Grave Mistake Page 16

  Stones and Spirits

  As far as I could tell, no catastrophes had occurred overnight. Because it was Monday and the shop was technically supposed to open at eleven, I dutifully got out of bed and went through my morning routine — coffee and yogurt and yoga — then pulled my one card for the day from my crow Tarot deck.

  Two of wands.

  Clearly, I needed to make a plan of action. I just wasn’t sure what that plan was supposed to be.

  Well, first things first.

  After showering and getting dressed, I headed down to the store, even though it was only a little past ten and I had some time before my “official” opening. However, I’d already learned that people operated on their own schedules in Globe, and if I wanted to get an early start to my day, why not?

  Just like the day before, the sun shone down brightly on that particular corner of Arizona. Probably on the whole state; Josie had told me how summers could often be cloudy and turbulent there, with spectacular monsoon thunderstorms, but those days were still months off.

  It didn’t feel quite right that the day should look so cheerful when people appeared to be dying right and left, but I knew the weather often had very little to do with what was actually going on in people’s lives.

  Or deaths.

  I really wasn’t expecting many customers on a Monday, and so I was surprised when Fiona O’Neil, a crony of Josie’s, popped in almost as soon as I opened my doors. She was as slender as Josie was plump, with gorgeous thick white hair she always wore back in a smooth ponytail.

  “Hi, Fiona,” I said politely. “Can I help you with something?”

  “That citrine cluster,” she replied, pointing to the impressive chunk of rock that had a place of honor inside the locked glass case that contained my showiest — and most expensive — specimens.

  “Sure,” I said. “Just let me get the key.”

  I retrieved the key to the case from its place beneath the cash register, then opened the sliding door on the back of the display. The chunk of citrine was heavy, weighing almost eight pounds, and so I had to use both hands to extract it from its spot on the shelf and set it on top of the case.

  “Is it all right if I touch it?” Fiona asked.

  “Of course,” I told her. “You need to be able to feel its energy.”

  An embarrassed little flush rose in her cheeks. “Is that — is that really a thing? Feeling vibrations off crystals, or whatever?”

  “It’s definitely a thing,” I responded. “People react to different stones in different ways. But citrine is known for its positive energy. It also can help to attract financial success and wealth.”

  “Oh, really?” She put her hands around the chunk, fingers lightly resting on its myriad points. “I suppose that can only be a good thing. I just know I saw it in the case at your opening on Friday night and thought it was beautiful. And then I kept thinking about it all weekend….”

  “Well, if you couldn’t get it out of your mind, that means you connected with it,” I said. “I think stones know who they’re supposed to be with.”

  Her expression turned half hopeful, half skeptical, as if she wanted to believe me but didn’t know whether she should. “Really?”

  “Really,” I echoed. “I have this gorgeous — and huge — piece of quartz I got from a mineral show a year ago. The minute I touched it, I knew it needed to go home with me. I didn’t know if I could justify the expense, but I went ahead and bought it. And ever since then, I’ve had really good luck.”

  Like having Lucien Dumond gunning for you? passed through my mind, although I squelched the thought as quickly as I could. Everything happened for a reason, even if we couldn’t always see the pattern at first. I had to believe that the universe wanted me in Globe. Whether that was so I could hook up with Calvin Standingbear, or so I’d be in the right place at the right time to solve Lucien’s murder…or even just so I could open my shop and dispense metaphysical advice to the town’s residents…I couldn’t say for sure.

  Maybe all of the above.

  “I’ll take it,” Fiona said. She spoke quickly, as if she knew she needed to lay claim to the stone before she changed her mind.

  “Wonderful,” I said. “Let me wrap it up for you. Credit card?”

  Since the chunk of citrine was nearly three hundred dollars, I sort of doubted she would pay me in cash. And she did hand over her card, although it was a platinum debit one and not an actual credit card.

  Even better. I didn’t like the thought of people going into debt to purchase the pieces they wanted.

