure no evil will enter,” Mariah said flippantly.

  “Or better yet, cast a spell on them,” Monty countered, taking the box from Teddy. “And if that van is full of steaks for the lodge instead of pottery, you owe me one for dragging me away from my desk.”

  “I’ll owe you one anyway, after you get finished hauling boxes. It was a huge storage unit.”

  The plain box van rumbled over the potholed road and hesitated at the corner of Teddy’s shop. Intelligently assessing the danger of stopping on the narrow highway, the driver pulled into one of the many empty parking spots. On a weekday, the town had few customers.

  Kurt emerged from the ice cream shop. Lance popped out of the gallery/meeting house across from City Hall. Aaron locked up his antique shop and strolled down the boardwalk as if heading for an early dinner at Dinah’s.

  And the Lucys began arriving, carrying their walking staffs. Teddy prayed there were only boxes to unload and no evil for this eccentric army to fight.

  Twenty-five

  July 1: late afternoon

  * * *

  Kurt leaned back in Dinah’s booth and studied the cuts and blisters on his previously manicured hands. Aaron had opened his storage area for the ceramics delivery. Hauling dozens of wooden cartons had worked up their appetites. “Maybe financial statements are better than life as a mover.”

  “Define better.” Teddy dug into Dinah’s shrimp risotto and sighed with what he took as delight.

  Kurt enjoyed watching her savor her food with the same sensuality she brought to the bedroom. He’d never look at another salad-picking woman again. And she wasn’t afraid of hard work either. Her manicure looked as bad as his.

  “Moving boxes is honest labor with very few ethical considerations involved,” she continued. “Financial statements are a boondoggle that would corrupt a saint.”

  She put her finger on a nerve with that one, if she only knew. Another good reason they shouldn’t pursue a serious relationship. Teddy would have a dim opinion of his parents’ ability to
manipulate financials.

  “All right then, accounting is easier on the hands and back,” he corrected. “I think your parents must have bought the entire pottery, wheels, clay and all.”

  “And maybe a portable kiln or two,” she acknowledged. “Since my father occasionally worked with clay as well as stone and metal, there might be some of his stuff in there. We won’t know until we pry it all open. I’m just relieved no one followed the truck.”

  “If your sister’s stalker is still actively employed, he wouldn’t have time to stake out a storage unit just in case someone used it, even if he knew the location.” Kurt savored the basic chicken pot pie Dinah had served him, despite his order for a chef salad.

  “If he knows the location, he could threaten desperate junkies to watch it,” Teddy said pessimistically. “Assbutt is a real work of art.”

  “Let’s hope that’s a long shot. I’m more worried about him pinning your jewelry company to you and your sister. Computerized stalking is simpler.” Digging into the pie, Kurt wondered how his staff would react if he hired Dinah. The town would probably kill him though. And his guests might object to meals the cook thought they ought to eat instead of what they ordered.

  Teddy poked at her food. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure my cover is blown if Assbutt is reading Syd’s computer and is smart enough to follow a bunny trail. I never met the man, and no one ever calls me Theodosia, so I had some hope he wouldn’t put two and two together. But once he has Syd’s maiden name, the Devine is a bit of a giveaway. My mother couldn’t resist keeping her name and calling us Devine-Bakers, even though none of us has ever baked so much as a biscuit in our lives.”

  Kurt swallowed bile along with his food. He wanted to send them all far, far away or build a road block into town, but he knew his protests were futile.

  Before he could react, Teddy reached into her leather shoulder bag and produced a small square box. “I need you to help me experiment.”

  Kurt warily took the box she shoved across the table. “Experiment with what?”

  “I’m trying to learn the power of my stones. There’s only so much I can learn from books. This is mahogany obsidian, not a particularly rare stone, but this particular piece resonates with me the same way you do. Don’t ask me to explain, but according to my research, it should protect the heart, especially if worn over an artery or vein that will carry the power to the heart.”

  Resonates with her? Was he supposed to understand that? “I thought mahogany was wood.”

  “It describes the color. Quit stalling.” She shoved the box at him.

  Kurt warily opened it to reveal a ring studded with reddish-brown stones. He wasn’t a jewelry expert, but he recognized originality and expertise. This was very definitely a Theodosia Devine design—but masculine in the entirety. Even his Rolex didn’t appeal to him as much as this ring. “I can’t accept this. It’s a remarkable creation. You could sell it for a wicked price.”

  She waved away his protest. “We’ll work it out once the lawyers decide the fate of my house. In the meantime, I’m willing to absorb the cost of an expensive experiment. Would you mind wearing it?”

  “Is this where you expect me to reveal my true nature and steal everything you own?” he asked, sliding it over the ring finger on his right hand.

  “Right now, the house is my biggest asset, and you’re already stealing it,” she pointed out.

  “Not stealing,” he insisted, without resentment as he examined the ring. He supposed she had reason to hope magic would reveal a man’s nature. “It’s a damned fine piece and fits perfectly.”

  She looked pleased, and he didn’t have the heart to take it off. He did intend to fight for that damned shed she called a house. He hoped she was reasonable enough to accept facts, because he actually cared about how she felt. Friendship didn’t happen often in his life. If friendship was all he could have of Teddy, he wanted her to be happy. If superstition helped, then fine.

