by Ani Gonzalez
Luanne raised a brow. "Shellfish can cause amnesia?"
Sean shrugged. "Apparently short-term memory loss is a real, albeit rare, side effect. Leslie may be faking it, but Mary-Louise does not suspect her anymore, so it doesn't make a difference. Leslie claims that she ate the chowder knowing she was allergic because she felt so guilty about embezzling the money. Morgana's speech supposedly drove her to it."
It had been a strong speech, and Leslie had seemed quite affected by it. Affected enough to do something so rash?
Maybe.
But something still felt off. "But, wait. Leslie is no longer under suspicion because Wanda accused Viola? That seems strange."
"Oh, Mary-Louise is not relying on Wanda's word at all. She got Walter's autopsy report. He had a lot of drugs in his system—tranquilizers out the wazoo. Leslie would not have had the opportunity to drug him. Then the pill bottles were found, empty, in Viola's bag. Circumstantial, but it follows."
Luanne's eyes widened. The drugs would definitely explain how Viola or Carl could overpower Walter. But—
"If Viola drugged him, then it was premeditated."
Sean nodded. "She says Walter asked her to hold on to the bottles, as he had finished them and needed refills. Wanda, however, says Walter was prescribed the tranquilizers, but never took them. She says he hated how they made him feel, but we only have her word for that."
But in this instance, Wanda seemed credible. Walter was skeptical about drugs of any kind, and he was quite vocal about it. What was surprising wasn't that he would avoid tranquilizers, but that he had any kind of medication around at all.
"The lack of fingerprints on the bottles is a giveaway, no?" Luanne asked. "Walter would not need to wipe his pill bottles clean."
Sean nodded. "That no fingerprints were found is not determinant, but it can be indicative. She probably intended to get rid of the bottles, but didn't find the right opportunity. People committing their first serious crime sometimes get so nervous or uncertain, they procrastinate to get rid of the evidence. Sometimes it's guilt. Maybe she couldn't figure out a way to make sure the evidence was not found. Still, it's very strange."
Luanne's brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of Sean's cop-speak. Determinant? Indicative? It sounded arcane to her—far more complicated than retrogrades and equinoxes—but he seemed confident about Viola's guilt.
"Well, okay, but why would he be prescribed tranquilizers, if he didn't take them?" Luanne asked.
"They were part of his treatment for Parkinson's disease."
Luanne's mouth fell open. "Parkinson's? Walter?"
"He'd been recently diagnosed. According to Wanda, he was really torn up about it, but not torn up enough to commit suicide."
"No, not Walter," Luanne agreed.
The Fantastic Mr. Farsight was not the type to grow despondent and end his own life. Still, the Parkinson's diagnosis came as a huge surprise.
"I didn't know he was sick," she muttered, finally spotting her flip-flops behind a chair. How had those shoes gotten there? She hadn't even had a chance to wear them.
"He kept it quiet," Sean replied, finishing his packing. "Wanda thought he was in denial about the whole thing, at least until Viola decided to leave. When that happened, he felt betrayed. He was terrified of having the disease interfere with his work, and he blamed Viola's desertion on his diagnosis. It was an unhappy situation all around."
"So he lashed out and cornered Viola?"
"That's what Mary-Louise is thinking."
Luanne considered that, if Sean was sharing that with her, the investigation must really be over.
She put the flip-flops on the bed and stared at the untidy belongings in her bag. Clothes were mixed with books and boxes of brand-new Tarot cards, a sharp contrast to Sean's neat packing. The slinky green dress was balled up in a corner, looking wrinkled and sad.
She sighed. The crime was solved. She should feel happy and satisfied. Sean definitely was. There was nothing he loved more than solving a case.
But something felt wrong. Sean's narrative was tight. He'd considered every angle and explained every step, however, she was still not convinced.
There was only one thing to do.
She reached for the one of the boxes. The Japanese woodcut deck had been an impulse purchase. She didn't need a third deck, after all, but the striking rough-hewn art and unusual mythological connections had been impossible to resist.