  I processed the transaction, then got out several sheets of brown wrapping paper and did my best to make sure the citrine would get home safely. After carefully placing it in a heavy-duty gift bag, I set it on the counter.

  “Here you go,” I told her. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I will,” Fiona replied. “I have the perfect spot for it picked out on my mantel.”

  She went out after that, carrying the bag in both hands so there was no chance of the bottom ripping out. I watched her go, feeling oddly happy. And no, it wasn’t just that I’d managed to sell one of the most expensive pieces in my shop. It was more that I knew the citrine had gone exactly where it was supposed to go. Also, Fiona’s husband was a manager at the Fairport mining company, which still operated a huge plant on the outskirts of Globe. I knew she probably hadn’t even put a dent in her discretionary spending for the month with the purchase, so I could bask in the afterglow of the sale guilt-free.

  Unfortunately, that afterglow didn’t last very long. About fifteen minutes after Fiona left — and just a little after eleven, the time the shop was officially supposed to open — Chief Lewis came through the front door, wearing the scowl that seemed to be perpetually fixed on his hard features.

  Or maybe that was just the expression he always wore whenever in my presence.

  “Good morning,” I said politely. “Looking for something in particular? Incense? Essential oils?”

  He managed to look even more annoyed, if that was possible. “Tell me what you were doing at the crash site last night.”

  “Calvin asked me to come with him, since I knew the victim,” I replied.

  His eyes went from flinty to positively glacial. Maybe it was the way I’d referred to Calvin so casually, or maybe it was simply that he didn’t like being reminded that the chief of the tribal police had just as much jurisdiction in the matter, if not more. “Are you a detective, Ms. Marx?” he rasped. “A police officer?”

  “No,” I said sweetly. It was a lovely morning and I’d just made a huge sale, so I refused to let him put me off my stride. “But I am a psychic.”

  He sniffed. “So you say.”

  “It’s more than just ‘saying,’ Chief Lewis,” I told him, picking up exactly why he seemed to be in an even more foul temper than usual. “You’re in a bad mood because you forgot it was your wife’s birthday and she read you the riot act before you left for work this morning.”

  His hard gray eyes widened, flickering with disbelief before the familiar scowl clamped back down again. “Josie must have told you that.”

  “No,” I said. “Actually, I haven’t even seen her today. And there’s no reason to get that information from her, because I can feel it coming off you in waves. Maybe you should try to make it up to your wife by getting her a nice present. I have lots of lovely jewelry in the case here.”

  “Becky isn’t into all this woo-woo stuff,” he retorted. Actually, he practically snarled the words, nostrils flaring in dislike.

  “A lot of the jewelry isn’t ‘woo-woo,’” I replied calmly. “They’re items I chose because they’re beautiful. What about that amethyst pendant down there?” I pointed at a really lovely piece, a stylized square cross set with faceted amethysts and smooth moonstone cabochons, with delicate Bali-style beadwork on the sections between the bezels. “Purple’s her favorite color, isn’t it?”

  He stared at the pendant, brow still c
reased with a frown. “It’s a cross. I thought you types weren’t Christian.”

  “I’m not,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice as neutral as possible. “Or rather, I believe there’s something of value to be found in all the world’s religions. Jesus was a follower of the light, like many others. So, why wouldn’t I have a cross in my store?”

  Obviously, such a confounding thought had never crossed Chief Lewis’s mind. He continued to stare down at the pendant in the case, almost as if that was easier because at least that way, he wouldn’t have to meet my eyes. At last, in grudging tones, “How much?”

  “Seventy-five dollars,” I replied. “And I can wrap it up and put it in a nice gift box for you.”

  Another long pause. “All right.”

  Trying not to smile, I pulled the pendant out of the case, then busied myself with wrapping it up in some of the silvery paper with little white stars blazoned on it that I’d bought exactly for occasions such as this one. I topped it with a neat white bow, and slid it across the top of the display case toward the chief.

