The Rifters by M. Pax

Chapter 13

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Chapter 13

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.