He dangles it inches from my face, and my hand trembles when I close it around the stones. I’m instantly assaulted by images, even before I can close my eyes. I turn my back to the man and lean into the counter. Lynn shifts at my side but doesn’t touch me. She has seen me do this most of her life. Never touch me while I’m reading an object.
I hold the necklace to my chest, and in an instant, I’m falling backward, falling, falling, arms extended, body stiff, bracing for impact. My hair flowing around my face—no, not my hair. Hers. The owner of the necklace. She’s beautiful, around my age. Long brown hair with hot pink streaks. Huge amber eyes. A beauty mark at the corner of one eye. Then she’s being dragged across the ground, a masculine hand around an ankle. Her emotions flow through me like a whitewater river. Fast and chaotic. She’s grasping at . . . anything, trying to get a hold, trying to stop him, but the only things under her hands are dirt and leaves. Her clothes are dirty, bloody, and tattered. Black slacks, white blouse, a pink floral scarf.
Cold water splashes on her face. She gasps, then moans in pain. Ropes around her chest. She’s tied to a chair. A gray metal chair. She tries to swallow. It hurts. She’s thirsty, so thirsty. And terrified. The man walks around her. Taunts. Grabs at her hair and pulls her head back. She sobs. He slaps her. A glint of silver. He sees the necklace. Tugs at the chain and looks at the stones. Pulls it over her head gently so as not to break it. The stones look small in his hand. There’s a small, jagged scar on his wrist.
The girl whimpers. He wraps the necklace around his palm twice. His hands go around her neck and squeeze. The necklace dangles along his wrist. The metal digs into her skin. She gasps and thrashes, her eyes widen, blood vessels break in the sclera, and her mouth gaps open as she tries to suck air that will never fill her lungs again. Then nothing. Darkness fills my vision.
She doesn’t come back this time. I know she’s dead. This poor girl was murdered, and the necklace was hers.
When I open my eyes, I’m sitting on the floor, back against the counter, Lynn kneeling in front of me and rubbing my arms. My heart thunders so loud it pulses in my ears. I’m shaking, hands still clasped around the necklace and pressed to my chest. The taste of salt on my lips. My face wet with tears.
Lynn digs a tissue from her purse and wipes my face. The man peers from the other side of the counter, his shadow momentarily blocking the overhead lights. “Is she okay?”
“Yes. It’s a dizzy spell. She has them sometimes.” Thankfully, Lynn is talking because I’m not sure I could manage it just now. I take a deep breath and count to seven, exhale and count to seven again. Do it two more times, the way Grandma taught me. The shaking recedes. My vision clears, and my heart slows down to a normal pace. I move my hands from my chest, open them, flex my fingers, and allow the silver chain to slide, dangle from a thumb—the imprint of the stones against my palm—a temporary brand.
“Help me up?”
Lynn holds my elbow and helps me to stand, keeping both hands on me and making sure I'm steady on my feet. Her always happy and smiling expression is gone.
I turn to the counter, the necklace back in my palm. “How much?” As terrible as the images were, I can’t part with this. I need to find out more. I need to help her, somehow.
The glint of greed waned. The man seems more worried than calculating now.
“How about a hundred bucks for everything?” He points at the frame and my hand.
“That works.” I open my purse and fish a crisp bill from my wallet.
“Want me to wrap it?”
I don’t want to part with it, not for a second. I don’t want to have his touch taint the impressions. “Do you have a small box?”
“Sure.” He searches under the counter and opens a small navy-blue cardboard jewelry box. I peek at his wrists. No scar. He’s not the killer. I don’t give him the necklace but grab the box instead. Set the chain inside, arrange the stones, and close the lid. The top is too loose, but I don’t say anything. I want to get out of here.
Lynn grabs the bag with the frame and the receipt. We walk to the door. I stop at the threshold and turn back to him. He’s still eyeing me wearily. “It’s Shattuckite and Larimar.”
“What?” He clearly has no idea what I’m talking about.
“The stones. You said they were lapis lazuli and turquoise. You’re wrong. They’re Shattuckite and Larimar.”
The man glares at me.
“And that Colt 1860 is a replica,” I throw at him as we leave the store.
Chapter2
Avalon
We makeour way back to my car in silence. Lynn’s gaze is on me the entire time. She’s staying close, probably anticipating another fall.
She stops at the driver’s side door. “Maybe I should drive?”
I don’t fight her. My hands still tremble when I dig through my purse, looking for the car fob.
Lynn takes the fob, and I walk around and get in the passenger seat. She turns the ignition, the Porsche Cayenne purrs, and she purrs right along with it.
She caresses the steering wheel like a lover. “I love this car. I want to marry this car and have its babies.”
I click my seat belt on. “Ouch. Little Porsche babies? That’s gonna hurt.”
