Chapter 3

 

I TOOK EXTRA pains with the cleaning on Saturday morning, making sure we were done ahead of time. Then I slipped into the bathroom and changed, donning a camera-suitable skirt and top. The bells tinkled and by the braying laughter that echoed through the store, I knew that Cathy had arrived. She was followed by Royal, her ever-present cameraman-slash-lapdog. Behind her stood another man; he was younger and dressed in pleated pants, a polo shirt, and loafers. He carried a large metal briefcase and shifted nervously as I fluttered over to greet them.

“Cathy, how are you? Don’t you look nice, today? I’ll bet you’re here because of the Early Autumn Breeze Festival! Am I right?” I’d prove that I could schmooze with the best of them. I’d charm her right out of my shop.

Her jaw dropped. She’d probably been ready to dig in her heels for the fight, but now she did an about-face, attempting to recover her poise. “Emerald, I’m glad to see you’re in such a good mood. The shop’s looking lovely, by the way. You remember Royal—”

“Of course I do. How can I forget the best cameraman west of the Cascades?” I flashed him a tight smile, showing just a hint of my teeth.

“And this is George Pleasant, KLIK-TV’s newest intern.” Cathy shoved the younger man forward.

Besides his metal briefcase, he had a camera and miniature tape recorder strung around his neck. As Cathy gave him the old heave-ho, he stumbled, managing to catch himself before he crashed into the nearest display table. I edged between him and a four-tiered stand of teapots, smiling all the while.

“Hello.” I offered him my hand and he shook it a little too eagerly, squeezing a little too hard. His palm was clammy and I discreetly wiped off my hand on my skirt as Cathy interrupted, proceeding to ask me her usual series of inane questions. At least this time we were covering a subject with which I was comfortable. I was proud of myself. I gave brief, concise answers and not once did I order her to get out of my face.

As we discussed the festival, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that George was nosing around the shop. Just what he expected to find, I had no idea.

Cathy was finally getting what she wanted—an interview in which I was cooperative—and it seemed to throw her off kilter. After about ten minutes, she lost interest and started to wrap things up. She eyed me suspiciously after Royal had turned off the camera. “You were certainly helpful today.”

“No problem. Now, I really have to get back to work—”

She interrupted. “Before you do, I have a favor to ask of you.”

A favor? Oh joy. Give Cathy a lick and she’d steal the whole ice cream cone. “What is it now? I thought the interview was over.”

She flashed me an ingratiating smile. “George is a big fan of yours. He asked if he could come along with me and meet you. He’d like to stay and ask you some questions about the tarot, and I thought that you wouldn’t mind since that’s your area of expertise.”

Harlow had been right, damn her. I glanced over at George, who had edged up behind Cathy’s right shoulder. He blinked. Behind the round lenses of his glasses, he looked for all the world like a belligerent owl.

Shit. My inner alarm clanging, I homed in on his energy for a moment, then quietly withdrew. No… George himself wasn’t dangerous, but there were disturbing ripples in his aura and regardless of his last name, I didn’t think he was as nice as he pretended to be. “Uh, I’d rather not—”

George suddenly came to life. “Please, let me stay, just for the afternoon? I’ve always been fascinated by the occult and when I found out that Cathy knew you, I wondered if I might entice you into a discussion about the tarot. ESP and the tarot have been pet studies of mine since I was fifteen and I think I’ve got what it takes to be a professional psychic. I’ve studied J.B. Rhine’s experiments and read all of Hans Holzer’s books and Edgar Cayce’s work. I’ve even seen ectoplasm once at a séance that my best friend’s sister conducted and I’m trying to learn remote viewing—”

Eager to shut him up, I held up my hand. “All right, all right. Just slow down, okay?” I flashed Cathy a look that said I’d like to send her someplace nice and hot. She blushed. Royal the cameraman leaned against the door, obviously enjoying the show.