The deck would tell her if Sean was on the right track. She focused her powers, opened the cardboard box, and drew a card.
The card was...what?
She inspected the unfamiliar image, wrinkling her nose as she did so. She'd worked with tons of Tarot decks and could usually recognize a card immediately, but this one baffled her. It depicted a man in Samurai armor with a crescent helmet and a sword. He posed in front of a night sky with stars and a glowing full moon. A rabbit silhouette appeared on the moon's face. The art was simple and monochromatic, but the starkness of the design gave it a sense of power.
She gnawed her lip, considering the card. It could be a Knight of Pentacles, but that didn't seem right. Where were the coins?
She gave up and checked the back of the deck's instructions. The warrior was Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto, a moon god and the card was The Moon.
She stared at the rabbit silhouette. Illusions, misconceptions, mistakes. That's what the Moon card meant. Her suspicions were validated.
Something was definitely wrong. She knew it, but how could she prove it? Sean had a tight case and all she had was a single Tarot card.
There was nothing she could do.
A wave of bitterness swept through her as she assessed the limitations of her talent. She knew what Viola was feeling right now. She'd experienced it during her time in Wall Street. She remembered the panic and the fear as the trap shut all around her.
Her throat tightened. What was the use of knowing something was wrong when you couldn't do anything about it? All she had was a pack of cards, and what could a pack of cards do? No one would believe her, just like they hadn't believed that her successful stock trades were due to her fortune-telling talents and were not insider trading.
She stuffed the card into the box and resumed packing, fighting back tears.
"Then we are done," she said, grabbing her flip flops and dropping them into the bag. "Time to go home."
"Yes," Sean agreed, zipping up his suitcase. "Mary-Louise doesn't need me any—"
A knock on the door interrupted him.
"Helloooo?" Samira crooned from the other side of the door. "Are you guys still around?"
Luanne walked over and opened the door. Samira was there, holding a pack of Tarot cards and a book. Kat, Fiona, Jane, Murray, and Zoraida stood behind her.
"Oh, good," Kat said. "You haven't left."
"That means we have almost everyone," Samira said with a smile. "Would you like to join our happy hour?"
"Happy hour?" Luanne asked. "After all that's—"
Zoraida raised a hand. "Precisely because of all that's happened. We can't let the conference end like this. I have my issues with the association, of course—"
"Many of us do," Murray muttered.
"But it's still our home," Samira said. "For some of us, the association is the only family we have. We're not letting Walter Farsight destroy it."
Walter was destroying the group? That seemed a bit extreme. Also, she couldn't understand how anyone could be up for a happy hour tonight. These guys, however, seemed determined.
"Come on," Samira cajoled. "I'm going to do a reading, and trust me, you don't want to miss it."
Luanne frowned. Cards wouldn't solve this, as her recent experience with the Japanese woodcut deck amply demonstrated.
"Drinks, Luanne," Kat said. "Free drinks."
Murray nodded. "Samira seems to be under some kind of temporary insanity. She's opened up a tab."
Samira glanced down at her book and smiled. "I have my reasons. Will you come?"
<
br /> Luanne took a deep breath. Heck, why not?
"Sure," she said. "We'll be there."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SEAN SIPPED his whisky neat as he waited for the bartender to finish preparing Luanne's Seaside Magic Spritzer. The bubbly concoction seemed to contain various liqueurs, assorted syrups, and some kind of liquefied jam. Luanne was getting her alcohol and sugar fixes simultaneously.
And she wasn't the only one. The impromptu happy hour was well attended. He couldn't call it a rousing success—the mood was too subdued for that—but the event was definitely welcomed by the association members. Everyone was drinking and chatting.
There was little laughter or merriment, but that was to be expected under the circumstances. The resort bar was almost aggressively upbeat with white shiplap walls, white wicker furniture, and blue and white cushions, but melancholy seemed to be the order of the day.
