Sapphire Nights (Crystal Magic Book 1)(26)

He could send one of his investigative firm’s agents, but the downside of working corporate level research was that they were accustomed to paid travel expenses and billable hours. As CEO, he could order them to do as told, if he had good reason. But he was supposed to be taking a sabbatical.

Sam’s credit bureau report showed one credit card with little activity. Her only employment history was at the university. With date and place of birth, she could apply for her birth certificate. Then she could get a new social security card and driver’s license.

Sam was only six years younger than he but her sheltered life escalated the difference.

He sent all the information to his research assistant back in LA.

Walker noted recent credit inquiries. Often, employers would check the bureaus when they were considering a new hire. Sam must have driven to California for a reason. For a recent grad, a job made most sense. Of course, not enough employers did due diligence, so these could be dead ends. He wouldn’t make inquiries until he’d shown them to Sam.

Since he’d identified Sam, he didn’t have a good excuse to investigate her parents, so he started on Cass. Cassandra Kennedy Tolliver—Walker’s eyebrows rose over that—had been born sixty-seven years ago. She’d lived in San Francisco in her early years. She’d gone to Berkeley, and her address after that varied between Hillvale and Berkeley. Cass was practically the stereotype of the hippies who’d inhabited the commune over forty years ago—except for that Kennedy part. With that name, she could have been living with family at the lodge.

He’d have his assistant do a genealogy search to see how she was related to the current Kennedys. He noted Cass moved into the house on Cemetery Road when she was in her early twenties, but no mortgage or deed was filed. That indicated no ownership transfer— a family trust, perhaps. At the time, she appeared to be working for a charitable foundation as director. If she was a Kennedy, then her wealthy family had enough connections that they could have found the job and given her the house. Or they could have funded the charity for all he knew.

She married Tolliver when she was twenty-three, and he died not long after she moved into the house, when she was barely twenty-five, so she wasn’t living at the commune. They appeared to have one child—which was a surprise to him. None of this was helping him find her—unless he wanted to blame the Kennedys for Cass’s disappearance. She had a history of being a thorn in their collective sides—but if she was family, it was hard to imagine they’d hurt her.

He found no credit cards in her name. She had no known employment these days, so there were no workplace inquiries. She kept a bank account at one of the private banks the wealthy used, so he had to assume she’d come into money at some point.

She had no frigging driver’s license. How had she left the mountain? Broomstick?

Without even a driver’s license photo to use, Walker had little to enter on a missing persons bulletin, but he sent one out, then called the Monterey police to have them start questioning at the restaurant in Sam’s GPS.

He’d have to look for her son next.

A little after eleven, a report of shots fired in Hillvale dragged him from his desk. If the Nulls started shooting at the Lucys, he’d need to permanently rent a room at the lodge.



Sam woke to an odd howling moan that halted when she sat up, as if she’d startled an owl into silence. Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she glanced at the clock—it wasn’t even midnight.

The mountain air was chilly at night. She slept in heavy socks and sweats. Pulling on a cardigan she’d been using as a robe, she abandoned her bed. A cup of warm milk might relax her shattered nerves and put her back to sleep.

She wished she had a computer. A mindless game always helped. . .

Wait, what? She remembered playing mindless computer games?

Now she really wouldn’t sleep.

Emma woke up from her bed in the suitcase and came out to curl around Sam’s ankles. The cat’s dish was empty.

Sam had bought a few basic fresh groceries with the money Dinah had given her. She poured a little milk into Emma’s water dish as a treat, then heated more in a saucepan. Looking out the studio’s enormous windows, she rubbed her elbows. What else might she remember if she tried hard enough? Or was trying the problem? Did she need to be startled into remembering?

It would be far more useful if she could remember why she was in California than the fact that she used computer games to go to sleep.

While Emma happily lapped her treat, Sam watched a light bob up the shortcut path from town. Mariah lived down there, but she was up at the crack of dawn, and had to be asleep at this hour. So who was coming up the path?

Car beams flashed on the road on the other side of the bushes, heading in the direction of the cemetery. Who would go to the cemetery at midnight?

She ought to drink her milk and go to bed. But she was too on edge. Living with uncertainty was not conducive to sleep, and this mystery wasn’t helping.

She pulled on her furry boots and a coat, filled a travel mug with warm milk, and let herself out on the balcony. The car lights had gone out. The flashlight was still approaching. Did she need a weapon? She snorted. As if she knew how to use one.

So, sneaky does it. She’d already found several flashlights scattered around the studio, presumably for power outages. She tested the one in deck storage and it worked. The concrete steps didn’t creak. With light off, she quietly slipped down them.