Sapphire Nights (Crystal Magic Book 1)(12)
“And if I’m not either?” Sam asked in puzzlement, wistfully studying an enormous red geranium spilling out of another pot.
“Everyone is one or the other. If you’re not one of us, you’re a Null,” Mariah said, pushing open a glass door that tinkled welcome. “It’s not all bad, if so. Val will quit pushing you around and the Kennedys will feed you. But if the Red Queen starts talking backward, run.”
Sam laughed, but she wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t a genuine warning that she needed to translate. Maybe she was missing the bits necessary to understand what she ought to know.
They found a sprigged pink, green, and white skirt, green tank top, and a white draped jacket that fit. Sam would rather have worn jeans, but Tullah nixed that.
Not as dark as Dinah, but taller and more elegantly dressed, the thrift store owner jangled an armful of gold bracelets as she folded up the outfit. “Put on some heeled sandals and make him look at your legs. It’s good for him.”
“I only have a pair of black pumps,” Sam admitted. “Student wardrobe, I’m afraid.” She didn’t know that, but the description felt right.
Mariah slapped a pair of strapped, heeled sandals on the desk. “These should be close enough. You really need bronzed goddess shoes to make him crazy, but these will do.”
“Yeah, if I’m doing goddess, I want the gold crown and jeweled scepter, please.” Sam studied the heels, wondering if she knew how to walk in them.
“This outfit demands a crown of vines and flowers,” Tullah said. “We’ll find you one of Harvey’s carved walking sticks for your scepter.”
Sam had a feeling vines and branches were probably more her style, but if she meant to be a new person, she needed to explore her options first. “I really appreciate this, thank you. Can I do anything for you in return?”
“Depends. Can you sew?”
Sam had no idea. “Sweep floors? Wash dishes?” she suggested tentatively. Surely she could manage those. She glanced out the window to the thrift store’s planter, which hadn’t been planted yet. Someone had painted it in ocean blue and added seagulls over foaming waves. “What if I fill your planter?”
Tullah brightened. “I never know what to put in them things. They always die anyway.”
Now that she’d suggested it, that felt right too. Maybe Samantha Moon had a green thumb? She really needed another look at those textbooks. “Do you think the other owners would mind if I thinned out some of their pots and used the cuttings for yours? I can’t buy plants, but I can help everyone weed and water.”
“I’ll talk to them,” Mariah said. “Some are a bit ornery, but if you’re volunteering to do pot maintenance, they’ll come around. Daisy decorated all the old clay troughs and Monty insisted everyone maintain their own, but not everyone knows how.” Mariah pushed open the door. “Thanks, Tullah!”
Sam hefted her packages, waved good-bye, and followed Mariah out. “I think I can do the pots, but I really don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
Mariah planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll stay as long as Cass wants. Now go get ready and I’ll tell everyone we have a plant goddess in town.”
She marched off, leaving Sam to ponder her words. As long as Cass wants? She couldn’t get in her car and leave?
Chapter 5
At day’s end, Walker limped down the mountain with the sheriff, feeling dusty, sweaty, and grim.
“I can keep the details quiet because I don’t have any,” Walker said grumpily. “There’s no newspaper up here, but gossip flies faster than dust in the wind. They’ll know more than I do by morning.”
“Coroner is the only one who can give a report,” the sheriff said with a shrug. “All the rest is speculation. We’ll need to run through our missing persons files.”
Walker had heard the coroner say white, male, age late 30s, early 40s. He knew the file that fit already. He just needed date of death to confirm it. “I’m going back up after supper. The Lucys will be back, rooting around. There could be more graves up there.”
“Can’t pay you overtime,” the sheriff warned. “You’re on your own. It’s not likely there are any more bodies unless you have gang wars you’re not telling me about.”
“As far as I’m aware, they nail each other with insults here, not hammers.”
“How about shovels? Pickaxes?” the sheriff inquired. “You got a war of barn tools going on?” The cadaver’s head had been split from behind, quite possibly with a barn tool.
If he was a man who wept, he’d do so now, but the man Walker feared was up there had taught him not to show weakness. He kept his stoicism. “No barn tool wars that I know, but I’ve only been here since December. Winter is quiet.”
“Doesn’t look like this is recent anyway. We’ll let you know more, when we know it,” the sheriff promised, climbing into his car. “The coroner’s office gets backed up every time he goes fishing, so I can’t say when.”
Walker tipped a finger to his forehead, acknowledging the delay. He hated it, but then, he hated the dirty task he’d assigned himself. He had needed time to recuperate, then get his head straight, and the deputy job in this county he’d been meaning to investigate had conveniently opened. Maybe once he adjusted to the loneliness, he’d be able to go home, pick up the pieces. . .