“George, listen to me,” I said gently. “I don’t study ESP or psychic phenomena, so I really don’t think I’m going to be much use to you. See, I’ve read the cards since I was a little girl and I learned all my traditions from my grandmother. These things are all just part of my everyday life.”

His expression fell so hard that I thought he’d break his jaw. “You mean you won’t talk to me?”

Cathy stiffened and I knew that if I said no, she’d find a way to make me regret it. For some reason, she’d taken this runt under her wing. I looked back at George, who could have passed for a basset hound on a sad day. What the hell. How bad could one afternoon be?

“Oh all right. If you want to discuss the tarot, I suppose you can stay, but please, don’t bother me with questions while I’m waiting on customers, okay?”

The moment I acquiesced, Cathy made a beeline for the door. “Now that that’s settled, Royal and I have to interview a few other business owners along Main Street. Thank you, Emerald. George, we’ll meet you back at the station.”

She and Royal took off out the door faster than a greased pig on speed, and as I watched them go, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just been scammed. I had to pat myself on the back, though. This was the first time she’d left the shop on her own volition.

I turned back to George. He held up the metal briefcase, the eager smile on his face a little too bright. “I want to film you while you’re reading the cards for somebody. I’ve got my video camera right here.”

Whoa! Since when had I agreed to that? “Slow down there, partner. No cameras. Any reader worth her salt maintains strict confidence for her clients. That means you can’t listen in, either.”

He scrunched up his face, his chin jutting forward. “But that way I could study your technique better.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen.” I straightened my shoulders and put on my best face. “You’ll have to be content with just asking your questions.”

Pouting, he swung around, jostling the nearest display table as he did so. He jerked away, but only managed to destabilize it more. I dove, trying to steady it before disaster struck, but was seconds too late. The table tipped, sending two delicate and expensive rose-patterned teapots smashing to the ground. Four of the baskets I’d so lovingly prepared went flying, their contents skittering across the floor. Miniature jars of honey and jelly rolled everywhere, a few of them breaking and spilling their sticky contents all over the tile.

“Jeez! Please, be careful!” I stared at the remains, rubbing my brow. Oh yeah, headache looming on the horizon, prepare for attack. “Well, these teapots are history. You wait here while I sweep up these shards. The last thing I need is some customer cutting herself on them.”

A cloud of gloom settled over his face. George waved at the mess on the floor. “I suppose you expect me to pay for those?”

Cinnamon, who had been watching this debacle from behind the counter, brought over the whisk, the dustpan, and a wet cloth. She shooed me away and proceeded to clean up the scattered bits of teapots and the honey that oozed along the floor.

After thanking her, I turned back to George. “You break it, you buy it.” I pointed to a tasteful but firm warning tacked on the wall that informed customers of just that fact.

He rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

I added up the total number of broken wares. “The damage comes to $152.80.”

“Jeez,” he said, flinging three fifties and a five on the counter. “They’re just teapots. What’d you do? Pay the queen of England to hand paint them?”

I took a deep breath, counted to five, and then let it out slowly. “Listen to me. I agreed to answer some questions on the tarot. I didn’t agree to any filming, or to having my shop disrupted, or to putting up with rude behavior.” I rested my hands on my hips, staring him down.

He frowned, but shrugged and held up the video case. “Whatever. Can I put this somewhere safe?”

“Give it to me,” I said, and took it into my office. When I returned, he was fiddling with his miniature tape recorder.

“Can I at least tape-record your answers?”

Already weary of the battle, I capitulated. “Fine, but only when we’re alone. When I’m helping a customer, you back off. And I want a copy of those tapes after you’re done. And for goodness sake, please, don’t break anything else! Some of my inventory is far more expensive than you can probably afford and I’m not about to take a loss on it.”

