At day’s end, Walker limped down the mountain with the sheriff, feeling dusty, sweaty, and grim.

“I can keep the details quiet because I don’t have any,” Walker said grumpily. “There’s no newspaper up here, but gossip flies faster than dust in the wind. They’ll know more than I do by morning.”

“Coroner is the only one who can give a report,” the sheriff said with a shrug. “All the rest is speculation. We’ll need to run through our missing persons files.”

Walker had heard the coroner say white, male, age late 30s, early 40s. He knew the file that fit already. He just needed date of death to confirm it. “I’m going back up after supper. The Lucys will be back, rooting around. There could be more graves up there.”

“Can’t pay you overtime,” the sheriff warned. “You’re on your own. It’s not likely there are any more bodies unless you have gang wars you’re not telling me about.”

“As far as I’m aware, they nail each other with insults here, not hammers.”

“How about shovels? Pickaxes?” the sheriff inquired. “You got a war of barn tools going on?” The cadaver’s head had been split from behind, quite possibly with a barn tool.

If he was a man who wept, he’d do so now, but the man Walker feared was up there had taught him not to show weakness. He kept his stoicism. “No barn tool wars that I know, but I’ve only been here since December. Winter is quiet.”

“Doesn’t look like this is recent anyway. We’ll let you know more, when we know it,” the sheriff promised, climbing into his car. “The coroner’s office gets backed up every time he goes fishing, so I can’t say when.”

Walker tipped a finger to his forehead, acknowledging the delay. He hated it, but then, he hated the dirty task he’d assigned himself. He had needed time to recuperate, then get his head straight, and the deputy job in this county he’d been meaning to investigate had conveniently opened. Maybe once he adjusted to the loneliness, he’d be able to go home, pick up the pieces. . .

He wasn’t ready. Davey’s toys still littered the garage. His little bed. . . Walker’s insides ground as if he’d swallowed glass.

With jaw clenched against the pain, he continued to the lodge in the dying sunlight, hoping to snag a sandwich so he could go back up the mountain without delay. Reaching the parking lot near the lodge’s restaurant door, he watched Kurt’s fancy red Mercedes maneuver into a reserved space. Walker waited for the manager to get out so he could hail him, but bit his tongue when a pair of shapely legs followed the opening door on the passenger side. Kurt usually didn’t bring women up here.

Walker frowned as Cass’s guest emerged, standing tall in heels with straps that emphasized her slender ankles and curvaceous calves. She wore a flouncy skirt that hit right below her knee and a top that proved she had cleavage and underwear.

The fool female got around—from looney Lucys in the morning to wealthy Nulls in the evening. What in hell was up with that?

In his usual brusque manner, Kurt led the way up the red carpet where an employee hurried to open the door for him.

Feeling like a dirty grub, Walker decided maybe he would go to the kitchen door to beg food. He didn’t know why it rubbed him the wrong way that Miss Samantha Moon was already on the hook of one of the richest men in town. He ought to wish her well. He barely even knew her.

But he’d seen the shadows in those big blue eyes and knew the female hid secrets. The fact that a body had been uncovered the minute she entered town—was too coincidental.

Yeah, if he was back in the city, he wouldn’t think anything of it. But out here—weird happened. The Lucys would pick up on it soon enough, if they hadn’t already.

Walker sighed in exasperation as he turned the corner for the kitchen door and saw the lean figure propped against the timber façade, presumably doing nothing more than whittling at an oak branch. Harvey never claimed to be one of the Lucys, but he always showed up at inopportune times, in places where he shouldn’t be.

Dressed in black t-shirt, tight black jeans, and black boots, with his thick black hair worn in a leather tie at his nape, Harvey was more carrion crow than Goth, biker, or hippy. He lifted his carving knife in greeting as Walker approached.

“Found what you were looking for?” Harvey asked.

That was one of the weird things about this town. Walker had never told anyone what he was looking for or that he was even looking. He scowled in reply. “No one goes looking for skeletons. You got any idea who it is?”

Harvey shrugged. “No one I know,” he replied, as if he’d identified the remains and they belonged to a stranger. “Town has its secrets though. Daisy is the one who walks between time. She’s your best bet for information.”

Where in hell did he begin questioning that line of thinking? “I need facts, not fantasy,” Walker said wearily. “Let me know when you have some.”

“Facts aren’t my specialty, old boy,” Harvey said with a faint grin. “I’m just a facilitator.” He pried his broad shoulders off the logs and ambled back down the drive.

Walker had some inkling of why a nearly twenty-year old missing persons case had never been solved.

It was difficult to enjoy the delicious dinner while her companion asked questions she couldn’t answer, instead of providing the information he’d promised. Sam smiled and sipped her wine, feeling her head spin slightly. Apparently, she wasn’t accustomed to alcohol.

