The Good, the Bad, and the Emus(43)

“What’s up?” I asked.

“You can’t believe how exciting this is!” she said. “I believe one of the rocks I found up at the emu ranch today is actually a blue kyanite! Look!”

She held out a book—property, I noticed, of the Riverton Public Library—had she really managed to wangle a library card from Anne in the scant hour she’d spent in the library? Or was she on another of her “information wants to be free” kicks? At least she always returned the books she borrowed without permission.

I focused back on the book page she was pointing to, which showed a photo of several squarish shards of translucent crystal in sort of a faded blue color, like old denim. Making allowances for the fact that her crystal was slightly damp from washing and that one end of it was stuck into a chunk of white quartz, they did look much the same.

“Pretty,” I said. I was about to leave her to her mineralogical studies when suddenly a whole scenario flashed into my mind—what if Cordelia had been murdered because of that pretty little stone in Rose Noire’s hands, that stone and all its brothers and sisters up on Biscuit Mountain? What if someone had discovered that you could mine kyanite stones on the former emu ranch, and had murdered Cordelia to thwart her plan to turn the ranch into a sanctuary? And what if that same someone was afraid Grandfather’s expedition would discover the kyanite and block their plans, and had tried to poison him and Annabel in an attempt to frighten us all away?

Of course, this was only a plausible motive for murder if the stuff was valuable. I’d never heard of kyanite, but then I’d never heard of musgravite and grandidierite until a few months ago when I’d seen an article someplace about precious stones more rare and expensive than diamonds. So if this kyanite was another little known treasure—

“Is it valuable?” I asked aloud.

“It’s almost unique!” she said. “It’s so hard that unlike most other crystals it doesn’t absorb negative energy, so it never needs cleansing. And it’s a very peaceful, calming, healthy stone. It would be a great thing to keep in your room, or even better, in the boys’ rooms. And blue like this is very good for the throat chakra. It doesn’t just heal throat ailments, it also helps communication and self-expression.”

I knew better than to say that I’d been asking about commercial value rather than spiritual—I was in no mood for another lecture on crass materialism. So I tried another tack.

“I’ll keep my eyes out for more bits of it, then,” I said. “Or maybe if it’s so beneficial, we could just buy some for the boys’ rooms from some ethical, fair-trade crystal seller. Would it cost much?”

“I don’t think the world has recognized its value,” Rose Noire said. “I’m sure you could buy them for a few dollars.”

So much for my grandiose murder scenario. Actually, I decided I liked kyanite all the better for not being fabulously expensive.

“I’ll keep my eye open for it when I go up to the ranch,” I said.

“Do,” she said. “And I might go up there and hunt for some more, if your grandfather can spare me from helping locate the emus.”

Since she had already suggested using a dowsing rod to locate the emus—a suggestion Grandfather, with unusual politeness, had ignored rather than ridiculing—I suspected he’d be glad to see her otherwise occupied.

“I’m sure he won’t mind,” I said. “In fact, he might approve of your mineralogical quest.”

“Do you think he’s asleep?” Rose Noire asked. “I wanted to smudge a protective circle around his Airstream before I go to bed. But I didn’t want to alarm him.”

Actually, having her circling his trailer, chanting and waving burning herbs, was more apt to annoy than alarm him. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“There are two volunteers guarding his door,” I said. “Why don’t you ask them to let you know when they can hear him snoring? And you can do it then.”

“Good idea,” she murmured. “If you see any crystals that look like this, only moss green, be sure to get them, too. They could be green kyanite. Very useful for balancing us with nature.”

I left her to her studies.

The boys were fast asleep when Caroline’s caravan finally pulled into its space. I was pleased to see that one of her staffers had stayed up to tend the horse, since I had no doubt that spending the day in the company of Josh and Jamie would have exhausted Caroline.

The boys never woke up as Michael and I carried them to our tent. I was afraid we’d have to carry Natalie as well, but she managed to mumble goodnight and stumble the few feet into her own small tent—which I noted, with amusement, was now draped with a black tarp, the better to fit into her chosen color scheme.