Sapphire Nights (Crystal Magic Book 1)(84)

She might miss a social life once Walker returned to LA. She didn’t want to think like that. She had no claim on Walker. That had been understood from the first.

She would miss Walker reassuring her with a shoulder squeeze when she needed an extra zap of strength. Admittedly, his protective streak could use a good trim, but he wasn’t the type of macho man who shoved her aside and told her he’d do whatever needed doing. He just offered to be there if she needed him. She felt as if he’d cut open the cocoon binding her so she could spread her wings and fly anywhere she liked.

Like the tarot card Amber had shown her—the strings tying her up had been snipped. Freedom to choose her own road was scary.

She knew Walker was among the walking wounded, that he had issues over his son’s death and needed to resolve his father’s murder before he could move forward. And even knowing it meant he would be leaving her, she wanted to help him solve the case—as he’d helped her when she thought she’d lost her mind.

Voices rose inside the town hall. She tried not to eavesdrop. It was so peaceful here, marking out a garden, planning the colors and sizes of the flowers she needed.

“Keep your mother away,” Mariah shouted inside.

Mariah didn’t normally shout. Sam frowned.

“That’s impossible,” a low male voice rumbled. The mayor? “She’s responsible for the well-being of everyone in this damned town.”

“She’s responsible for destroying all this! She’s been here too long, Monty. The demons are sucking her dry. She retaliates by feeding on your energy and Kurt’s and everyone else’s that she encounters. Keep her healthy, happy, and anywhere but here.”

“And you know all this because your little nets are clean?” the mayor asked scornfully. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d be out of work in that case.”

“No,” Mariah said wearily. “The place is possessed by centuries of souls that can’t pass on. You want a Valley of Death, call it Hillvale. Go look at your uncle’s art sometime, really look at it. I know you won’t believe that she’s draining you and Kurt, but study your uncle. Does he look healthy?”

Sam quietly set her tools in her garden basket and stood up.

Daisy had been protecting the art. Dinah’s mural could possibly be painted by one of the most brilliant artists of her era, and it resembled another in the lodge’s dining room. Valdis had talked about demons and paint. Mariah was fairly rational and even she was talking about looking at the art. Maybe it was time to do so.

Sam returned the garden tools to Cass’s shed and went to her studio to look up the phone number for the San Francisco art gallery where Jade had sold her work. Sam had always assumed the gallery was called Malcolm Magic after Lucinda Malcolm, the pseudonymous artist. It specialized in surreal fantasy but often included more realistic styles with hidden fantasy elements that Jade had found fascinating. Sam couldn’t see enough of the mural on Dinah’s wall to find hidden elements, but the style had resembled the art Jade had admired.

She dialed the old landline phone with trepidation, but it rang appropriately. Good to know it still worked. The gallery receptionist put her on hold, and a moment later, Elaine Lee answered.

“Samantha! How delightful to hear from you. When are you coming to visit?” Elaine spoke with a slight Cantonese accent, although Sam was fairly certain she’d lived in San Francisco most of her life.

“Actually, I’m in California now,” Sam told her. “I’m not sure I’m ready to drive in the city, but I’ve found a painting out here in the middle of nowhere that made me think of you.”

“Anything that makes you think of me is good,” Elaine chirruped. “I do hope it’s good. Where are you?”

“Hillvale.” Sam waited. As she feared, the normally chatty Elaine went silent.

“Hillvale?” she asked after a moment, with a degree of hesitation. “Why are you there?”

So even Elaine had known some part of her story—layers within layers to uncover.

“It’s a long story. I’d love to tell you sometime,” Sam said, not explaining. “I’m kind of caught up in something and can’t get away. But I’ve found a mural that someone tells me was painted by Lucinda Malcolm, and I thought you might be interested.”

It wasn’t as if Elaine could sell a mural. She would have no real reason to come up here. But Sam had hoped curiosity would drive her—and she might learn a little more about her birth parents.

“Lucinda lived in Hillvale for a time,” Elaine acknowledged. “Have you found any more of her work?”

“I’m no expert,” Sam warned. “I saw a piece resembling the mural hanging at the lodge. And one of the locals mentioned a cache of art hidden up the mountain.” That was almost pure fabrication. Daisy could have been time-walking when she saw art. But instinct demanded that she bring someone up here who understood more about painting than she did.

Elaine stayed silent long enough to indicate a lack of enthusiasm. “Hillvale isn’t healthy for artists,” she finally said.

“Did my birth mother tell you that?” Sam asked, baiting the hook. She wished she could see Elaine’s expression through the phone, but the resignation in her voice sufficed.

“Jade feared this day would come,” Elaine said with a sigh, not admitting anything. “Fine. I’ll take a look at my calendar and get back to you. Tell me how to reach you.”