Secrets and Swindles

By Rebecca Marinez and sue viders

King Rupert of Rovatha would not know Del Hobin, the tower clock keeper in Wineriver, if he stumbled over him. Del is one of Rupert's faceless subjects in a village starving because of Rupert's demands to support his war against a rival king. Del and his wife lost a son to the senseless war. Now their daughter, Myla, is joining a rebel band in an effort to overthrow both kings. The forest Elves usually avoids contact with the less advanced humans, but the war is destroying their homes, too. It forces the fairy folk to take part in defense of the land. Their methods are different from those of the humans, but Del Hobin holds a secret that rivals even Elfin magic. The tower clock has a strange ability that could put an end to the war, but Del is reluctant to use it for fear of the unknown consequences. Until now Del's responsibility was to keep the clock's secret. The war and the appearance of Mick, an arrogant Elf, make it impossible. Leaving him to choose between accepting advice from a being he never knew existed or risk using Wineriver's Clock on his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091111

Book preview

Dedication

(Sue) To my husband who gives me the time and place to write, and my daughter Debbie who helped me with some of my characters

(Becky) To my family: Lillie, Richard, John, and my sister-in-law Janet, who continue to support me in my writing endeavors.

One

The silver bell over the heavy glass front door jingled as Olivia Nicholson poured her first cup of coffee. A customer already? It was barely nine. Who in the world would be shopping for dresses or high fashion accessories this early in the morning? It was Monday; the week was just beginning. She'd barely had time to unlock the front door and set the coffee machine to brewing its first pot. Water still dripped through the filter, though she’d paused it long enough to pour her first cup.

As she contemplated the thought of the early visitor, the wailing of a siren screamed in the distance. Olivia sighed. Somehow, she knew it was going to be one of those busy, crazy days. Sirens and early customers.

Mom? Are you here? The tentative voice from the open door belonged to Bobby Garcia, her sister’s son. Maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Good morning, Bobby. She's not here yet, Olivia called out. Carrying her coffee, she smiled at her nephew as she stepped out of the backroom. Bobby had been a great kid, and now, he was an art teacher at the local community college. He and his wife, Annabel, soon would be giving her sister another grandchild. Josephine had done a great job of raising Bobby, while the young man’s father had given him his great looks.

Bobby stood with the glass door slightly open, allowing a gust of cold October wind to blow inside. She motioned for him to enter.

Come in! That wind is really blowing this morning. Your mom hasn’t arrived yet.

She’s not here? His tanned face registered surprise. Do you think she might have stopped by the art store? She’s not home. I called the condo several times, but I know that when she’s painting, she turns off her call ringer, so I stopped there first. Bobby went all the way into the store and laid a small flat package on the counter.

Maybe she stopped off for sweet rolls at Marsha's down the street, Olivia said, sipping her coffee. She held up her mug. Would you like a cup of coffee? You look a bit chilly. She glanced beyond him to the gloomy day outside the shop windows. It looks like we might get the first measurable snow of winter today if the temperature keeps dropping.

No time right now. I'm on my way to teach my first class, but I wanted to show her something .... He hesitated, looking around as though his mother might suddenly appear. With a sigh, he turned back to Olivia. Tell her to give me a call when she comes in. I want her to see what’s in this package, but please, tell her not to open it until I talk to her.

Maybe she's on the road and can't answer, Olivia offered.

He shifted, jamming a hand in the pocket of his jeans, a worried look on his tanned face. He sighed, a strand of his long dark hair flying around his shoulder. She was dying to ask him what was in the parcel, but instead, she asked, How was everything at the art conference? I’ve heard Hawaii is wonderful this time of year.

The conference was great, but, he paused and pointed to the package, that’s really what I need to discuss with her. Please tell her I'll be back later.

