Whiskey Beach Part 82

She'd burn the sage, cleanse her house. If she felt her house was cleansed, it was cleansed. And once she'd reclaimed her place, she'd get serious about adding a little greenhouse so she could grow her own herbs in bigger quant.i.ties. She'd make her own d.a.m.n smudge sticks, and have fresh herbs year-round for cooking.

Maybe she'd sell them, too. Another enterprise. Create her own potpourri and sachets.

Something to think about.

But for now she did her best to clear her mind, to think only clean, positive thoughts as she lit the sage, held it over an abalone sh.e.l.l for safety and blew out the flame to encourage the smoke. Her home, she thought. The floors, the ceilings, the corners belonged to her.

The process, walking from room to room with the scent of white sage and lavender, calmed her, as did reminding herself what she'd made there, for herself, for others.

Faith, she thought, hope, and the symbols of them forged strength.

Once she'd finished the house, she stepped out onto her little patio, gently waving the smudge stick to send all that hope and faith into the air.

And saw Eli and the dog walking up the beach steps.

It made her feel a little foolish, standing there with her smoking sage as evening settled over the beach, as the man and the happy-faced dog climbed toward her.

To compensate, she stuck the smudge stick in the river rocks around her little Zen fountain where it would burn away naturally and safely.

"What a handsome couple." Smile in place, she walked over to greet them. "And a nice surprise. I just got home a few minutes ago."

"What're you doing?"

"Oh." She glanced as he did at the smudge stick. "Just a little homey ritual. Kind of a spring cleaning."

"Burning sage? That's a ward-off-evil-spirits kind of thing."

"I think of it as more a clearing out negativity. Did your family get off all right this morning?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry I couldn't stay to see them off. Busy day for me."

Something wrong, she thought, or something not quite right. All she wanted at that moment was quiet, peace and-a rarity for her-solitude. "I still have a lot to catch up on," she continued. "Why don't I stop by in the morning before my cla.s.s, get your shopping list? I can pick up what you need before I come back to do the house."

"What I need is for you to tell me why I had to hear from Mike that someone put a gun in your house, that the police were here searching. That's what I need."

"I didn't want to bring it up with your family here. I called the police," she added.

"But not me. You didn't call me, or tell me."

"Eli, there wasn't anything you could do, and with a houseful of people-"

"That's bulls.h.i.+t."

Her hackles tingled. The comfort she'd found from the ritual struck against his anger, her own, flint against steel.

"It's not, and there was no point in me walking into Bluff House on Sat.u.r.day announcing I'd just found a murder weapon in my incense box and had cops tromping all over my house."

"There was every point in telling me. Or there d.a.m.n sure should have been."

"Well, I don't agree. And it was my problem, my decision."

"Your problem?" Insult punched through temper. "That's how it is? You can come into my place with pots of soup, ma.s.sage tables, Jesus, dogs. You can walk in, in the middle of the night, to close a f.u.c.king window and fight off an a.s.sault, but when somebody plants a gun on you, tries to implicate you in a murder, it's your problem? A murder most likely connected to me. But that's none of my business?"

"I didn't say that." Even to her own ears the defense sounded weak. "I didn't mean that."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't want to dump all this on you and your family."

"You're in this because you're involved with me. And you pushed and wheedled your way in."

"Pushed and wheedled?" Her own insult bloomed so bright and hot, she whirled away to try to capture some of the smoke, and the calm, then immediately decided she'd have needed a smudge stick the size of Whiskey Beach Light to manage it. "Wheedled?"

"d.a.m.n right you did, from the minute I came back here. Now you're in, and you don't want to dump? You don't give anybody else a chance to dump. You're there with the shovel before the first clod hits the ground. But when it falls on you, you don't trust me enough to help."

"G.o.d. G.o.d! It isn't about trust. It's about timing."

"If that were true, you'd have found the time to tell me. You found it to tell Maureen."

"She was-"

"Instead of finding the time, you're up here lighting sage on fire and waving around a smoking stick."

"Don't make fun of my process."

"I don't care if you burn a field of sage or sacrifice a chicken. I care you didn't tell me you were in trouble."

"I'm not in trouble. The police know it wasn't my gun. I called Vinnie the minute I found it."

"But not me."

"No." She sighed, wondering how trying to do the right thing could go so horribly wrong. "I didn't."

"My family left this morning, but you didn't tell me. You weren't going to tell me now."

"I needed to wave my smoking stick around and get comfortable in my house again. It's getting cold. I want to go in."

"Fine. Go in and pack a bag."

"Eli, I just want to be alone and quiet."

"You can be alone and quiet at Bluff House. It's a big place. You're not staying here by yourself until this whole G.o.dd.a.m.n mess is over."

"This is my house." Her eyes stung, and she wished she could blame it on the thinning, sluggish smoke. "I'm not letting some b.a.s.t.a.r.d drive me out of my house."

"Then we'll bunk here."