“Environmental science, yes,” she told him. She’d learned that much in her search of her boxes this afternoon. Samantha Moon had a newly minted masters in environmental science from Brigham Young University. Did that mean she was Mormon? If she didn’t drink or consume drugs, how did she end up like this? She could remember nothing about her university life. Maybe she was running from an enormous student debt.

Kurt cut his steak, speaking as if by rote and not from interest. It was a pity. He was a good-looking, apparently intelligent man. “What does one do with a degree in environmental science?”

Heck if she knew. If she’d had a computer, she could have looked it up. Of course, without passwords, she wouldn’t get far. She’d searched the notebooks and texts from the car and hadn’t found anything useful yet. “Teach, plan—I have a minor in landscape management, so I can design parks with an interest in ecological preservation.”

She’d skimmed enough of the texts to garner a few familiar keywords to fling around. Had she come out here in pursuit of employment? If so, she hadn’t found any paper trail. She needed her email.

“So you’re taking a sabbatical between school and work?” he asked.

That’s what she’d led him to believe anyway. “Cass offered an opportunity I couldn’t refuse. These mountains are so beautiful! And so isolated. I hadn’t realized cell phones wouldn’t work and that Cass would have no computer.”

He gestured over his shoulder. “Use our business office if you need to keep in touch. We keep computers and printers for the guests. I’ll tell the front desk to give you a key card to get in.”

Hope bloomed. Here was reward for her patience. “Thank you! That’s so generous of you. Is there anything I can do in return? I haven’t had a chance to admire your landscaping yet. Perhaps I could look around, make suggestions?” At least knowing her major offered a hint of why she knew about plants and landscaping.

“Knock yourself out,” he said, finishing his wine and looking for a waiter—not as if he needed wine but checked on the efficiency of his employees.

Carrying on a conversation when she knew nothing was tough. Sam admired a painting nearly hidden by tall plants. “I saw a mural in the diner that resembles an earlier version of the one on your wall. The same artist?”

Kennedy wrinkled his brow as if trying to remember and turned to see what she was looking at. He shrugged and watched the waiter fill his glass. “There used to be an artists’ colony here. The whole town is littered with pieces like that. I suppose some day, we need to find out if any of those artists became famous. Although with our luck, it would probably be as an art fraud.”

Sam widened her eyes at the disparagement, but before she could ask questions, he pulled his beeping phone from his pocket and frowned at the screen. “I have a situation I need to handle. Stay and enjoy your dessert. I’ll be back to take you home in a bit.”

Shit, shit, shit, she wanted that key card. “I could wait in the business office,” she suggested quickly.

He nodded in approval. “Good idea. I’ll speak to Derrick on the way out. He’ll have a card waiting.”

He strode off without a look back. So much for making an impression. She’d even shampooed and used a ton of product to tame her hair into something better than a haystack, and he still didn’t notice.

Oh well, she had access to a computer. Too excited to bother with dessert, she finished her meal and hurried to the front desk, wondering what kind of situation required his attention.

The desk clerk didn’t seem concerned, so the place wasn’t on fire at least. He handed her the key, gave her directions, and picked up a ringing phone.

She had no idea if she’d ever been in a hotel, much less a business office. She wasn’t entirely certain she knew how to use a computer, but she figured anyone with a master’s degree must have some knowledge of technology. A master’s degree. She could scarcely comprehend it. She’d feared she’d stolen the car and its contents, but she had a master’s degree! Or the owner of the car did. Whoops.

She hoped she’d know how to use the computer the way she knew how to use a fork and drive a car. Apparently, she had a strong unconscious memory.

The business office was dark and empty. She unlocked the door, flipped a light switch, and settled into a desk chair in front of a monitor.

The hotel’s computer password and user name were printed on a sheet of instructions. Taking a deep breath, she logged in, opened a search engine, and typed in the phone number she’d found in her textbooks.

Brigham Young University came up.

She’d written down the campus phone in her textbook, not her own? What kind of person did that?

One without her own phone? Was she that poor or that invisible?

Hours later, a rap on the window of the business office shook Sam out of her computer search. What time was it? She glanced at the computer clock—going on ten. She turned around and saw a dirty, disheveled Deputy Walker leaning against the glass. At least her alliterative depiction didn’t include dangerous. Beneath his whisker-stubble, his face looked drawn and exhausted, which made him slightly more approachable.

Had Kurt sent a police officer to take her home? Rude.

Feeling better that Samantha Moon didn’t seem to have any missing person or “This person is armed and dangerous” warnings on the internet, she unlocked the door and joined the deputy in the hall. “Are you on duty twenty-four hours?” she asked, more sympathetically than she’d intended.

He shrugged. “They save me a room here for nights when I’m running late. Kurt’s mother just arrived, and they’re having a family wrangle. I can run you home, if you like.”