As he followed me to the counter, I began repairing a couple of the baskets that had received only minor dents. I could refill them and mark them on sale because of the scuffs and dings. As I worked, I tried to pin down George’s energy. When I reached out, it was like poking the Pills-bury Doughboy. His ego was all puffed out of shape, as if he truly believed he had all the answers in life. I figured him for twenty-two… maybe twenty-four at the most. At any rate, George was like a number of young men who hadn’t learned to see beyond their hormones. I sighed. I had better things to do than cater to a spoiled brat.

The day proceeded to go from bad to worse. After I finished helping Tansy Brewer find the right teacup to replace a broken one from her set, George cornered me near the alcove where I read tarot.

“I’ve got so many questions for you,” he said. “Not many people I know are interested in—or capable of—discussing the occult on a professional basis. I know you haven’t put in as much actual study time as I have but—”

“George, quit playing one-upmanship. I’ve been reading the cards all my life. Ask your questions.” Might as well get this over with.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, first: Do you think the psychological benefits of tarot readings outweigh the psychic benefits of what the querent learns? Or do you think they are better served by the information from the reading itself?”

Great. Just what I needed, Frasier Crane of the psychic realm. “Dunno, it depends on the person, I suppose. Most of my clients come to me for issues that aren’t life-altering.”

“Oh.” He looked almost crestfallen. “But surely you’ve thought about this before? I mean, you don’t just come in here and give readings and then forget about it until next time?”

How could I make him understand? For me, reading the tarot wasn’t a hobby. Neither was it a religion, nor a study. It was just something I did, like my charms and the folk magic my Nanna had taught me. All of my quirks were part of my life, just as much as breathing or the beating of my heart. I felt neither the need nor desire to defend myself.

“George, I told you. This is all part of my everyday life. Can you understand? It was something my grandmother did, and something her grandmother did. Nanna taught me how to read them when I was a little girl. The cards are part and parcel of who I am.”

His smile took on a nasty, condescending edge. “I see. So you really don’t know much about what you’re doing. You just ‘do it’?”

I squelched the desire to slap that patronizing look off his baby-face and narrowed my eyes. “I advise you to remember that you are a guest in this shop.”

He cocked his head. “Have you ever lied during a reading?”

“No, George, I have never lied during a reading.”

“What about when the person wasn’t capable of handling the answer?”

The pompous twit. “I don’t make judgments about the emotional stability of my clients. If I have reason to think they won’t benefit from a reading, I won’t agree to give them one. However, that doesn’t rule out the use of diplomacy when interpreting—”

“Isn’t ‘diplomacy’ just another word for ‘lie’?”

I’d had enough. I reached out and grabbed his tape recorder, clicked it off, then handed it back to him. “You need to learn some manners, boy. Don’t interrupt me again. And may I advise you to find a better dictionary? ‘Lie’ and ‘diplomacy’ are hardly synonyms. Tact and diplomacy do not require one to resort to lying.”

George stared at me, his round eyes beginning to smolder. “I can’t believe you call yourself a professional and yet you’re disagreeing with me! You actually think everybody you read for can handle the truth? Emerald, the vast majority of people are pretty stupid. Don’t give them any more credit than you have to.”

I folded my arms and stared at him. “When someone comes to me for a reading, it’s my responsibility to be honest with them. I’d be a fraud if I lied to them. Worse yet, I’d be abusing their trust.”

He scuffed at the floor. After a moment, he looked up, sullen and broody. “Well, what about money? Don’t you think that accepting money for parlor-game readings taints your work? It’s not like you’re giving them serious psychic counsel.”

I took a deep breath, holding it to the count of five. When I spoke, I made sure my voice was so low that no one else could hear. “You have crossed the line. Listen to me, and listen good: The only thing that might taint my work is if I strongly dislike the person I’m reading for, and then I wouldn’t offer to read the cards in the first place. Money doesn’t interfere with psychic power unless you get greedy. And I have always discouraged people from getting readings when I think they can’t afford them.”

We were almost nose-to-nose and yet George crowded still closer. Uncomfortable, I took a step back.

