“Not yet. We want a little more than pieces of an overheard conversation before we turn Digger loose.” Chase replied.
“How’d he get the nickname Digger? He certainly doesn’t do any investigative reporting,” Dick chuckled. “He’s all gossip and this year’s most fashionable hat at the Garden Club.” And Dick asleep at the wheel while the volunteer fire department loaded flowers.
“Goes back to grade school.” Chase tilted back in the office chair, arms stretched over his head and rotating his neck to relieve tension. “Some girls found him digging for pirate treasure in The Ten Acre Wood.”
“We all dug for pirate treasure by the big oak.”
“But we didn’t get caught. Let’s not get caught on this search. Not yet at least.”
“Thistle, do you know how to do an Internet search?” Dusty asked as they mounted the steps to the enclosed back porch. They’d had a successful afternoon introducing Thistle to her new friends. Few of the old folks wanted to admit they needed help. They gave in to the idea of Thistle “just checking on them” because of Dusty.
“No,” she replied, eyes studying her sandals as if they held all the answers. “Remember how your computer used to go all wild colors and static when I rode the mouse with you?”
“Damn. I was hoping you’d have some ideas about tracking down the people wanting to cut down The Ten Acre Wood.” Dusty bit her lip, juggling options.
“Pixies are tied to Earth and Water. Earth gives us an affinity with the metals in computers, but water drowns it. Faeries are tied to Fire and Air. They have an affinity with the signals flying through the Air, but Fire makes them scatter and become useless. Computers don’t like any of us.”
“Water nurtures Earth and brings forth glorious plants and trees. Air feeds Fire, making it stronger. I wonder if a half-breed could inherit stronger affinity with Earth and Air to overcome Water and Fire. Then they’d be able to handle computers and cell phones,” Dusty mused.
“Don’t even think about half-breeds! They’re monsters out of legends. No one has seen a half-breed since… since before the Faeries went underhill. Only one old Faery remained. He took up residence in the Patriarch Oak and pretended to advise and rule Pixies from there. He was too old to breed then. He’s gone now. That’s why Alder is king. He succeeded the old Faery.”
Thistle’s eyes crossed like she remembered something but didn’t want to talk about it. Then her expression cleared. “I have other sources of information.”
“Do I want to know about your sources?” Dusty imagined homeless men sleeping under the bridge or drug addicts hanging out around the back of the liquor store. Chase sometimes talked about gleaning information from such creatures.
“Trust me, if anyone knows about the murdering loggers, I’ll find out. But can we eat first? I’m hungry. And thirsty.”
“Me, too. It’s too hot to cook. Murdering loggers?”
“Yeah, if they cut down The Ten Acre Wood, they’ll murder my whole tribe of Pixies.”
“Oh.”
“Can we have pizza and beer?” Pure joy crossed Thistle’s face.
Dusty almost laughed. “Have I created a monster?”
A puzzled frown marred Thistle’s pert features. For the first time Dusty noticed how pointed her chin and ears were, making the slight uptilt of her eyes look longer. In low light her face would appear something other than human.
Like a Pixie.
“How about a big green salad with hardboiled eggs?”
“Oh, yes, that sounds delightful.” Thistle moved ahead of Dusty into the kitchen. “I’ll tear up the lettuce if you’ll boil the eggs. I’m not sure how to turn on the stove yet.”
Dusty surveyed the half-made salad on the drainboard and the tray of ice cubes melting in the sink.
“Dick!”
“In here, Dusty,” he called from the office.
“Why can’t you clean up after yourself?” Dusty kicked off her shoes and ambled toward the blue light that indicated Dick had his nose engrossed in the computer.
“I got interrupted.” He leaned forward, blocking the screen from her view. Beside him, Chase typed furiously. Then he moved the mouse and clicked. The screen shifted abruptly. He must have sent an email.
“Typical. If we finish fixing your dinner, can I have the computer after we eat?”
“Sure. I’m done now,” Chase said, pushing away from the desk.
“Dusty had a nasty shock at work,” Thistle said.
Dusty glared at her, not sure she wanted her brother to know how she’d hidden in the basement rather than face a bad situation.
“Oh? Why didn’t you call me?” Dick stood and put his arms around Dusty.
She pulled away from him. “Because you’d immediately go into overprotective mode and hide me away. Joe convinced me I need to do something positive. I can’t stop the logging of The Ten Acre Wood by hiding.”
Both Dick and Chase froze.
“What do you know about that?” Chase asked. He sounded wary, and… and suspicious.
“I know that Tri-County Logging has a contract to start cutting wood on Friday. I saw the work order faxed from Pixel Industries, Ltd.”
“Friday!” Chase exploded. He stood up so fast the heavy oak office chair that matched the rolltop desk tipped behind him.
“No wonder Pepperidge wants to rescind the mayor’s authority to sign contracts. I bet he’s going to push for a vote tomorrow and make it effective immediately,” Dick said. He righted the chair and sat at the computer, typing quickly.
“Getting that piece of business taken care of fast is the only way to stop the logging. I wonder why the rush?” Chase bent over Dick’s shoulder and pointed to something on the screen.
“If they start cutting on schedule, they’ll ruin the Masque Ball,” Dusty said quietly. Tears threatened to spill out. She gulped them back.
No more hiding, she reminded herself. Action, she needed action.
“I can’t get off work tomorrow to sit in on the Council meeting,” Chase said. “Can you go, Dick?”
“I’ll rearrange my appointments. What about you, Dusty, can you come? I’m thinking we need bodies, people who will ask questions, a lot of questions.”
“I’ll send Joe. He’s better at asking questions than I am.” She backed out of the room, fear burning from her belly to her face. Tracking down shadow corporations on the Internet was something she could do. Speaking in public? Never.
You speak in public every time you give a tour of the museum, her conscience reminded her. The inner voice sounded a lot like Thistle.
Nineteen
THISTLE EASED OUT of the crowded kitchen as soon as she finished washing her salad plate and lemonade glass. Her friends argued noisily about Internet searches, persons of influence, places they could eavesdrop. She didn’t really understand what the Internet was, or how to search for things there. Dick and Dusty put a lot of faith in what they could find on that search.
Maybe it was like the garbage dump outside of town. She’d heard from other, more venturesome Pixies that one could find all kinds of wondrous treasures there if you looked long enough and hard enough.
“I’ll do a more conventional search. I’ll meet up with them later at the Old Mill Bar and report on what I find,” she decided as she walked slowly uphill three blocks and then south another five. She’d done a lot of walking today and her feet hurt. If she were still a Pixie, she’d curl up for a nap in the crown of a lush sword fern. “I’m not in Pixie,” she reminded herself. “No naps. This is more important than sore feet.”
Thistle paused at the middle of a white picket fence that came up to her waist in height. Bountiful roses spilled over the top, filling the neighborhood with their heady fragrance. Pinks and yellows dominated with the occasional coral and variegated red and white. None of them smelled as if they were anything but prideful roses.