“At seven o’clock the firebells rang
But oh, it was too late,
The flames they were fast spreading
And at a rapid rate.”
“THE TOWER signifies a massive change.” Toby held up the tarot card, which depicted a tower being struck by lightning and collapsing while screaming people tumbled from it to their deaths. “It could be for the worse. It could be for the better. But in any case, it’s likely to be life-changing.”
Mrs. Hawley pursed her lips primly. “I don’t like the Tower. It’s such an unpleasant-looking card with all those poor people falling to their deaths, don’t you think? Change it to something else, please.”
Toby gaped at her a moment, uncertain whether she meant it or not. Mrs. Hawley did own half the town of Hawley, which had grown up around the mill that made her grandfather enormously wealthy in the first half of the twentieth century. She was used to having her way. But not even the wealthiest patrons could command the fates to obey their whims.
He caught the twinkle of mischief in the old woman’s eye and realized she was pulling his leg. That was more in line with the woman he knew. “I’ll have a stern word with the deck later, Mrs. H.”
She’d insisted upon him calling her that after their first session together. For all her money, she was very down-to-earth and approachable. Though Toby had been warned by other people in town not to cross her. She wasn’t above throwing her weight around if she was angered.
The woman reached out to pluck the card from his hand. “Reminds one of a mill fire, doesn’t it?” she asked, examining the picture closely, her forehead creased in concentration.
“Yes, it does.” Toby knew the history of the mill as well as anyone in Hawley did. “But this doesn’t represent the distant past. Its position in the reading indicates something in the present.”
“Is last night close enough?”
“What do you mean?”
Mrs. H. set the card down on the table. “A young man fell down a flight of stairs in the mill last night. He wasn’t killed, thank the stars, but he’s currently in ICU. His condition is serious but stable.”
“That’s horrible! How did it happen? Did he break in?”
She fluttered her hand in the air. “No, no. He was there because I hired him. Well, technically I hired his brother’s… agency. The two work together.”
“Doing what?”
“Well….” Mrs. H. glanced around as if to be certain they wouldn’t be overheard. They were alone, of course—Toby had renovated the closet of his store specifically to provide an isolated, private space for readings. “I hired them to investigate for signs of spiritual activity in the mill.”
Toby repressed a snicker. “They’re ghost hunters?”
“Not the ones on television! The last thing I need is to have their investigation broadcast for the entire world to see. They call themselves ‘paranormal investigators,’ and they’ve promised to be discreet. I was hoping they’d conclude there was nothing there so we could release a report and quell the rumors. I need to sell that accursed building! Or renovate it as a shopping mall. It’s been empty—and costing me money in property taxes—for far too long.”
It wasn’t that Toby didn’t believe in ghosts. On the contrary, he frequently communed with the dead for his clients. But ever since the—admittedly entertaining—show Ghost Hunters took off, everybody who could afford to buy an EMF meter was out there claiming to be an expert. Now it appeared to have gotten someone seriously injured. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Louis? I’m afraid nobody knows for certain. I’m paying for any medical expenses not covered by their insurance, of course, and I’m allowing them to take as much time off from the investigation as they need—I’m not entirely without compassion, regardless of what the gossips in town may say.” That glimmer of humor returned to her eyes. “But they want to cancel the contract!”
“I can’t say I’m surprised, under the circumstances.”
“I can’t have that! I need the investigation completed so appropriate steps can be taken.”
Toby doubted the wisdom of what he was about to say but decided a psychic needed to tell the truth, regardless of whether clients wanted to hear it. And that included advice. “Mrs. H.… there is always the possibility their investigation won’t get the results you’re hoping for. If the mill building does turn out to be haunted, what will you do then?”
“That’s another problem with these investigators,” she replied with a sniff. “They simply diagnose. They don’t cure. They’re so wrapped up in their scientific toys—meters and field readers and what-not—but there are no scientific methods for getting rid of spirits if they’re found, are there? Of course not! That’s where I was hoping you could help me.”
Toby’s eyes went wide and he straightened in his chair. “Me?”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Mrs. H. told him sensibly. “You don’t think I really came to get a reading, did you? I already know I’m a filthy rich bitch who always gets her way. I don’t need the cards to tell me that.”
Toby stared blankly at her a moment, until she went on without him.
“I was hoping to engage your services as a medium,” she said. “Once his team succeeds in finding whatever spirits might be haunting Hawley mill, Frank—they all have silly nicknames I wouldn’t be caught dead using—needs someone who can persuade them to leave.”
Toby found his voice at last. “And you think that should be me?”
“Absolutely! Who in town is better qualified to commune with spirits?”
He would be able to talk to the spirits, if anyone could. Of that Toby had no doubt. Spirits had been visiting him since he was a child. But most were friendly. “I’m honored that you would consider me, Mrs. H., but was it the spirits who injured this poor man last night?”
Mrs. H. tapped her bottom lip with one beautifully manicured index finger. “I’m uncertain of that. Louis—that’s the younger brother—apparently panicked and threw himself into the stairwell. Frank believes something in the mill convinced him he was on fire. So I suppose you could say, if it was a spirit, it caused Louis to injure himself.”
“That’s often the way spirits cause harm—by affecting our perceptions. Most aren’t powerful enough to affect the physical world directly. Though poltergeists—”
“There!” Mrs. H. exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. “You see? I knew you would be the best man for the job! Please say you’ll do it. I’ll pay you handsomely, of course.”
Toby’s small New Age shop barely scraped by, selling books and herbs and the occasional psychic reading. Even Mrs. H.’s weekly patronage, while appreciated, didn’t help much financially. Toby charged her the same rate as all his other clients, regardless of her wealth. This was the first time she’d tossed him a bone.
“How does…. Frank? How does he feel about me joining his team?”
“I’ll have a word with him.” Mrs. H. gathered up her purse and stood. Apparently the reading was over. “Truthfully, he might not be in favor of it. These scientific-types would rather depend upon electromagnetic readouts or whatever they call it. They’re suspicious of old-fashioned mediums. And honestly, who can blame them with all the frauds out there today? But I trust you, dear. And so will Frank and his team, once they get to know you.”
Toby wished he had her confidence. He moved to open the door for her and then escorted her through his shop to the front door. The place was empty, apart from the young woman attending the front counter.
This was moving awfully fast for Toby. He would have liked more time to think about it. But if he’d learned anything about Mrs. H. in her weekly visits, it was that she never hesitated once she’d made up her mind.
“If they agree to let me join them,” he said, holding the door open for her, “I suppose I’m willing to do what I can.”
“Wonderful! I’ll call you later with the details.”
And then she was gone, leaving Toby with the feeling he’d been fast-talked into something he might regret. He noticed Cassandra watching him from the counter. She was a tiny young woman—still in college, studying art—dressed all in black with heavy black makeup around her eyes. Even her fingernails were black. The only color she displayed was her bright red hair, wreathing her head in tight ringlets.
“Has anybody come in?” Toby asked, more for conversation than anything else. He knew what the answer would be.
“Nope. We did get a shipment of dried herbs. I already put them in their bottles.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Then, because he couldn’t stand to leave a reading unfinished, Toby went back to the reading room. He drew the final card and placed it on the table in the position signifying the future. Then he frowned at it. Given the context of the reading and the discussion he’d just had with Mrs. H., it might not be a particularly fortuitous card—not for a woman whose family business had once been responsible for the deaths of ninety-seven mill workers, almost all young women.
It was Justice.