“Take me in as a partner,” he said, his eyes blazing. “I can help you. You can teach me to read for the public and I’ll teach you all the stuff you’ve ignored, that you really should know. We could make a killing at the psychic fairs in Seattle. We’d make great partners.”

Oh good God, so this was what it was all about? “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I said, “but if you’re looking for a mentor, you’d better drop the idea right now, because it’s not going to happen.” The headache that had been looming since Cathy first came in the shop struck, and struck with a vengeance.

“Why not? Are you afraid of the competition? What would you do if another tarot reader set up shop in town?” he asked, a look of triumph in his eyes. “Isn’t it better to have the competition working with you rather than against you?”

I snorted. “What would I do? Nothing. We live in a free country, or so the government claims. If someone wants to open a tarot shop in Chiqetaw, I’m not going to stop him. Get it through your head. The Chintz ‘n China sells—gee, guess what?—china! I make most of my money off tea and teapots, which is the way I want it. So don’t worry yourself about me. My clients come to me because they like how I read the tarot. If they want to go elsewhere, they’re free to do so.”

I put my hands on his shoulders and firmly pushed him back a few steps. “And George,” I said, “don’t ever get in my face again. I have a strong sense of boundaries, and babe, you crossed the line but good.”

With a snort, he said, “Want some free advice?”

“I think you’ve said enough as it is.”

“Fine, so you think I’m some punk and you don’t need advice from me. Go on giving your penny-ante readings. But man, you’ve got real psychic power. The dead show up in your house and ask you to solve their murders. You could open up a ghost-busting type of outfit. Or a psychic institute. You could probably make some real money. I’d work with you! But will you help somebody who really wants to study the path to enlightenment? No, you just want to play tea party.”

I’d had enough. I pointed toward the front door. “Leave. Now.”

“Sure. Kick me out. You think you’re such hot shit around here, but you’re just a two-bit carnival queen. I’m telling you the truth right to your face; if you can’t handle it, then it’s not my problem.” He wheeled and strode out of the shop. By now, everybody was listening. They watched him exit, then silently turned to me.

Astounded, I stared at the door as it swung shut. That little bastard. How dare he come into my shop, break my merchandise, and proceed to treat me like dirt! I leaned against the counter and tried to shake off my anger, studiously avoiding the questioning glances. Just then, Lana popped through the front door and I motioned to her.

“Take over here, please. I need a break, and I need it now.”

I slipped into the bathroom, washed my hands and splashed some cold water on my face. As I stared at myself in the mirror, I felt a wave of doubt rise up. Could anything he’d said be true? But then, reality took hold and I shook it off. I just needed some lunch and a quiet moment in which to regroup. I headed to the tearoom for a cup of soup and a sandwich when Jimbo wandered in.

“Hey, O’Brien, gotta minute?”

I flashed Jimbo a tired smile. “For you? Maybe even five. I’ve had the most horrendous morning. Have lunch with me?”

Jimbo grunted and selected two sandwiches and an assortment of cookies. He swung one leg over the back of the chair and stuffed his mouth with turkey and pastrami. I ladled out a bowl of soup and slid into the chair next to him, launching into a diatribe as I vented my frustration over the morning.

After a moment, I realized that my voice was a little loud. “Ugh, I’ll finish telling you later. What’s up?”

The shop bells tinkled as he stuffed the last bite of his second sandwich into his mouth, followed it with a swig of raspberry tea, and licked his fingers. He tossed a ten-spot on the table. “Good grub. I just wanted to make sure you remembered how to get to my place. Scar’s still missing.” His eyes flickered with worry.

I’d been out to Jimbo’s a couple times during the summer, mainly to ferry the kids for a swim in Miner’s Lake. “Yeah, I remember how to get there, but why don’t you draw a map so I can give it to Murray. I’m not sure if she knows and I go by landmarks, rather than street names.”