  “These aren’t the honesty stones, although I’m starting to think I ought to add a chip of those to every design.” She glanced out the window. “Does our police chief never take a break? Sam went home half an hour ago to have dinner with him.”

  Kurt had a sudden desire to go back to the days when they didn’t need their own police force, peaceful days when all he had to do was pacify angry customers and read financial statements. But if he meant to turn Hillvale into a real town. . . crime came with it.

  He cast a look at the two black-and-white photographs of the triptych pieces still hanging on the walls. From here, it looked as if the creatives had begun coloring the town to their tastes. Even Sam’s bright patches of colorful flowers had been inked in. How did he adjust his plans to match that of a town full of unbridled eccentrics? A can of paint wouldn’t cure what ailed these buildings.

  Standing behind the counter, Dinah filled a coffee pot and worriedly watched Walker’s approach. Mariah appeared from the kitchen bearing clean mugs. By the time the police chief entered, they had fresh coffee prepared. Walker gratefully accepted the mug and carried it over to the booth.

  “Got a bite,” he said conversationally.

  Teddy shifted to one side of her bench and invited him to take a seat. Kurt wished Dinah had a liquor license but signaled for more coffee.

  “A bite?” he asked as Dinah poured. He knew she listened. That’s what the town did.

  “I sent an e-mail to that address Teddy provided for Thalia. My assistant made it up all pretty, looking like a legal notice to all former Hillvale residents telling them to provide proof of their residence here during the past forty years so they can be added as part of a class action lawsuit compensating them for damages.”

  “Damages?” Teddy asked.

  Her tone conveyed amusement, but Kurt saw concern wrinkling the corner of her eyes. Here was one more danger added to her growing list—not just Syd’s stalker but Thalia’s possible killer.

  “Yeah, well, my assistant got creative. The point is, we got a reply. The e-mail address is still active. The person using it filled out the form and attached an old bill for a phone at your address, but they only gave a post office box and no current phone number.”

  “It’s not easy to trace an e-mail address, is it?” Teddy left her coffee growing cold.

  “We’ve got the IP address. My team will track the ISP it belongs to and ask for information, but they can’t force anyone to provide it, and most generally, they won’t. I’d rather not indulge in illegal hacking, so I’m suggesting a second e-mail asking for specifics and hinting at a large settlement.”

  Kurt covered Teddy’s hand and squeezed. “We really don’t need this Lonnie clown showing up here. I’d like to catch him sooner than later, but we can’t justify doing anything illegal.”

  “Appoint me as the mayor’ secretary,” Mariah said from the counter. “Send the e-mail to Monty’s computer. I’ll take care of it.”

  Everyone turned to stare at her. She looked grim but undaunted.

  Only Walker didn’t look puzzled at the feathered waitress’s suggestion, Kurt noted.

  “I’m pretty damned sure Monty would not approve,” the chief said without inflection. “Thank you for the offer, and we may revisit it if this doesn’t work.”

  Mariah glared but nodded. “Lives are important.” She retreated to the kitchen.

  “What was that about?” Teddy asked in surprise.

  “Confidential information,” Walker responded in his usual unruffled manner. “Keep her away from computers at all costs. So, do I have your permission to continue?” He finished his coffee and stood up.

  “Yes, please,” Teddy agreed, looking lost. “I’d only hoped to track the bastard who stole my house, but if it turns out that he killed his wife, do whatever you need to do.”

  “It became an official case when the bones turned up, so don’t worry about the bill. I’ll take my expenses out of the town in artwork,” Walker said dryly, before striding out.

  Teddy chuc
kled. Kurt didn’t. Still holding her hand, he leaned back in his seat and watched Walker take the path up to his cozy cottage where Sam waited. How did the chief tolerate responsibility for an entire town filled with whackos?

  “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in returning to my place tonight,” he said. At the squeeze of her fingers and shake of her head, he nodded acceptance. She needed to be near her sister. “Want to use up our excess energy tearing open boxes?”

  Teddy watched in relief as Syd tore into the crates after Kurt pried them open. Kurt’s suggestion to start on them tonight was just the energy booster everyone needed. The kids played in the layers of packing material while Syd exclaimed happily over the creative contents.

  Uninvited, Aaron joined them, spreading his long fingers over crates to decide which ones had the most promising vibrations. “I’m hoping you’ll find a few Arthurs or Simmons in here. They were the most famous potters from the Ingersson era, although that would have been before your parents’ time.”

  Teddy held up an evil-looking ebony vase carved with red figurines. “Can you tell us what to look for?”

  The antique dealer took the vase she offered. “Arthur favored cat figures in one form or another, often creating grotesque cats that stretched into peculiar angles. He occasionally carved cats into practical pieces like pitchers. Simmons was pretty much the opposite, forming practical pieces into odd shapes, often heavily adorned with flowers and leaves. He favored blues in his work, whereas Arthur favored grays and browns, all popular colors today.”

  “Blue flowers and brown cats, got it.” Teddy dug around in her box but found mostly entertaining pitchers with noses, along with salt and pepper cellars in pop-art designs. “These potters must have been as high as the painters.”

  “Or your parents only collected the weird ones,” Kurt added snarkily, pulling out a plate that was half avocado green and half orange, with red and yellow butterflies painted on.