  He got out his wallet and put down five twenty-dollar bills. Trying to hide from his wife exactly how much he’d spent on her birthday gift?

  Maybe.

  That wasn’t any of my business, though. I picked up the twenties and counted out the change for him. He took it without comment, and also picked up the gift box and stuck it in the pocket of his jacket. Why he was still wearing it when the day promised to be just as mild as the one before, I had no idea.

  Again, none of my business.

  “You still need to stay out of the Dumond case,” he said next. Clearly, even if I’d thought the matter was dropped, he hadn’t.

  Count to three, I told myself. The number three had a myriad of magical meanings, although in this context, its significance mostly lay in its ability to keep me from tearing the police chief a new one.

  “I’d say that was up to Chief Standingbear,” I replied, figuring I might as well not antagonize Lewis even more by referring to Calvin by his first name. “The case is in his jurisdiction, isn’t it?”

  “The original murder,” Chief Lewis allowed, although he didn’t look very happy about having to admit even that much. “But Floyd’s accident happened in Globe’s town limits, which means it happened on my beat.”

  “Have you found out anything from inspecting the vehicle?”

  The frown returned, and I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to distract him with a gift for his wife this time. “Like I said, Ms. Marx…stay out of it.”

  “No worries,” I said sweetly. “I’m sure Calvin will tell me when he has a chance.”

  So much for trying to maintain our fragile truce.

  Chief Lewis didn’t take the bait. His hand touched the pocket that held his wife’s present, as though to reassure himself it was still there. Voice even, he said, “Have a good day, Ms. Marx.”

  He headed out, spine as straight as if he was on review back in the Marines. I watched him go, smiling faintly.

  If nothing else, I’d made another sale.

  The rest of the day was fairly quiet. A few more tourists wandered through, and bought some small crystals and a couple of books. Nothing huge, but it was a very good day for a Monday.

  Still, the image of the Tarot card I’d pulled that morning still danced in my brain. The two of wands signified forward movement, which meant I needed to come up with a plan of action. Making a couple of good sales didn’t seem quite significant enough.

  Then what?

  I saw sunlight dancing off the surface of the San Ramon River. Green leaves rustling in the breeze.

  Was I supposed to go back there?

  Possibly. After all, I hadn’t gotten very far with my investigations before Calvin appeared and I went straight into the drink. Everything had been so crazy busy since then, I hadn’t really thought about returning.

  But if Lucien’s spirit lingered there…if there was even a chance I could get him to talk, to tell me who had done this to him…then I needed to go.

  I glanced up at the clock I’d hung on the wall above the counter. Ten minutes after four. Since I’d opened early, I figured it couldn’t hurt if I closed a little early. No one had been in for the past half hour, so I doubted I’d be disappointing any last-minute shoppers.

  Before I even realized what they were doing, my feet propelled me over to the door so I could shut it and lock it, and then hang up the little “Be Back at” sign. Afterward, I hurried upstairs to get into jeans and my hiking boots — now at last completely dry — and then just as quickly went back down to get into my car.

  Because it was such a gorgeous day, I put the top down. I kept a collection of scrunchies in the glove compartment for just these sorts of occasions, and I reached in and grabbed a teal blue one to go with my top.

  As I drove, I wondered if I should text Calvin and let him know what I was doing. He’d been pretty radio-silent all day, and I didn’t quite know what to make of that. I supposed he could have simply been extremely busy, and since I hadn’t reached out to him with any problems or concerns, he’d decided to allow some space between us.

  This scenario seemed plausible enough, even if I didn’t much like it. Anyway, I told myself, he interrupted you last time. Maybe his energy isn’t the best thing to have around when you’re trying to reach out to Lucien.

  Especially since I would never have allowed Lucien in my pants, whereas I’d be more than happy to grant Calvin that same access…after we’d gotten to know each other a bit better, of course.

