Indigo Springs (6 page)

The jar of pickles hurtled across the room and shattered, striking the wall an inch from Astrid’s ear. Pickles hit the floor with splashy thuds. Bits of glass rebounded from the plaster, pricking her neck.

Astrid froze. Vinegar fumes burned her nostrils.

“You want your head rattled, boy?” Ev snarled.

Shaking, Astrid knelt to pick up the brine-doused shards of glass.

The real Everett Burke would never scare his kid senseless. Astrid swayed, tempted by an urge to sit down where she was, and never get up. Why not? Dad was compulsive and now Ma’s not only delusional but violent. Catatonia could round out the freak show nicely.

The glass fragments on the floor shone slickly. Vinegar ran down the wall, spreading from the baseboard. A blue tint—paint? dye?—bled narrow streaks into the puddle. Astrid’s stomach—by now she was so hungry, she was verging on nausea—flipped.

Ma was pacing. “It was murder, Petey, it was killing, he was killed-poisoned-stabbed…”

Leave the cleanup. Astrid tried to stiffen her nerveless knees.

“…shot-banged up, he was banged up, baby. Big-bang, smallbang, bangbang!”

“You have to listen.” Her voice shook; she was barely intelligible. “Ma…”

Then Sahara skipped into the room.

She was radiant. No, more than radiant—she was blinding. She had put on a sundress and sandals, too little clothing for the cool spring weather. Her breasts strained against the fabric, and her dark eyes sparkled. Her lips were orange, like mangoes.

The lipstick. Astrid put out a hand to steady herself and nearly drove pickle jar shards into her palm. With an effort she focused on Ma, shifting Sahara into her peripheral vision. It seemed to help.

“There you are, young lady.” Red-faced but suddenly calm, Ev tipped her hat. “Welcome home.”

Sahara dropped a curtsy. “I was going to explore the attic, Ev.” As she said Ev’s name, her voice deepened, filling the air with mystery vibrations. “Care to join me?”

“There’s an attic?”

She’s wearing the mermaid pendant, Astrid thought dizzily.

“You bet there is.”

“What are we waiting for?” Ma said.

“Come on, then.” Sahara whirled out of the room. Ma trotted after, leaving Astrid to bring up the rear, her hands full of pickle wreckage and reeking of vinegar.

The kitchen’s chaotic jumble of unpacked boxes was gone, probably—knowing Sahara—shoved into the pantry. Cups and spoons were set out on the table along with an open sack of sugar. The kettle murmured on the stove.

Sahara nudged Astrid toward the sink. “Let’s get rid of these.” She pried the glass shards out of her grip. “Ev, you take milk in your tea, don’t you? I don’t think Jacks bought any.”

“Boy’s a vegan,” Ev grumbled.

“Sorry about that.”

“I drink it black anyway.”

“Since when?” She set the tea to steeping, then produced a flashlight and a short stepladder from the back porch. “Okay, we’ve got a few minutes. After you, Ev.” Ma led the way upstairs, shoving the ladder up through the attic trapdoor and climbing it energetically.

“What if there are chantments up there?” Astrid hissed in Sahara’s ear.

“She won’t know what they are.”

“Sahara—”

“Astrid, trust me,” Sahara said, and she felt herself giving way. It was impossible to say no to this glowing, glamorous apparition.

“You two coming up?” Ev called.

“Right behind you.” Skirt swaying, Sahara followed. Astrid climbed up last, steadying herself by laying a hand on the attic floor…

…and suddenly she was overcome with a mixed sense of nostalgia and dread.

Albert brought her up here once. It had been winter, and…

She jerked free and it stopped.

Touch, she realized. The flashes come when I touch…what? Things Albert owned?

The attic was a single room with a low-slanted roof, with dormer windows in front and back through which shone weak, grit-filtered sunlight. Ev, taking out a handkerchief, spat on the cotton and began scrubbing at the glass. Sahara shone the flashlight to and fro, swiping at cobwebs. Astrid just watched from halfway up the ladder.

“Not much in here,” Ev grunted, kicking at a roll of old carpet. A stack of metal pails leaned against the wall next to some blue-splashed paint trays and one weathered brush.

She’s calming down
, Sahara mouthed. Then, bending to pick a small hunk of glass out of Astrid’s hair, she raised her voice again: “How’s work been, Ev?”

“Fine, young lady. Neither rain nor sleet, you know.”

From screaming and throwing things to small talk, Astrid thought. What am I going to do?

The ladder trembled beneath her. She couldn’t bring herself to touch the attic floor again.

“Good, good. And your friend Cherry Lugan, how’s she?”

“She’s dead, Sahara. Stroke.”

