ground.
What on earth? Fireflies in California? Unlikely.
Slowly, I approached the birdbath I’d righted earlier. The green and red and blue glass of the bowl glowed faintly. A soft rustling rose around me, the whisper of wordless secrets, a sigh of invitation. The ground beneath the birdbath twinkled. As I grew near, the sparks flew into the air.
Apparently not impossible,
I thought, watching the glowing insects disperse into the top of the oak tree and beyond.
But nothing I’d ever seen before. Fireflies loved humidity. Poppyville had its underground springs, but humid, it wasn’t.
“The moss below the birdbath is usually damp,” I said to Dash. “Maybe that drew them. But from where?”
He tipped his foxy head to the side.
My cell phone rang. I reached into my pocket and thumbed it off without looking, while I watched the tiny flickering lightning bugs scatter farther and farther apart.
Until they disappeared altogether.
In the darkness, a mysterious scent rose from the ground like tule fog, cool against my skin, caressing my cheek. I swayed on my feet, drinking its heady sweetness, inhaling so deeply I felt dizziness wash over me.
My eyes popped open, and I stumbled, barely managing to catch myself. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. And then the strange perfume faded. But not entirely this time. A vestige of it clung to me, soaked in through my pores to reside in my very core.
I made my way to the porch and reached for my keys.It felt as if I was moving in slow motion. Then my cell chirped, alerting me to a text message, and the feeling faded.
Inside, I flipped on the light and checked my phone. Both the call and the text had been from my brother, Colby.
Tried to call just now, but no answer. You out on the town?
I called him back. He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, sis!”
“Hey, yourself. Where are you calling from this time?” Colby lived in a Westfalia van and wandered the U.S.—and sometimes Canada—with his array of horseshoeing implements, knife sharpeners, and handyman tools to support him. It was the ultimate rebellion against a brief career as an investment banker, which had not suited him in the least. I adored Colby, and in the last four years since he’d taken up the freewheeling, itinerant lifestyle, he’d never sounded happier. I missed him like crazy, though.
“I’m in Crested Butte,” he said. “You on a date?”
“Why is everyone so interested in my love life all of a sudden?”
“Sorry!” A pause. “What do you mean,
everyone
?”
“Never mind. Where’s Crested Butte?” I imagined him in his camper van, a home tinier even than my own. He’d be wearing stained jeans, a plaid shirt, and a gimme capfrom some random feed store, and had probably grown a beard by now.
“Colorado,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe how pretty it is. You should come visit.”
“I’d love to, believe me. But you know I can’t leave the shop.”
“You sound grumpy, Ellie.”
“Well, it’s been one heck of a crazy day.” I sighed before I could stop myself.
I settled in on my sofa and thumbed on the jazz station with the stereo remote. Dash padded to his food dish, and the sound of crunching joined the low music.
“Does it have anything to do with finding Josie Overland dead this morning?”
I sat up. “What? How on earth did you know about that?”
“Got a call from the cops, clear out here in the Rocky Mountains.”
My forehead wrinkled. “They called you about Josie?”
“They called me about
you
.”
Dang it.
“About you and Harris, specifically. How you got along, if you ever talked about wanting to get back together with him, were you the jealous type. Stuff like that.”
“What did you tell them?” I sat up straighter, feeling the blood rising in my face.
“I said that I thought you’d established a new life after the divorce. That you were happier without Harris thanwith him. That I wasn’t aware of a jealous bone in your
What on earth? Fireflies in California? Unlikely.
Slowly, I approached the birdbath I’d righted earlier. The green and red and blue glass of the bowl glowed faintly. A soft rustling rose around me, the whisper of wordless secrets, a sigh of invitation. The ground beneath the birdbath twinkled. As I grew near, the sparks flew into the air.
Apparently not impossible,
I thought, watching the glowing insects disperse into the top of the oak tree and beyond.
But nothing I’d ever seen before. Fireflies loved humidity. Poppyville had its underground springs, but humid, it wasn’t.
“The moss below the birdbath is usually damp,” I said to Dash. “Maybe that drew them. But from where?”
He tipped his foxy head to the side.
My cell phone rang. I reached into my pocket and thumbed it off without looking, while I watched the tiny flickering lightning bugs scatter farther and farther apart.
Until they disappeared altogether.
In the darkness, a mysterious scent rose from the ground like tule fog, cool against my skin, caressing my cheek. I swayed on my feet, drinking its heady sweetness, inhaling so deeply I felt dizziness wash over me.
My eyes popped open, and I stumbled, barely managing to catch myself. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. And then the strange perfume faded. But not entirely this time. A vestige of it clung to me, soaked in through my pores to reside in my very core.
I made my way to the porch and reached for my keys.It felt as if I was moving in slow motion. Then my cell chirped, alerting me to a text message, and the feeling faded.
Inside, I flipped on the light and checked my phone. Both the call and the text had been from my brother, Colby.
Tried to call just now, but no answer. You out on the town?
I called him back. He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, sis!”
“Hey, yourself. Where are you calling from this time?” Colby lived in a Westfalia van and wandered the U.S.—and sometimes Canada—with his array of horseshoeing implements, knife sharpeners, and handyman tools to support him. It was the ultimate rebellion against a brief career as an investment banker, which had not suited him in the least. I adored Colby, and in the last four years since he’d taken up the freewheeling, itinerant lifestyle, he’d never sounded happier. I missed him like crazy, though.
“I’m in Crested Butte,” he said. “You on a date?”
“Why is everyone so interested in my love life all of a sudden?”
“Sorry!” A pause. “What do you mean,
everyone
?”
“Never mind. Where’s Crested Butte?” I imagined him in his camper van, a home tinier even than my own. He’d be wearing stained jeans, a plaid shirt, and a gimme capfrom some random feed store, and had probably grown a beard by now.
“Colorado,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe how pretty it is. You should come visit.”
“I’d love to, believe me. But you know I can’t leave the shop.”
“You sound grumpy, Ellie.”
“Well, it’s been one heck of a crazy day.” I sighed before I could stop myself.
I settled in on my sofa and thumbed on the jazz station with the stereo remote. Dash padded to his food dish, and the sound of crunching joined the low music.
“Does it have anything to do with finding Josie Overland dead this morning?”
I sat up. “What? How on earth did you know about that?”
“Got a call from the cops, clear out here in the Rocky Mountains.”
My forehead wrinkled. “They called you about Josie?”
“They called me about
you
.”
Dang it.
“About you and Harris, specifically. How you got along, if you ever talked about wanting to get back together with him, were you the jealous type. Stuff like that.”
“What did you tell them?” I sat up straighter, feeling the blood rising in my face.
“I said that I thought you’d established a new life after the divorce. That you were happier without Harris thanwith him. That I wasn’t aware of a jealous bone in your
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