  Having rationalized away any reason to reach out to him, I continued to the parking area where I’d first left the Volkswagen. Yes, maybe it would have been better to keep going on the Forest Service road that went a lot closer to the actual spot where Lucien had died, but my instincts were telling me that wasn’t such a good idea. I supposed it was possible that impulse stemmed from a desire to avoid doing any more damage to my car’s suspension rather than any concrete reasons for heading there, although I told myself that I’d sensed the residue of Lucien’s death after making my way along the river bank, so I might as well follow the same path now.

  I parked my car and got out, then headed down to the river. It was maybe a bit warmer than it had been the first time I’d come this way, but otherwise, I might have been experiencing a very extended, very vivid déjà vu. The same cottonwood trees cast dappled patterns of light and shadows on the ground, and the San Ramon made the same rustling sounds as its water flowed over the rocks that made up its bed.

  This time, though, I’d remembered to bring a bottle of water with me. I broke the seal on the lid and swallowed some before I began walking along the bank, following the path the river cut through the landscape. From overhead came a keening cry, and I flinched for a moment before I realized the sound had probably come from a red-tail hawk and not Lucien Dumond’s disembodied spirit.

  My heart still beat a little faster than it should as I picked my way over the stony ground. I’d brought my pendulum with me, although it remained in my jeans pocket for the moment, since I already knew where I was going. Shoved in another pocket were a couple of chunks of black tourmaline, my go-to for protecting myself from bad energy. Its presence might keep Lucien’s spirit away entirely, but I had to hope that his desire to be heard would overcome the stones’ repelling properties.

  In life, he’d certainly liked the sound of his own voice.

  After a few minutes of picking my way along the rock-strewn riverbank, I came to the small sandy beach where I was almost positive Lucien had been murdered. The same footprints marred the sand, although blurrier now, as if the breezes of the past few days had begun to erase all those traces of human activity.

  It was very quiet, with even the sound of the river flowing over its stones somehow muted. I’d worked up something of a sweat during my mini-hike to get here, but I still was cold, a chill inching its way down my spine.

  No matter how beautiful the place was, I coul
dn’t quite forget that a man had died in this very spot.

  I reached in my pocket with my free hand and touched one of the black tourmalines. It didn’t feel hot, which reassured me a little. If it had already gone to work repelling whatever negative energies lurked in my immediate surroundings, it would have been warm to the touch, if not downright scorching.

  All right, then. A few days had passed, and so it was possible that Lucien’s spirit had come to terms with its untimely demise and had decided to move on, to jump back on the wheel of life and be spun into a new existence…with any luck, one where he might learn a bit more about how not to be an utter jerk.

  But I wasn’t here to ponder what karma had in store for him. No, I just needed to find out if he was still around, and, if so, whether he could give me any useful information.

  I wasn’t a medium; my only real experience speaking with the dead had been communicating with the ghost of my Grandma Ellen during our sessions with a crystal ball. Despite that lack, I figured I was a little bit ahead of the general population when it came to dealing with spirits, if for no other reason than I at least believed such a thing was possible.

  In the same pocket as my pendulum rested my favorite piece of quartz, a beautiful little point with just the faintest veiling within. Like the much larger chunk of quartz I’d told Fiona about, this piece also resonated with me on a very deep level, allowing me to both focus within and at the same time allow my consciousness to open up to higher entities.

  Or, in this case, Lucien Dumond.

  I set my water bottle down on a large, flat rock nearby, then took out the piece of quartz and wrapped both my hands around it. The energy from the stone shimmered along my nerve endings, letting me know I was open to all vibrations.

  “Lucien?” I said aloud. Not too loud, though. A spirit was everywhere; no need to shout.

  An odd little breeze caught at the end of my hair, still confined to its scrunchie. In fact, it felt almost like a tug.

  I forced myself to remain motionless. I’d been in places before where spirits were active, and so this wasn’t exactly my first rodeo. Then again, none of those spirits had been the ghosts of people I actually knew.