The one exception was Samira, who was sitting on a corner table cheerfully shuffling her cards. Dressed in her usual silver-colored caftan, she was the quiet focus of the room. No one spoke to her, but they kept glancing at her table as if waiting for something momentous to happen. The quiet chatter of the crowd rose to an expectant hum.
And still Samira shuffled on, her cards half-hidden behind her book.
Sean turned as the bartender handed him a tall glass full of pink, frothy liquid. The bar seemed to be engaged in some kind of drink garnish competition, as the thing was positively loaded with umbrellas, fruit skewers and what appeared to be a puff of pink cotton candy. The drink looked thoroughly unappetizing to him, but Luanne would love it.
He took the two glasses and headed for Luanne's table. She was sitting with Kat and Fiona, who already had tall, garnish-laden glasses in front of them. Like the rest of the group, they were sneaking glances at Samira.
"How much shuffling can a human being do?" Kat muttered.
"She's flirting with carpal tunnel syndrome at this point," Fiona replied.
"Hush," Luanne said, accepting her glass with a smile. "She's just waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Sean asked as he sat down in one of the sprawling white wicker chairs.
"I don't know," Luanne said, eyes scanning the room. "Oh, there's Mary-Louise."
Sean looked up to see the Mystic Bay sheriff entering the room. Without thinking, he turned to assess Samira's reaction.
She was still shuffling.
"You looked," Luanne said with a mischievous smile.
"I don't know what you mean," he said.
Luanne sipped her drink. "Don't bother denying it. I saw you."
"You gotta hand it to Samira," Kat said. "She can put on a show."
Mary-Louise walked to the bar to get herself a drink. She was dressed in civilian clothes, but her overly casual demeanor betrayed the fact that she was a cop on the job. The sheriff was apparently going to be part of the audience.
Luanne nodded. "Even if she's just shuffling. Some people are just naturally magnetic." She sighed. "Sadly, I am not one of those people."
"You are great," Kat interjected "Everyone has their own—"
"Shhh." Fiona cut her off with a wave of her hand. "Look who just walked in."
Sean scanned the room again. There, right next to the door, stood Wanda Farsight.
She was dressed in a wrinkled Walter Farsight Sees All, Knows All shirt and pants, and her hair was uncombed. She did not look like a woman who had successfully unmasked a murderer.
But Sean didn't have much time to analyze Wanda's demeanor, as Samira chose that moment to slam her cards on the table.
"A good reading requires a good subject." Samira's voice echoed through the room.
The fortune-teller's sonorous tones were quite different from her everyday voice. Kat was right, Samira was putting on quite a show.
"This time, however, the subject is missing," she continued. "Walter, as you all know, is dead."
Her words were greeted with an expectant silence.
"But he is still with us," Samira intoned, tapping the top of her book. Sean peered at the cover until he identified the title. It was Reach for the Stars and the author was Walter Farsight.
"Walter founded this association and led it for years," Samira continued. "For many of us, a Diviners' Association without Walter Farsight is unthinkable." A small smile crossed her face. "For Walter as well, I imagine."
She paused, hand poised over her deck of cards.
"That is why it is so important that we know exactly what happened," she continued.
"But the cards won't tell us that," a voice interrupted.
It was Morgana, sitting all the way in the back.
"Won't they?" Samira asked, undeterred.
"Not in a way that will satisfy the police," Morgana replied.
Murray shrugged. "Maybe not, but it may still satisfy us." His gimlet eyes scanned the crowd. "And that is the only thing that concerns me. Divine justice is plenty good enough for me."
Samira tilted her head. "That may happen, but I am aiming for something more ambitious." She lifted her hand, picking up half of the stack. "Let's begin."
She laid two cards down on the table. "I am going to do a double three-card spread. It's an eccentric choice, I know, but I like it for this situation for several reasons. First, it's simple enough that my esteemed colleagues won't be able to argue too much about my conclusions."
Laughter spread through the crowd.
"And, in addition, it gives us more information than a regular three-carder."
