Daelin sat in her sister’s converted sun porch drinking coffee, filling out the paperwork for the librarian job. In the distance, lights flashed and sirens wailed. Tragedy happened all the time in the city, so she didn’t think anything of it.
She had made herself a breakfast sandwich — toast, cheese, egg, salsa — from the groceries Earl had gifted her. That man was all right. She’d tell Charming so as soon as she saw her. A call to the Paleo Institute confirmed the area researchers were out on a dig. The recorded message on their voice mail said so, but didn’t say where. After the beep, Daelin asked and asked for Charming to call her immediately.
The task done, she stared out the window at an alien landscape. Wilderness after seven years in a huge city was as foreign as foreign could be. Frost dulled the muted colors of the high desert outside, including the carnival of ceramic frogs in the garden. They surrounded the glassed-in room with their cheerful grins and pigments. “A cheery morning to you,” she said to the frogs.
Last night, she had found an empty dresser beside her sister’s in the bedroom loft and had put away her clothes. She hung a few things in the armoire then a few more. Charming had hardly used any of the hanging space.
Choosing a pair of gray wool slacks, a pink flowered blouse, and a periwinkle cardigan, Daelin changed and prepared for the day. She twisted her hair, pinning it up, and applied a few smears of eye shadow, blush, and lip gloss. Her naturally thick eyelashes and brows allowed her to skip mascara and eyebrow pencil. She decided less would always be the better choice in Settler.
The neatly filled out forms completed, Daelin locked up and headed toward the Caslow County offices around the corner from the library. Its steeple stood out among the other buildings, negating the need for directions. She walked five blocks to Settler’s main thoroughfare then veered up hill, passing the mercantile, the cable and internet provider, a car dealership, and the Patrick Swit house. She squinted at the old relic with exposed clapboards and peeling paint. It appeared so ordinary, an old building in need of repair. It hid a lot of crazy, huh?
She had the streets to herself this morning, as still as the lakes mirroring the peaks and sky. Eerily so. No cars. No other pedestrians. All the shops remained closed. “Where is everybody?”
The wind sliced down from the Cascades, rattling her nerves. She noted the thrift store on the corner. Junk in Your Trunk. Daelin pushed on the door, greeted by the happy soft jingle of a bell. Clothes, luggage, dishes, and knickknacks lay on the floor, and the strong stench of wet paint hit her nostrils.
A woman in a long flowered dress hurried forward carrying a paintbrush. “Hello, hello.” She waved. “Excuse the mess. I’m renovating… again.” She laughed with little snorts, stumbling in a little circle, defying her years. She couldn’t be younger than forty. “Inside joke, man, sorry. What groovieness can I help you find? I know where everything is.” She gestured at the piles of castoff merchandise strewn about.
If not for the goose bumps on her goose bumps, Daelin would have left. “A winter coat? Earl Blacke mentioned you might have some.”
“Oh man! What a tragedy about him, huh?” She wore her amber hair in two braids, tied with twine and decorated with plastic flowers.
Tragedy? What had happened to Earl? Daelin clutched at her knotting stomach. “What do you mean?”
“There was a murder last night. Umm, wow. Didn’t you hear?” She set the paintbrush down on a plate that had been used for the purpose before. Bracelets covered her arms, clinking with her simple movements.
“In Settler?” Violent crime wasn’t what Daelin expected to hear. She didn’t know what she had expected, but not murder.
The thrift store woman leaned in closer, whispering in a conspiratorial tone. “Yeah, they’re saying Earl Blacke killed Susan Leeds. Took her head plum off, man. Only thing is…,” she glanced at the shadows then wet her lips, “her head is missing.” The soft scent of melon accompanied her words.
Earl had murdered somebody? Daelin gulped, getting a lungful of paint fumes. Right, the paint. The fumes had to be messing with her mind. “Are you serious?”
“Yup, it’s as true as my paint is peach. Do you think peach is a serene enough color? I dig serenity.”