Is everything okay? Olivia asked. It was rare that Bobby looked so anxious. Normally, he would be bubbling over about this sort of special trip. He was always stopping by with news about new art projects either he or his equally artistic wife might be working on, and he had been looking forward to his first trip to Hawaii. Today, he appeared serious, despite his new tan. A trip to Maui should have left him calm and relaxed, but there appeared to be a rigid tautness to his muscular body. What could he have on his mind that was so serious? She looked again at the paper-wrapped parcel.

What was in the package?

He nodded and attempted a small smile. We’ll have a luau at the house this weekend and show you all the pictures we took. We had a great time and brought back some presents for you both. We even have a couple of additions for the store coming, too.

You are too sweet, Olivia said with a laugh, but Bobby’s phone suddenly began to buzz, and he pulled it from a pocket, glanced at the screen, and wandered toward the back of the store to take the call.

Behind her, the back door to the shop opened, bringing in another gust of wind. Olivia sighed as she grabbed papers on the counter that had begun to flutter. Fall seems to be having a hard time making up its mind which way to go.

Ginny Flores, her salesclerk, peered around the corner from the back of the store. She entered and held up an oversized box and several smaller packages.

Good morning. Sorry I’m late, my neighbor drove me in and let me out at the post office, so I picked up the mail. She dumped several letters and two large boxes on the counter and continued through the neat rows of sweaters and cotton blouses to the front of the store as more sirens sounded. She peered out the front window as an ambulance rolled by with its lights flashing. Goodness, that siren is loud. Where do you think they’re going?

Who knows? They’re a noisy bunch, and that’s the second one that’s gone by this morning. Where they’re headed, I don’t know. Thanks for picking up the mail, Ginny."

They’ve been coming through town? I heard them when I got up, but I thought maybe they were over on the highway. She leaned forward to look out the window. That one is going right through town. I wonder...."

I have no idea what’s going on. As she looked up, Olivia got a better view of Ginny, and it only heightened her distress at the young woman’s appearance. Ginny’s thin face appeared pale and haggard. Her blue eyes were bloodshot. She still wore the same gray wool skirt she had been wearing the previous day, something the fashion-conscious clerk never did. Her slight body was taut, and her pale hands shook as though she’d already drunk too much coffee.

Are you all right? she asked.

Her clerk's cheeks were often pink from too much make-up, but not today. The absence of eyeshadow and mascara was unusual. Ginny’s lipstick, usually so bright and perfect, was missing. The ashen face looked unhappy and tense. She bore the signs of someone who might have been crying or had not slept enough. Even through tough times with a nasty husband, Ginny had never looked this tense or unkempt.

Ginny breathed out a deep sigh and began sorting rows of skirts, though they should already be in proper size and order. Carl didn't come home last night. He didn't even call, and he hasn’t answered his phone. He’s been doing this more and more lately—he turns it off so I don’t keep calling him when he’s out. I don’t know what’s going on. He barely talks to me anymore.

Olivia held her tongue and tightened her lips in disgust. Carl had been known to not come home at night from time to time, but he usually called with an excuse. Inwardly, she debated whether to finally tell Ginny the truth—that Carl, her bully of a no-good husband, was an alcoholic and probably a philanderer as well. He’d had several run-ins with local police and even served a year in jail for drunk driving, and Olivia and her sister had seen him out with other women on more than one occasion. But as usual, she held tight to her thoughts. She had often wondered how Ginny, who had been married to that clod for 10 years, could not know he still drank, after promising to give it up after his stint in jail. It seemed impossible for her not to know. Once Olivia had even seen him being picked up in a car by a strange woman. Perhaps she should have warned Ginny that he might be cheating as well.

Olivia had decided some time ago that some people just either didn’t want to know the truth or, if they knew it, ignored it. Maybe that’s what Ginny had to do to stay married. Although, in Olivia’s mind, she’d have divorced Carl years ago, just like she divorced her own husband, Len, who had a real problem with chasing women. Sometimes it was better to toss in the towel to preserve one’s sanity. Len was on his fourth wife, while Olivia remained happily single.

Another siren sounded and pulled Olivia from her reverie. Unlike the other sirens, this one sounded like it was coming from the other direction.

