wide-open.”
“Not until we know who’s running the show,” Derek said. “You want Emily safe, so we must go slowly. Until we have answers, you cannot be seen outside this house.”
“Nobody’s going to see me if I walk outside. There aren’t any neighbors for a thousand yards in any direction.” Max flopped back in his chair, clutching his wineglass. “And I can see from upstairs if any cars come up or down the hill. I think I’m pretty safe up here.”
“Maybe for a while,” I said. “But Solomon and Angelica both know me. They know my sister Savannah. They know you were friends with my brothers. So there’s a clear connection from my family to you. If they follow any of us, they’ll eventually wind up here. And God only knows what they’ll do to you when they find you.”
“Now who’s being paranoid?” Max said.
“It’s not paranoid if they’re really after you.” I laughed without humor. “I don’t want to be shot at again, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“All right, all right,” he said, waving his hands in surrender.
“Thank you.” I smiled briefly. “So Gabriel will go check on Emily tomorrow. And Mom and I made some progress with Crystal Byers and her sister today. We’ll find out tomorrow if Bennie Styles can give us some answers on ammo loading.”
“Sounds like a long shot,” Max said.
“It’s just a way of getting Bennie to talk about the people he knows in the gun community. The Ogunite church has some connections to the Art Institute. He might know someone who knows someone. You know how that works.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Max shook his head stubbornly. “I just have a hard time believing Solomon and Angie are still sitting around thinking about me. It’s been three years. Maybe they’ve moved on.”
“You know they haven’t.” I leaned forward with my elbows on the table and stared hard at Max. “Joe Taylor was killed four days ago. And yesterday someone took a shot at us. They haven’t moved on.”
He let out a slow, heavy breath. “I know. I just…Maybe I should’ve stayed at the farm and fought them on my own turf. Now that I’m here, I can’t do a damn thing. I’ve got too much time on my hands. I’m just sitting around waiting for something to happen.”
“Something will,” Derek said ominously.
“Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.” Max pushed his wineglass back. “Okay, I’ll hang tight. But be sure to check on Emily tomorrow. I’ll feel better knowing she’s safe.”
“Got it covered,” Gabriel said.
In the morning, Derek took off for the city. We’d already decided the night before that he wouldn’t drive back to Dharma tonight and I was sort of okay with that. But he wasn’t.
“I’m coming back tonight,” he said, changing his mind as he pulled the car door open.
I leaned in close to him. “It’s not necessary.”
“As long as Max is in hiding and we don’t know who’s after him, I need to be wherever you are.”
I gazed up at him. “I won’t argue or complain if you want to come back tonight.”
“Good.” He grabbed my sweater and yanked me up against him. “I like a docile woman.”
I laughed. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“Don’t I know it?” He grinned, kissed me thoroughly, then jumped into his car and drove off.
The Dharma farmers’ market was bustling by the time Mom and I arrived. After visiting Max the previous night, I’d decided to actively pursue the Crystal connection with some of the Ogunite members who loaded their own ammunition. I figured that connection would provide us with the fastest route to whoever gave Solomon those hand-loaded bullets-without having to confront the man face-to-face.
“I just hope we don’t have to buy a dehydrator to get information from them,” I whispered to Mom as we approached the Byers sisters’ booth.
“I’ve been using two old window screens to dehydrate my apples,” Mom said. “They still work like a champ after ten years.”
“Yeah, but can they make jewelry?”
“Hey, Brooklyn!” Melody chirped when she saw us.
We greeted them with hugs and congratulations on their new enterprise.
“Your booth is the prettiest one,” Mom gushed.
“I think so, too,” Crystal said, and did a little happy dance in front of us. Then she jutted her chin toward the next booth over. “But don’t say that too loudly. Mary Ellen Prescott over there thinks she’s the cat’s ass with her hair-product line.”
Mary Ellen stood surrounded by hundreds of long swatches of hair that were hanging from the crossbars of the booth. She worked as a manicurist in the Dharma hair salon, which explained her expertise with fake hair.
Mary Ellen was a shameless recruiter for the Church of the True Blood of Ogun, but they kept her on at the salon because she was a dynamite manicurist.
Interesting to know there was dissension among the Ogunite women.
“Is she selling hair?” Mom asked.
“She calls them glamour tails,” Crystal said, pursing her lips. “I just look away.”
Personally, I thought they looked like scalps. Which kind of gave me the heebie-jeebies.
“Try some banana chips,” Melody said, presenting me with a small bowl of dried brown discs.
I’d never been a big fan of dried fruit but I took a few chips and popped them into my mouth. “Mm. Yummy.”
“And if you think they taste good, just look how exciting they are as jewelry!” She flung her hair back to reveal her earrings, tightly overlapping clusters of thin, lacquered banana chips that ruffled and fluttered around her earlobes.
“Unbelievable,” Mom said.
“Stunning,” I whispered. I wasn’t kidding; I was stunned. They were…pretty. Light and flirty and feminine. Very clever. But, come on, they were bananas!
A customer came over and Melody turned to offer her banana treats and advice on fruit dehydration.
Crystal led me and Mom over to her jewelry display. “These rings are my latest creations,” she said, pointing to a display of dried fruit slices affixed to simple silver bands. “They’re made from plums and apples and sweet potatoes. Oh, and this little coral-colored one is made from apricots.”
Some of the wafer-thin slices fluttered straight up like a fan. Others were flat and layered, with ruffled edges. The dried-plum ring looked like a rich, dark red rose with its petals rippling gently in the wind. Many of the rings had the vintage look of a plump fabric rose pinned to a forties-era cocktail dress.
I picked up the plum ring and slipped it carefully onto my finger. It wasn’t my style, but I admired it against my skin. “It’s beautiful, Crystal. Where did you learn to do this?”
“I’ve always made jewelry for me and my sisters,” she admitted, suddenly shy. “My parents aren’t ones for spending money on frivolous ornamentation, so I found ways around them. The dried-fruit designs are my latest experiment.”
“Well, these are really unique. You should make a bundle on them.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I hope so. Enough to pay for my classes, anyway.”
Mom picked up on the conversation as she admired a green-speckled kiwi ring. “Where do you take classes?”
“Over at the Art Institute. I’ve been taking jewelry classes off and on for a few years.”
Crystal got the message and scurried over to the table where a few more customers were lined up to sample the edible dried fruit.
I leaned close to Mom. “This jewelry is amazing, but I’m not sure I’m capable of hanging dried fruit from my ears.”
“I find it strangely compelling,” Mom whispered, and slipped a rose-tinged chunk of desiccated fruit onto her finger.
After a few minutes Crystal turned back to me and Mom and held out a plate piled high with round and twisted
