Chapter Eight

A handwritten sign was posted on Madame Olga’s door: The Psychic Is In. Please Knock. I Might Be Taking My Nap.

I knocked softly and waited a few seconds. When there was no answer, I knocked again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I heard her say. “Who’s in such a rush they can’t wait for a person to answer the door?”

The door opened a crack, and Madame Olga peered out. “Oh, it’s you, Pinky. I see you brought Avi. Come in, bubeleh.”

Madame Olga was dressed in a long, flowery skirt. Hanging from a chain around her neck was a hamesh hand to ward off the evil eye.

We walked down a narrow hallway and turned into the small living room where Oy Vey was nestled on an overstuffed couch nursing her four kittens. In the center of the room was a wooden table with the glass globe that Madame Olga used to tell her fortunes.

Avi walked over to the couch—quietly, so he wouldn’t disturb Oy Vey and her kittens.

“Sit, Pinky darling,” Madame Olga said, pulling up a chair for me. “Do you want something to eat? I just made a nice coffee cake. Better than what you’d find at Mazer’s Bakery, and she has the nerve to charge eight dollars for a babka.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said. “I came here because I need your help.”

Madame Olga put her hand over her heart. “Oy, boy trouble already?”

Avi blurted out, “She likes Noah, but he has a girlfriend.”

“Mind your business,” I shot back. “And anyway, I don’t like boys.”

“Well then, what’s the matter?” Madame Olga asked gently. “I want to help if I can.”

I took in a deep breath. “The problem is my best friend, Lucy. She might move away because her family’s restaurant is haunted.”

I told Madame Olga about the false alarms and how we saw a mouse in the restaurant.

“Nu, it’s not the only restaurant in Brooklyn with mice,” she said with a shrug. “Tell me more.”

I pulled out the slips of paper with our fortunes. “These were in our cookies.”

“These fortunes are enough to give a person heartburn! So who else was in the restaurant that night?”

“There was Mrs. Wong, the hostess, and her husband, the chef. And then Joe the Waiter and Mr. Federman.”

“Federman? I know him—charming man. Didn’t I see that his museum got robbed last week? Such a shame—those gonifs, those thieves, stole a gold Kiddush cup from hundreds of years ago . . .”

“There was one more person in the restaurant,” Avi piped up.

I spun around in my seat. “No, there wasn’t!”

“You’re wrong, Pinky. I saw a lady with a hat and sunglasses when I went to the bathroom.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“I just did!” Avi shouted.

“Children, children,” Madame Olga scolded. “Avi, darling, please tell us about this lady.”

“She was carrying a little cage,” he said. “It looked a lot like the one my friend Moshe has for his hamster.”

I pulled out my notebook and added her to my list of suspects.

My detective brain was telling me that this Hat Lady was up to no good!