Gray spackled bins with drips of peach paint marring their grainy surfaces had been jammed together in the middle of the shop. They held pails of paint in all shades, no longer having room for the merchandise gracing the floors. The bins and shelves came from an era long before Daelin breathed life. Most of Settler had been built in decades long forgotten by the rest of the civilized world, the interiors as suspended in time as the exteriors. The goods scattered on the floor had the same issue, rejected by modern times, adding to the jumble scrambling Daelin’s head. She tripped over a cluster of glass grapes and groped for the nearest wall, smearing her palm with paint. She winced, wiping at it with her other hand.
“Let me get you a cloth.” The thrift store woman disappeared then reappeared with a wet towel, handing it to Daelin. “I’m Starphish by the way. You’re Charming’s sister, right?”
“Umm, yeah.” Daelin had spent the whole day with Earl Blacke yesterday and never suspected him to be a killer. When checking facts for a novel she had once edited, Daelin had interviewed an FBI agent. The agent had stated the most dangerous killers were always the quiet ones, the psychos, the guys you’d never expect. The room spun.
Starphish caught her, guiding Daelin gently down onto the pine board floor. “You OK?”
“I spent the whole afternoon with Mr. Blacke yesterday. That could be me… the dead one without a head.” What had happened to the head? The egg sandwich sat wrong in Daelin’s gut, she gagged.
With a strong grip around Daelin’s waist, Starphish assisted her to the restroom, which reeked more strongly of paint. Daelin heaved her breakfast into the sink, because the toilet was missing. She turned on the faucet, splashing icy water onto her cheeks. “I… I just came in for a coat.”
Starphish used the cloth to swab Daelin’s face. “How about I sit you outside in the clean air and I’ll bring you what coats I have that might fit you? Groovy?”
“Groovy.”
“Sure.” Starphish helped Daelin hobble outside and sat her down on a beanbag chair that leaked white Styrofoam pebbles. “I’m going to fix it later this week. You feeling the bean vibe?”
“No. Just a coat.” The brisk air helped some. Daelin swallowed it as if guzzling water. A parade of coats flashed before her like a bizarre video that had processed wrong. “I don’t have much money.”
“I know where you live. We can come up with a payment plan. This dark green one really suits your coloring. It’s a little big, but if you have a couple of sweaters on underneath, it’s the perfect size. Dig?”
The coat wrapped around Daelin in a toasty hug. Down puffed it out with warmth to her knees, surprisingly long enough. The sleeves too. The fuzzy lining felt as sinful as the fur-fringed hood. This coat had been made for her.
“It’s faux fur, so you don’t have to worry about animal cruelty or anything. Peace for animals, man. Someone spent a lot of money on that beauty. We can testify to it, right? I intend to charge forty dollars, but I always give new customers a special deal. Special for the new lady. Great, huh? How about thirty?”
“I only have forty to my name until I get paid.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put you out, man. How about you pay me five dollars now and the rest on payday? Dig?”
“I can swing that.”
“Groovilicious.”
At the other end of town sirens screamed. The commotion of lights had increased since entering the thrift store. Daelin and Starphish glanced in the direction of the blue and red flashes. Daelin felt sick again and peeled off the new coat. She fanned her hand in front of her face.
“I think we’re the only ones in town not into witnessing the macabre,” Starphish said. She twisted her head from side to side. “What’s with rubbernecking? You know?” She needed to stay out of the paint fumes. “Love to Susan’s soul, though.” She waved a peace sign at the sky. “Beautiful Afterlife to you, lady.”
Daelin peered up into the perfect blue. The brightness stung her eyes with tears. “Who is… was Susan Leeds?”
“She owns Leeds Motel… or did. There’s a job opening, motel manager. You need a job, Dae? Although, it’s not great karma to get one this way. Rumor has it the guests saw a ghost right before the murder. Freaky, huh?”
“Yeah, freaky. Doubt the motel needs another manager. Who’d want to stay there now?” The morning frost gripped her joints, and Daelin shivered. She slipped the green coat on, pulling it tight. She’d been too close to seeing her last day.
hapter 