“Oh. Sorry. Was it sudden?”

“I’ll say. Her nephew was visiting at the time. He took her dogs back to Vermont with him after the funeral.”

Astrid squelched a groan.

“Valuable dogs,” Ev added suggestively.

“Do you think he should’ve let them starve, Ev?” The vibrato in Sahara’s voice intensified, the mermaid flickering as if it was living flesh instead of metal.

Ma licked her lips. “I expect you’re right.”

Sahara gave Astrid a furtive thumbs-up.

Right. Jump in, try again. “Ma, have you seen your doctor lately? Maybe you should get a referral. You could talk to someone about how you’re feeling.”

Menace returned to Ev’s expression. “I’m fit as they come.”

“She means a therapist, Ev,” Sahara said, and Ma’s glare softened. “When Albert died—”

“Albert had a therapist? That’d make…make a good lead on his murder.”

Sahara shook her head. “We’re talking about you seeing a therapist, Ev.”

Astrid’s heart revved and she tried to guess what Ma might hurl next. But Ev frowned, mouth working silently.

“Okay, Ev? You’ll call around and find a doctor?”

“You have my word, young lady,” Ev said.

“Soon, Ma?”

Eyes flashing, Ev shoved the window open. Fresh air gusted into the room and dust swirled. “Don’t
nag
, son.”

“She’s right,” Sahara said. “You’ve got to do it right away.”

“Right away.” Ma tucked away her handkerchief and straightened her hat. “Absolutely.”

Sahara coughed. “Uh, what I meant…I mean, are you going now?”

“Right away.” Ma strode across the attic, each footfall echoing, her anger gone. “Sorry I upset you, son.”

“It’s okay, Pop.” The words came out in a whisper. Astrid stepped down to the hallway floor, getting out of the way. Ma reverse-marched down the ladder just as the teapot began to whistle.

With another hat-tip, Ev turned on her heel and trotted downstairs. Astrid followed as far as the kitchen, flinching as her mother slammed the door on her way out.

“Jeezisgawd, are you okay?” Sahara snatched up a rag from the kitchen sink. She soaked it in hot water, wrung it out briskly, and began wiping vinegar off Astrid’s limp hands. Even after they were clean she didn’t let go, turning the wash into an impromptu massage.

Astrid had to close her eyes to keep back a surge of emotion. Sahara, looking so polished and assured, made her feel grubby and clumsy. It felt like an eternity since anyone, even a friend, had touched her.

The hand-massage brought back other things, too—Sahara in a ballgown, kissing her, hinting that maybe there was a chance for the two of them; discovering, the next day, that she and Mark had left town….

“Breathe,” Sahara said. “It’s okay.”

“She’s eccentric,” Astrid said. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself.”

“Why didn’t you say she was so bad?”

“She was never like that before.” She shook her head wearily. “I asked you to get the chantments out of sight.”

“Sorry. I was trying, but I couldn’t think of a safe place and I heard things getting nasty downstairs—”

“Whenever I’ve tried to talk to Ma about her Everett Burke charade—”

“No euphemisms!” Sahara tossed the rag away and kept kneading Astrid’s hands, wringing tension away. Her hands, damp and warm, slowly pinched into the heel of Astrid’s hand, easing numbness she hadn’t known was there. Despite everything, she began to relax.

“When I brought up Ma’s delusion, she glossed over it. Acted like it was a joke. There was the Petey and Pop thing, the clothes, but she seemed to be getting better. Faking. She wanted me here so she could snoop on Dad—”

“She ever get physical with you before?”

“I’d never have moved if she’d been losing it, Sahara.”

“Yeah, you’d hang in to the bitter end,” Sahara said. “I was trying to help—you know that, right?”

“I think you did help. But how did you know? The mermaid, it—”

“Darling!” With a flourish Sahara produced a crinkled yellow page from her sleeve. Flattening it, she cleared her throat dramatically. “I read as follows: ‘Buy seedlings, call greenhouse at Wallowa…’”

“Sahara…”

“Oops, wrong side. Here, we go. ‘Kaleidoscope—sees through walls. Lipstick…’ what’s this word here?”

“‘Dud.’”

“Oh.” Sahara scrubbed at her lips, smearing the orange onto her sleeve. Her hair and skin dimmed to normal luster, and Astrid could look her friend square in the face again. “At least it looks good on you. ‘Mermaid—made cat mind me’…you’ve written ‘Miraculous!’”

“I was joking.”

“I heard you say it. ‘Henna, go bother Jacks,’ in a ringing ‘don’t mess with me’ voice.”

“You were asleep.”

“I woke up. You sounded contentious.”

“Hmmm,” Astrid said. “It changed your voice, too, whenever you said Ma’s name.”