Jimbo looked like he was about to say something, then grabbed a napkin and sketched out rough directions on it. “She should be able to understand these.” He bit into a gingersnap and then held it out, looking at it with a critical eye. “Not bad, not bad. You set a good spread at this joint, I’ll give you that. So, you read up on the Klakatat Monster?”

“Murray told me a little about it. Like Sasquatch, but more unpredictable.”

“And a damned sight more dangerous. Did you know that according to local legend, this thing has racked up over fifteen deaths since the prospectors first settled near Goldbar Creek? The creek runs out of the valley and feeds directly into Miner’s Lake.” He drew a map with his finger along the table. “Way I figure it, is the creature’s coming down from Klickavail Mountain. That’s supposed to be its home.”

A flicker crossed his eyes and I noticed that he was sweating. Just a few beads of perspiration dampened his forehead, but it was enough to make me nervous. If Jimbo was scared of this thing, then I really didn’t want to get close enough to shake hands. That is, if it actually existed.

“I didn’t know all that. What do the authorities say about it?”

“Authorities-schmorities. What do you think they say? Cougar death, or bear mauling. Well, that happens now and again, but the cougars and bears around here are more afraid of us than we are of them. They don’t use people as chew toys and then leave them for dead. If they kill it’s for food, or because some idiot gets between them and their cubs.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay, see you tomorrow. Remember, you promised fried chicken. And make enough so I can take some home for the kids.”

Jimbo pushed back his chair. “Sure thing, O’Brien.”

“Can I come along, Emerald? This would be the perfect chance to see you in action!” George stepped out from a corner where he had been eavesdropping on our conversation.

I stared at him, astonished first by the fact that he’d returned, and second, that he had the gall to try to invite himself along after I’d kicked him out.

“I forgot my video camera,” he added.

No longer caring if anybody overheard, I exploded. “I thought I told you to leave! Didn’t your mother teach you to behave better than this? Jimbo and I were having a private conversation. You have no business asking to go along. In fact, you’ve got no business ever darkening the door of my shop again! I want you out of here.”

Both Jimbo and George stared at me; Jimbo’s eyes were twinkling.

George snorted. “Man, you really turned out to be a bitch. I thought we were going to be friends, but you’re such a tight-ass that now I wouldn’t work for you if you got down on your knees and begged me to.”

“If anybody’s getting down on their knees, it’s gonna be you, dude.” Jimbo stepped in between us, tapping George on the shoulder. “The lady wants you to leave. If I were you, I wouldn’t make her mad. I’ve seen her in action. She’s scary.” He pulled himself up to his full height. “And I’m scarier.”

George stared up at Jimbo, who towered over him by a good seven or eight inches and outweighed him by at least seventy pounds. “Uh… uh… I’m leaving, okay? I just have to get my gear.”

“You stay here. I’ll get it,” I broke in. “I don’t want you trashing anything else on your way out.” I headed into the back room and Jimbo followed me, to give me a hand. He lugged the metal case to the front door and dumped it on the sidewalk. George flashed me an odd smirk as he picked up his camera case and headed toward a brand-new BMW convertible. The kid wasn’t hurting for money. Probably had rich folks, because you sure didn’t make that kind of dough on an intern’s salary.

George screeched out of the parking space and down the street. Jimbo said, “He’s a little weasel. Be careful, he’s the type to hold a grudge.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think you’re spot on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the biker ambled down the sidewalk, it struck me that on one hand, there was George, who passed for a nice, well-situated young man until he opened his mouth. On the other hand, there was Jimbo, a rough-and-ready biker who looked dangerous but had turned out to be as good-hearted as he was rough around the edges. Books and covers, I thought.

I returned to the tea room, searching for the instructions to Jimbo’s house. The paper was resting on the floor, beneath the table, and as I reached down to get it, a prickle of energy rushed up my arm. Maybe we weren’t off on a wild goose chase after all.