Charming. She’d been deserted for his mother. A ticket to wealth seemed even less appealing than earlier.

“I’m thinking of storing bicycles all over town,” she said crisply, stalking for the nearest exit. The swish of the skirt against her legs felt odd and sexy. Non-student Sam seemed to like skirts.

She could feel the deputy looking, which made her feel a tad better about being so callously abandoned.

“Getaway vehicles? How about roller blades?” he suggested. “Easier to store. Although either of them in that outfit and without helmets and knee pads is asking for trouble.”

She was tired, frightened, and horribly alone. That was the only excuse she had for the vain thrill that he’d noticed what she wore. “So I need to store my Superwoman costume in telephone booths with the bikes? Maybe I’ll just take up hitchhiking.”

“Don’t recommend it. Small towns come with crazies too.” He opened the door of his tall SUV and assisted her in.

Her hand felt swamped by his rough grip. At the same time, she was reassured by his strength. Hormones played havoc with her swirling emotions. Why on earth did this a scruffy cop strike sparks when the wealthy resort owner didn’t?

She stared at her hands as he climbed in rather than study the profile of the man who might one day lock her up. “Are you free to talk about the grave we saw today?” That was better than—can the police tell that I don’t have an identity?

“Not really,” he admitted. “Not without a coroner’s confirmation. But it’s not one of the settlers as the Kennedys will try to make you believe.”

“So the body is bad news to keep from the tourists?”

“You catch on quick. But it’s old news and shouldn’t cause too much of a stir, unless the Lucys go loco. I don’t suppose you can offer any influence there?” His tone didn’t sound negative, just discouraged.

“Lucys?” The fog was rolling in again, and she couldn’t see his expression in the dashboard light.

He slumped in his seat and steered with one hand. “The local psychics, witches, whatever. I understand the early spiritualists called themselves the Lucent Ladies. It kind of devolved from there.”

“Understandable,” she acknowledged dryly. “So the normals got called Nulls in retaliation. No, I don’t have a bit of influence there. The best I can do is sneak you a pie at Dinah’s when I start working there.”

“That will put you in command central. Try to keep them calm. Feed them lots of Dinah’s pie.” Amusement tinged his voice, until they arrived at the town square. The parking lot was full and all the café’s lights were on, and he turned grim again. “I don’t suppose that means she’s serving hot beignets.”

“Probably not?” she guessed. It appeared to be standing room only inside the small café.

“Mind if we stop? I can understand you’d rather go home, but I either need to go in there and calm the Lucys or run back up and stand guard over that grave.”

“I need to keep walking shoes in my superwoman booth,” she said. “Let’s stop. I’d rather not be dragged out of bed again.”

“I kinda like the gladiator shoes you have on,” he said, parking the truck. “At least they’re not the kind with the spiky heel.”

Feeling daring, Sam swung her gladiator wedge at him as he came around to help her down.

“Don’t tempt a hungry man,” he countered, causing her a visceral thrill as his green gaze took in her leg. “It’s been a damned long day, pardon my language.”

Damn if that hungry look wasn’t a little bit dangerous, but he caught her hand instead of her ankle. “Your mother brought you up right,” she said, hopping down. “Did you grow up around here?”

“Hardly.” Returning to taciturn, Walker put his wide hand at the small of her back and steered her toward the café. Golden light streamed through the gray fog and the aroma of coffee spilled out when he opened the door.

The crowd noise died down at their entrance.

Mariah waved from her perch on the counter. “Kitchen’s closed but you’re welcome to volunteer for the séance. Cass isn’t here to lead it, but Tullah said she’d try.”

“You need to learn not to bring the fuzz,” a male voice called from the corner of the room. Wearing all black, with his hair tied back in a leather thong, seated on a stool and bending over a guitar, the musician looked up long enough to wink.

“I bring a pretty lady and all I get is insults?” her escort asked without rancor. “Shall we leave?”

“Harvey, pipe down,” Mariah scolded. “We’re trying to help the deputy. Tullah, you make the choices. How many of us do you need?”

“May I ask who you’re trying to contact?” Sam asked, surprising herself.

“The spirit polluting the vortex, of course,” Val said from the shadows of the room. “We must send him across the veil so he does no more harm.”

“She means she wants to know who the body belongs to,” Mariah translated. “None of us has been here long enough to know of anyone gone missing in recent times. He’s not a settler, is he?” she asked directly of Walker.

“That’s for the coroner to say,” he replied in a low rumble that reached the entire audience. “If you don’t need us, I think I’ll take the lady home. You’ll scare her back down the mountain with all this hocus pocus.”

“But she’s the reason we’re here,” Daisy protested. “If we don’t consult the spirit and find a murderer, Samantha will die.”