Murder Under a Mystic Moon Read online

  “I’ll keep working,” she said, “but I think I’ll take a couple night courses until I decide what I want to major in.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that between the baby, work, and school, she’d probably end up a frazzled mess. At least she had the money to hire help, and I knew that her husband, James, would support every decision she made.

  The evening wound down and I walked them to their cars, waving them out of the driveway. As I returned to the house, the silence settled over my shoulders and I took a deep breath, breathing in the scents of the warm summer evening. Kip was staying overnight with his best friend Sly and, for a rare occasion, the house was at rest. No insistent hum of the computer, no oofs and ughs from his video games.

  Soaking up the peace, I headed upstairs and peeked in Randa’s room. Yep, just as I figured, she was out watching the skies. On one of our first nights in the house, I’d caught her attempting to climb out of her window. Rather than fence her in, I hired a contractor to reinforce the flat section of the roof right outside her room. He’d built a solid guard rail so that on warm nights she could crawl out of her window, telescope in hand, and stargaze the evening away. After a few months, the neighbors had gotten used to seeing my daughter perched on the roof. I glanced at my watch. Nine-thirty. Well under bedtime.

  I stuck my head out the window. “Good viewing?”

  She nodded. “It’s really clear tonight. Want to join me?”

  Surprised, but pleased, by her invitation, I climbed out of the window and gingerly made my way over to the blanket on which she was sitting.

  “What are we looking at?” I asked as I settled down next to her. The view from up here was wonderful. Our neighborhood sat up on a modest hill and on clear days, we could see the peaks of the Twin Sisters jutting up from behind the foothills from the second-story windows. At night the glittering street lights of Chiqetaw unfolded, laid out in long cross-strings racing across the flat, marking the boundaries of the town. It was a beautiful sight.

  “I’m watching Mars tonight,” she said, pointing out a fuzzy red light to the southeast. “Here, take the telescope. You can see Syrtis Major—it’s a large, dark area.” She scooted over so I could lean in and look through the scope, an expensive Christmas gift from last year.

  I squinted through the eyepiece and sure enough, Mars came into view; the ruddy surface marred by shadows. “There she is… okay, I can see the planet. Now where am I supposed to look?”

  “Find the equator, then follow the dark patch that extends to the north,” she said. “See it? That’s known as Syrtis Major.”

  And I saw. A blotch covered the rust-colored surface, stretching northward like a column of ash. Suitably impressed, I stared at the planet for a few minutes, then returned the scope to her. I folded my arms around my knees. “So what’s on the celestial calendar for the rest of August?”

  “The Perseids meteor showers are due in a little over a week. They peak late this year. We could see a meteor every minute from up here. More, with my telescope.” The enthusiasm in her voice was infectious.

  “Really? A meteor every minute? Maybe you and Kip and I should have a late-night picnic up here and watch together.” I ruffled her hair, a habit she hated but one I hadn’t been able to break.

  The look on her face was repayment for all the snippy comments she’d made in the past month. “Really? You’d like that?” Then her expression fell. “Shoot, my astronomy club is getting together that night to watch.” She lowered the telescope and gave me a hopeful look. “Maybe you and Kip could come with me?”

  I could tell she was torn between wanting to take me up on my offer to enter her world, and the desire to be among people who understood her passion. “Tell you what. We’ll all go to your club meeting and then, if you like, we’ll come home and have dessert out here on the roof and watch some more?”

  Randa threw her arms around me and gave me an unexpected smooch on the cheek. “That’d be perfect!”

  I stroked her back and nuzzled her on the head. “I know, babe. I know.” I yawned, suddenly worn out. “Listen, I’m going to take a bath and read in bed for a while. You be sure you’re inside by midnight, okay?” She reluctantly let go of me and I cautiously made my way back to the window.

  “Okay. Say… Mom?”

  “Yes, hon?”

  She paused, then shook her head. “Just… thanks. Sweet dreams, okay?”

  “Sweet dreams.” I blew her a kiss and climbed back inside. As I drew my bath, it occurred to me that a college course in astronomy might help me understand the passion that so captivated my daughter. We were still light-years apart, but if a little studying could bridge the gap, I’d happily make the effort.

  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 h
imself 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 d
esire 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.”