“Well, Henna spent the night with Picasso. Which not only means the mermaid works, but the cat speaks English.”

“That’s disturbing.”

“Let’s hope the subtleties elude her.” Sahara referred to the note again. “‘Knife dangerous’—that’s a bit vague. ‘Pencil sharpener…’ and there the note peters out.”

She tried again. “You were playing with the chantments. I asked you to hide them.”

“I couldn’t help myself.” Sahara leaned close, rubbing Astrid’s nose with her own. “I’m a spoiled brat, you know.”

“You can’t flirt your way out of this, Princess.” Astrid snatched the page.

Sahara sighed, deflating as she pulled the mermaid pendant off her neck. “Do I sound normal now?”

“Yeah.” She cupped a hand over the necklace; it was skin-warm.

“Okay,” Sahara said. “Tell me everything.”

The back door slammed. They jumped; Sahara tipped the sugar bag, spraying crystals across the table and floor as Jacks burst into the room.

“What kind of weirdo mystic crap was Albert into?” he demanded.

The women burst into nervous laughter.

“Well?” he said.

“Great,” Astrid said. “I wait all night and morning to share my news and now you both know.”

There was nothing left to do but demonstrate the chantments. She started with the kaleidoscope, explained about the pocketknife, then brought out the pencil sharpener and her bag full of gold flakes.

As the show-and-tell continued, she realized her fatigue the night before wasn’t coincidental. Working magic this way—one small miracle after another—was draining.

She pointed this out and Sahara nodded. “Yeah. I’m starving
and
ready for a nap.”

“I could eat,” Jacks agreed, reaching for a bunch of bananas. They peeled the fruit in silence; Sahara dipped hers in the spilled sugar. After a second, the others followed her example.

“Are you guys…okay with this?” Astrid said between bites. “I mean, magic. It’s not supposed to…”

Jacks shrugged. “We saw what we saw, and we aren’t crazy, so…yeah. I’m okay.”

“I’d be ecstatic if I wasn’t so tired,” Sahara said.

Astrid said. “You’re tired from using the mermaid on Ma.”

Jacks raised his eyebrows in query and they filled him in on Ev’s visit. Then Sahara said, “What about you, Eligible? You disappear, then when you turn up, you want to know about Albert.”

Jacks held up his wrist, showing off the watch. “Earlier when you came downstairs, Sahara, I got an urge to trot over to the fire hall and pick up my final paycheck. You were upset; I figured it would take Astrid a while to calm you down.”

“You spun on your heel and walked out,” Astrid remembered.

“Yeah,” he said. “It was a strong urge. Go. Do it. One less errand. So I started walking and, and suddenly there’s a kid dangling off the balcony of one of the houses.”

“Did he fall?” Sahara asked.

“I caught him. Gave me a scare, though, and getting away from his mother—”

“Shouldn’t you have hung around to see if somebody’d give you a medal or a cash reward?”

“We’re not all glory hogs, Sahara.”

“Bullshit.”

He held up his hand, displaying the burnt and broken finger. “I did the hero thing before, when I pulled Rick out of the Volcano Café fire.”

“Ah, yes. Astrid sent me clippings. ‘Shucks, ma’am, I was just doing my job.’”

“It’s not as gratifying as you’d think.”

“I guess you can take the boy out of the Fire Department, but you can’t take the Fire Department out of the boy.”

“Are you saying people can’t change?” There was a challenge in his gray-green eyes. Sudden tension crackled between them, like electricity.

“Do people change?” Sahara said, rolling it over.

“Once a jerk, always a jerk? Once a diva…”

Sahara colored and looked away, fluffing her ravaged hair. “I hope not, Jacks.”

“I hope not too.”

“Speaking of firefighting,” Astrid interrupted. “Lee came by.”

“When?” Jacks asked. “After I left?”

“Pretty much right after.” She crunched sugar crystals under the heel of her hand, mashing them to powder on the table before peeling another banana. “Good timing.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I felt compelled to jog onward, so I headed down Striken Road, and there’s Reggie Fitzwilliam. He asks if I want to run some white-water rafting groups through Mistico Park this summer.”

“You got a new job?” Astrid asked.

“Just like that,” Jacks said. “Reggie was paging through his mobile phone directory, wondering who to interview, when I came by. Then I’m hurrying back here and I knock over the new man in town,” Jacks said smugly.

“What do you need with a man, Eligible?” Sahara asked.

“He’s middle-aged, dapperish, in a recovering hippie kind of way. Name of Thunder Kim. I dust him off, and he asks if there’s a bookstore. I walk him over to my mother’s shop. She comes out to say hi and voilà! Instant chemistry.”