Morgana frowned. "Are you using two decks?"
Samira grinned. "Good catch. I am doing two readings and that deserves two decks, no?"
Morgana looked skeptical, but she didn't protest.
"What is she doing?" Luanne muttered. "The two decks change everything."
Samira pointed at the cards. "The bottom card will tell us about Walter and the top one will tell us about his attacker. Everybody with me?"
The confused faces around her seemed to indicate the opposite. Wanda, in particular, looked almost frightened. Sean noted that for future reference.
He sneaked a glance toward the bar. Mary-Louise did not seem interested in Wanda's reaction. The town sheriff looked baffled and annoyed.
Samira, however, seemed unconcerned. "The first two cards will be the past." She laid another pair of cards down. "These next two cards would usually be the present, the time when the question is posed. However, in our situation, well, there is no present. Walter is already dead." She tapped her finger on the cards. "These cards, therefore, will be the near past, or the time of the murder."
Another two cards came down. "And this will be the present." She looked up and regarded the crowd. "Or where we stand right now."
Morgana interrupted again. "But—" Her eyes narrowed. "Never mind."
Samira raised a brow. "Any other questions?"
No one spoke.
"Very well," Samira said. "Let's start with Walter's past."
She turned over the first card. It was an old man sitting on a throne holding a sword. The features were hard to read because the card was upside down.
Luanne burst into laughter. Morgana covered her mouth with her hand, but it was clear that she was giggling too. In a few seconds, the whole room was cackling.
"Oh, we are terrible," Morgana said, chuckling. "But, yes, that's Walter. Absolutely."
Sean, Kat, and Fiona exchanged glances.
I don't see—" Fiona started.
Luanne leaned forward. "The King of Swords is an authority figure, usually a wise older male who is widely respected. That's the upright read, though. When the card is reversed, it signals a buffoonish, selfish man who likes to manipulate people."
Sean nodded. That sounded like Walter all right.
Samira chuckled. "I see no one is surprised. We always get the swords suit when we read for Walter, don't we?"
Luanne nodded. "Strife and conflict, every single time."
Samira tilted her head
and peered at the second card. "One would usually read the attacker's card now, but I think I will delay that reveal. I want to get a good handle on Walter's state of mind first."
She chose a card from the second pile. "So let's see what Walter was going through on that cliff."
She flipped the card over and Luanne gasped in shock.
This card was upright. It was a young man holding a sword with four more swords in the background. A female figure walked away from him.
"I got that card," Luanne whispered, eyes wide. "I got it in the last reading I did." She shook her head. "But it makes no sense."
"What does it mean?" Sean asked, now thoroughly confused.
Luanne grimaced. "It means revenge."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"I SEE some shocked faces," Samira said. "I guess some of us were busy doing readings this weekend."
Her twinkling eyes seemed to be focused on Luanne. How did Samira know that Luanne had gotten this exact same card? How was it possible?
Repeated cards were not all that rare, particularly during unrelated readings, but Samira was using two decks, and reading an entirely different individual. Luanne shivered. It was eerie.
"No," Wanda shouted. "You can't—"
Everyone turned to stare at her. She visibly shrank, wringing her hands. Sean and Mary-Louise stared at her.
Morgana raised her hand. "Let her finish, Wanda."
Sean heaved an exasperated sigh. Mary-Louise's jaw tensed. The cop contingent was getting frustrated.
The fortune-tellers, however, were fascinated. They loved nothing more than a good reading, and this one was riveting.
"Thank you, Morgana." Samira picked up a card from the third deck. "Let's see what this is."
She turned the card over.
Sean smiled. "Well, even I know what that is."
Of course he did. It was a blindfolded woman with a scale and a sword. Justice. The identity of that card would be obvious to anyone. Its meaning in the reading, however, was a different story. According to Samira, this would be Walter's death.
"Why is it reversed, though?" Sean asked.
He sounded offended, which made Luanne smile. "It has nothing to do with you. It doesn't mean you won't do your job."