Sapphire Nights (Crystal Magic Book 1)(27)

The person on the path wasn’t as surreptitious. They walked right up past the rose bed with their flashlight still on. Heart pounding, Sam waited in the shadows of the wall. There were only two houses out here, the studio and Cass’s place. The person would have to walk right past her to reach the mansion.

Did she make herself known or follow them?

The light hesitated at her driveway. The figure was tall and lean and quite possibly male, judging by shoulder width. The silhouette of long hair tied at the nape made her doubt her assessment until she remembered Harvey, the guitarist at the diner. A car door slamming up by the cemetery caused him to flick off his light.

The evening fog was rolling in, but she could see enough to follow him as he walked down the drive to the road. She had absolutely no reason to be suspicious, except that was apparently what she did. Was that telling her something from her past?

He didn’t try to hide as he strolled toward the cemetery. She was probably out of her gourd to even bother keeping up with him. But her head was empty and needed filling, apparently.

He grew more cautious as he approached the cemetery. The car had turned off its beams and engine. The night was still. The wisps of fog could easily be mistaken for spectral figures forming and dissipating. An eerie creak caused her to bite her tongue and freeze, before she realized what it might be—the door to the Kennedy vault.

How many people had keys to the vault?

Harvey—if it was he—halted. His shadow nearly blended in with that of a fairly young pine. A moment later, a car swung back to the road. It turned on its beams at the curve leading downhill toward town. Sam didn’t know one car from another but this was a large SUV in a light color, like the one Carmel Kennedy had used earlier that day.

She waited until the hidden man started back down the road, swinging his flashlight beam. He wasn’t really trying to hide—except from the car. Interesting, but not enough to raise even her suspicion. After all, she was doing the same exact thing—being nosy.

She needed to get a life—if only she could remember where she’d left it.



Walker cruised into Hillvale a little over half an hour after the shots-fired report. The deputy on duty had been writing up a bar fight in Baskerville and had been relieved when Walker had agreed to take the call. He had used his flashers and the safest speed possible on that narrow road, but the town was isolated. They couldn’t expect instant response. If they’d had to wait on the assigned officer, it could have been another hour or more.

Dinah’s café was closed and dark, as were all the other shops. He found Valdis and several of her sycophants waiting at the base of the road leading to the lodge. They huddled around a small campfire and gazed up at him expectantly when he climbed out. Had he been in the city, he would call it a homeless encampment, but they had homes when they weren’t fomenting trouble.

“Did security shoot at you for trespassing?” he asked.

“Menendez land isn’t theirs,” Val said snottily. “We have permission to use that land. But we heard shouts and gunfire as we came down the path. They came from up near the lodge. Has anyone filed a report?”

“Just you. Has anyone come down from the lodge since you heard the shots?”

They were nicely located on the only car access to the inn, so they would see anyone making a vehicle escape.

“The big white Escalade Carmel uses,” Val said in satisfaction. “It went out right after we heard the shots and came back not long after. The engine will probably be cold by the time you get up there though.”

Spoken like a true mystery aficionado. He wouldn’t have pegged Val as one.

“Go home. If I need you, I’ll let you know,” Walker said curtly, returning to his car.

That they were camping out here, reporting unusual occurrences probably meant that the Lucys were up to something.

Since the women might be slightly deranged but were generally not vindictive, he didn’t worry about them. He drove on up to the lodge, watching for any unusual activity. Most of the guests were sound asleep in their beds, if the darkened windows were any indication.

Xavier Black and Alan Gump from the real estate company emerged from the restaurant and headed for Alan’s BMW. Late for a dinner, but they were probably having a business meeting with Kurt. Gump had a long drive back to the city, but Black lived locally. They didn’t appear to be carrying guns, and he’d rather not speak with guests.

But out of curiosity, Walker pulled into the private parking lot the Kennedys used. The Escalade was there. The hood wasn’t warm, but there was no condensation on the windows. He looked at Kurt’s Mercedes next to it—the fog had formed a thin layer of moisture across the windshield. Carmel or her driver had been out, but that was meaningless. For all he knew, they might have been in San Francisco and had just returned.

The light was on in Lance’s studio. Carmel’s artistic brother kept odd hours and tended to leave the light burning night and day. The man barely knew how to feed himself. Walker doubted he’d be out shooting guns. Disturbing him would mean enduring a tour of his gallery while he mumbled through whatever was in his head. Lance wasn’t much better than a Lucy except that he seldom went anywhere.

Walker drove around back to the security office. Alonzo was the evening shift officer in charge. He got off the phone as soon as Walker entered.

“What brings you out here at this hour?” Alonzo asked, rightfully curious.