Wow, Olivia said, her heartbeat kicking up a notch. She walked over to the window, but she couldn’t see anything. They do seem closer. I wonder what's happening. Maybe I’d better call Jo and make certain she's okay. She hadn’t worried earlier, since the sirens were going past the shop, away from town and into the foothills leading to the mountains. She and Jo shared a condo only a couple of blocks away, but now the noise seemed to be headed this way.

Bobby wandered back toward the front of the store with his index finger raised. He was holding his phone to his ear. His formerly pleasant voice sounded irritated. Mom? Where are you?

Right here. Josephine Garcia swept into the shop through the back door accompanied by a gust of wind, her long colorful skirt swirling around her. She held her phone in one hand and a pastry box in the other. Bobby, sweetie, I’m sorry. I’ve been in the car in heavy traffic and couldn’t answer, but no matter, I’m here. She quickly put away her phone and placed the large box on the counter and hugged her son.

Thanks for texting me when you got home last night, but I’m so glad to see you are back. I’ve missed you like crazy! She drew back and studied him, saying in a motherly tone, That’s a great tan, but you need a haircut, or least put that wonderful black hair into a ponytail. She tugged at his hair and laughed at the result. No, not that, a man bun would work. Would give you the look of a professor who’s also a professional artist.

Mom, stop. Bobby leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

Jo, you have to stop bringing these delicious treats. Olivia opened the box and helped herself. You know what the doctor said about these things. They simply do not help either of us lose weight.

Well, you don’t have to worry, no matter what you eat, you stay slim. As sisters, we should both be slim. Our parents were always fit and trim. Life just isn’t fair. You can eat anything, and I ended up with it all going to my rear end. Jo patted her generous hips. While both she and Olivia had stood at five and a half feet tall since high school, only Jo had been prone to putting on additional weight. I can just look at a sweet roll and another pound appears. She turned and offered Ginny a roll.

No thanks, I’m not very hungry. Ginny was still at the front window, peering out at the street. Look, here comes a police car, and he doesn’t have a siren screaming. No flashing lights either. She pointed out the window. It’s parking right out front. Where could he be going? None of the other stores are open yet.

An older officer slammed the car’s door and walked directly to their door, pushing it open. Good morning, ladies...and sir, he said, glancing around the shop. I’m looking for Ginny Flores.

Olivia traded a frightened glance with her sister before both focused their eyes on Ginny.

I’m here, Ginny said in a scratchy, barely audible voice as she stepped forward, her face deadly pale.

He nodded toward her. Ma’am, there’s been an accident. I need you to please come with me.

What! Ginny’s voice caught. She sounded like she was strangling. An accident? Ginny turned to Olivia and grasped her arm, squeezing it. It’s Carl, I know it. Has something happened to him?

Olivia wasn’t certain how Ginny might know that since the officer had said nothing as he waited for her to gather her purse and put on her coat. Ginny fumbled with the coat, and Olivia reached over and helped her get it on. She hugged her tightly.

Ginny, hon, let me know if I can do anything. Are you certain you don’t want me or Jo to go with you?

Ginny drew in a deep breath. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you later and let you know what this is all about or if I can come back to work.

Olivia patted her shoulder. Don’t worry about us, hon, and call me any time or if you need anything. The three watched in silence as the officer escorted Ginny out the front door and into the front seat of his car. She waved back at the store as the car pulled away. For a few seconds, everyone in the store stayed silent. As the car backed up and sped away, they exchanged worried glances. Olivia reached over to lift her cup of coffee, surprised when her hand began to quiver. As she lifted the cup, she realized she was unable to hold it without spilling the coffee. She put it down immediately, clasping her hands together. Damn, that was happening more frequently. She didn’t want to frighten her sister by admitting the problem so she simply said, Poor Ginny, I wonder what happened? Her damn husband is an alcoholic and a drunk.

Jo walked over, put her arm around Olivia and gave her a quick hug. She’ll be okay. Underneath all her worrying, she is a strong person.

