Sapphire Nights (Crystal Magic Book 1)(69)

Sam didn’t dare touch the mural again but nodded. “The old church artists knew tempera works best with solid objects like stone, so they used it on church walls or painted on boards for religious icons. It lasts forever.” Sam rapped her knuckles against the wall, but she was no expert in construction either. She didn’t know what was under it.

“Is the painting valuable?” Mariah asked.

“I have no idea.” Sam stepped back to admire what she’d uncovered. “I could call around and see if anyone would be interested in looking at it. Do you have any famous artists from this area? That would lure someone up here faster.”

She turned around to greet a customer just entering—one of the sheriff’s men, she guessed, even though he was in plain clothes.

He simply asked for eggs and coffee, but the mural conversation ended. The Lucys didn’t talk in front of authority—except for Walker, who had apparently gained their trust.

The hiker, however, didn’t know to keep his mouth shut. “Didn’t Lucinda Malcolm live up here in the sixties? We had an art teacher who knew her and never shut up about her.”

“Seventies,” Sam said automatically, because Jade claimed she was a relation to the famous artist. “I’d think she must have been pretty old by then. Her work dates back to the early twentieth century, but she didn’t become well known until late.”

“Yeah, that’s her,” the hiker said, satisfied. “Do you think she could have painted that mural?”

Sam was about to say the painting looked as if it had been done in the seventies, if only judging by hairstyles. But Mariah untied Sam’s apron and shoved her toward the door. “Time to go play in your planters. We can take it from here.”

More secrets. Sam scowled and tossed her apron under the counter where she kept the walking stick. Harvey got up to accompany her out.

“I’ll tell Cass,” he said quietly as they walked out together. “No one tells me anything either, but there’s rumors about the artists who lived up here over the years. Not just artists, but writers and musicians and other creatives. It’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“If they all turn out like Daisy, you’d be better off going back where you came from,” Sam said irritably. “I don’t like secrets and gossip. I’d go with you to talk to Cass but she isn’t home.”

“It’s okay. We’ll know when she is. Keep the staff with you, though. There’s something funky happening here, and you do seem to be the eye of the storm.”

“Oh, thanks for that.” She glared and then peeled off to go down the alley to the compost pile Walker had hauled down for her. She’d rather plunge her hands into manure than keep secrets.

Maybe she’d confront Cass when she got back, and then leave Hillvale forever.

Or maybe she’d go back to the studio and call the art gallery that showed Jade’s art. The owner was the one who had talked so fervently of Lucinda Malcolm’s work—and the mystery of who Lucinda really was, since the name was a pseudonym.

At least she’d left the diner before disclosing that secret to the hiker.



At the end of his shift, Walker drove into Hillvale and parked his car. He paid particular attention to Sam’s planters. As he got out, he could smell the malodorous gunk she’d put into them. The damned flowers seemed to have doubled in size since yesterday. He couldn’t believe Mariah had told the whole damned town that Sam was a Lucy because of them.

He’d just thought the blooming pots were artistic and the Lucys should appreciate her. But now that he really looked at them. . . The tiled and painted planters were filled with an amazing collection of exuberantly colored plants that spilled over the sides as if they’d been growing for months.

Flowers were flowers, and he didn’t have a scale to judge their growth by. But that shed of Cass’s. . . that he knew was all wrong. If he hung around Hillvale much longer, he’d be as crazy as the Lucys. He’d have to check the back of the shed sometime and see if it was an optical illusion built into a hill.

As he’d hoped, he found Sam helping with the dinner rush. She acknowledged him by lifting one plate-filled hand but went on to deliver her orders. He settled on a counter stool to wait.

Tarot-reading Amber had set up her cards in a booth and was doing a reading for Dinah, who ran out of her kitchen to flip a card, then ran back to finish whatever was cooking.

Ever-nosy Mariah came over to bring him water and take his order. “So, did the sheriff find anything interesting up at the lodge?”

Walker shrugged and hid a grin behind his water glass. “No ghosts,” he reported.

She took the plastic menu from him and swatted his hand. “Dinah is fixing muffulettas tonight. You’ll have that.”

“I don’t like olives, so give me a burger.” Walker didn’t bother snatching back the menu. Dinah would give him whatever she wanted anyway.

Keeping her voice low, Mariah wrote down his order. “You’re so boring, I don’t know what Sam sees in you. You can’t even give us information that might be vital to our survival. We should know if we’re living with a killer in our midst.”

“I can tell you that the sheriff can’t find Daisy to see when she left her lamassu at Sam’s door.” Walker grinned at Mariah’s disgruntled expression.