Olivia nodded and finally managed to take a quick gulp of coffee. The hot liquid felt good on her dry throat. First the sirens, then Bobby’s gift for his mother, now this. It wasn’t shaping up to be a good day.

JO WATCHED HER SISTER’S tense face as Olivia sipped her coffee in the wake of Ginny leaving. She knew how much Olivia worried about everyone around them. Even as a child she had been the one to point out fears or obstacles, even if she could be more daring at times.

It has to be that god-awful husband of Ginny’s, Jo said with a sigh. He probably got into some sort of trouble. She paused, looking from Olivia to Bobby.

Bobby nodded in agreement. Everyone except poor Ginny knows he’s a drunk, he said coldly. I see him going into the Silver Slipper all the time, and he drives like a maniac in that souped-up car of his. I’d be willing to bet he’s in jail or had an accident. It’s probably what those sirens were all about this morning.

Olivia turned to glance back out the window again, shivering slightly. All these roads along the foothills can be dangerous at night. I don’t like driving them after dark even when I’m sober, and you’re right, he does drive too fast.

He could have gone over that steep cliff on that sharp curve just outside of town. It comes up on you awfully fast, and it’s out that direction. Jo’s gaze remained fixed on the front window, though she couldn’t see beyond the corner of the parking lot. She let out a heavy sigh. You know, there have been several accidents there. Remember Randy Epstein when we were in high school? And those guardrails are not very well marked. You can barely see them at night. But what the hell would he have been doing driving that direction anyway?

I don’t know, Jo, but my guess would be he was taking the old shortcut to that new liquor store that just opened up on the hill, Olivia suggested. He’s bounced checks just about every place in town from what I hear, so he probably couldn’t get credit anywhere else.

Right. I know the place, Aunt Olivia, Bobby said with a nod. It’s right by the college. I’ve been hearing that some folks are having a fit that the town council okayed their petition. The college fought against it, but you know the mayor. She wants all the tax money she can get. Bobby moved over to the counter and picked up his package. Speaking of the college, ladies, I better get going if I want to get to class on time. My student intern was only going to be there for a week while I went to the conference, so I need to catch up. If the accident was up that way, traffic is going to be a mess. Mom, I have to leave, but here’s a little something that I found in Hawaii. He held out the package.

Bobby, how sweet, but you didn’t have to get me anything. Jo felt a small rush of pleasure as she picked up the package, wondering what could be inside, though his grim look slightly disturbed her. He didn’t appear pleased by the gift. Still, just the idea of her son thinking of her while he was busy with work and pleasure lessened some of the tension she had been feeling since first hearing the sirens that morning, and then having to deal with police coming to get Ginny. She began undoing the string, but immediately ran into a knot. Who the dickens wrapped this?

Sorry, Bobby said, his face tightening even more.

You’re like a kid at Christmas time. Olivia laughed, as her sister struggled to untangle the cord.

Her laugh only made Jo more frustrated as she pulled on a knot making the cord tighter. Damn it, she said through gritted teeth, Where are the scissors, Olivia?

Olivia opened a drawer under the counter and found a pair, handing them to Jo.

She cut the string, and quickly unwrapped the flat package. Inside she found an art print of a familiar mountain scene, Colorado’s Maroon Bells. She smiled and started to thank him and then stopped. She had often painted landscapes of this same setting. The dark purple twin peaks with touches of lingering snow hovered majestically over a basin of golden aspen with the entire scene reflected in the clear still lake below. It was a popular subject for artists and photographers. Then she looked at the picture again, closer this time, and her heart began to thud.

What in the world? Holding it up to the light, Jo frowned as her pulse rate quickened even more. It wasn’t just a painted picture of the familiar location. It looked exactly like the piece she had painted when she and Olivia visited Aspen the previous summer.

Studying the print more closely, she noted the shadows cast by the mountains, and then zeroed in on the flowers in the foreground. Her fingers began to shake as her face grew warm from anger.

"Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute! This looks just like my painting of the Maroon Bells. She held it up for the others to view. See that little brush stroke there? See the way I specifically made these flowers look like they were blowing? How this one is kind of covering the other? I worked to get this look just right." Her breath was coming faster now, as though she had been running a race.

She turned to her son, the shock still racing through her. Bobby, where did you get this?

His face was taut, his jaw rigid. So I was right, he said, emitting a deep breath. "I felt the same way when I saw it. It caught my eye, and I bought it just to show you how someone else painted a picture like yours. Then I started studying it and I realized it wasn’t just like yours. It was yours. I remembered how proud you were when you showed me what you’d done. That’s what grabbed me. It not only had that same movement you’d mentioned, but the flowers looked exactly the same."

She turned the print around, checking to see if there were any marks on the backside or perhaps a signature or credit. All she could see was a scribbled number ten.

There’s nothing more there but that number, Mom. I looked carefully. That’s why I brought it back to show it to you. So I’m right? he repeated. Someone appears to be stealing your artwork and turning it into prints? That thing was selling for ten bucks at my friend’s tee-shirt store.

Jo drew a sharp breath, fighting to calm her rattled emotions. At a tee-shirt store? She searched Bobby’s troubled face. What in the world would it be doing there? She waved the print with a shaky hand, her voice growing higher as she felt like she was strangling. In this form? An eight-by-ten print? I’ve never given anyone permission to make prints of my paintings! Who sold this to you?

He patted her hand on the counter. Mom, you remember Nate, my buddy from high school who always wanted to be a surfer? Well, since we have no waves except for the little ones in the mountain lakes, he decided to move to Hawaii. He’s been there for ten years. I heard that he had opened up a souvenir shop so while I was at the conference, I looked him up.

Jo remembered many of her son’s friends from high school, since most of them were still living nearby or had moved to Denver and visited frequently, but she particularly recalled Nate. He had been among the most outgoing of Bobby’s friends and he was constantly wearing surf-themed tee-shirts or colorful Hawaiian shirts. Right, he was a nice boy. So he finally made it to Hawaii? I remember that was his dream.

Yes, he took up surfing, made some money and decided to open up a small shop where he offers lessons and sells souvenirs. I stopped in to see him, and he was showing me around his shop when I saw this. I was shocked as hell. At first, I thought it was just another painting of the same view, and as I said, I remembered your painting. When I really studied it, I knew it was yours. When I asked him where he got it, he said this gal came in with a boatload of prints and wanted to know if he wanted to carry a few in his shop.

And....

Well, being from Colorado, he thought they made a nice contrast to his other merchandise. He says they sell fairly well. Lately, he’s been framing them, so he doubles the price. He told me he’s making a nice profit.

"But...but this is my painting. Jo ran her hands over the print again, before stopping to study it more closely. It’s a fairly good print, I must say. But how in the world.... She shook her head in disbelief. This is crazy. I’ve never had any prints made from this painting. As far as I know, it’s still hanging in Jacob’s gallery." She waved her arm toward the window to the building across the street that housed Jacob’s Fine Art Gallery.

He shrugged. Have you checked with Jacob lately? Maybe he gave someone permission to take pictures of it or someone bought it and made copies.

Her head jerked toward the small shopping mall across the street. The parking lot was empty except for several commercial trucks parked outside one of the vacant shops in the middle of the mini mall. The windows of Jacob’s gallery were still dark. Jacob either hadn’t arrived for the morning or he hadn’t opened the gallery. She hadn’t been inside his shop for at least a month. Could he have sold it and then someone turned it into prints? But that was still wrong. It was her work! She turned to her sister.

Olivia, it’s still there, isn’t it? He had it in the window a couple of weeks ago.

Olivia nodded. She had been silent during their conversation as she sorted through the mail, but she walked over and studied the print over her sister’s shoulder. My gosh, how did anyone think they could get away with something so blatant? I recognize your style, Jo. That’s your picture.

Jo blew