Great. The entire decision was resting on my shoulders. If Murray didn’t want to do it, then she had good reason. On the other hand, I knew Jimbo was feeling mighty helpless. He desperately wanted to be of use somehow, and he didn’t know how, so he was turning to me.
I held his gaze. Yes, he was a ruffian, and yes, he was frequently on the wrong side of the law, but he had saved my son and, against all odds, was making my best friend happy. “All right, I’ll do it, but I do it my way, on my terms, and if something creepy happens, that’s it. Okay?”
He flashed me a bright smile. “O’Brien, you’re all right. You know that?”
I punched him playfully on the arm. “Uh huh… you too, you big baboon. I know I’m going to regret saying yes. I always do.” Sobering, I cleared my throat. “However…”
“However, what?”
“However… I want you to listen to me and listen good. Murray is my best friend, and I won’t see her used or abused.” I poked him in the chest, no longer joking. “If you ever hurt Anna, in any way, I will dig out Nanna’s nastiest spell and make your life a living nightmare, do you understand me?”
Even though he forced a laugh, he knew I could—and would—do it. He nodded and said gruffly, “I hear you, I hear you.”
“Okay then. I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll talk to Murray and we’ll let you know when we’re going up there.” Actually, I thought, this wasn’t a bad idea. While I didn’t believe that the Klakatat Monster was responsible for Scar’s death, going up to Klickavail Valley would give us an excuse to poke around for information leading to the real killer. I headed back inside as Jimbo took off down the street.
Chapter 9
THE STREET DANCE was a rousing success. Men, women and children flooded the two-block area, and my tearoom was packed. Most people ordered their tea and pastries to go, then wandered back outside to the dance, so we were able to handle a lot more customers than usual. I wiped my hands on a towel as Cinnamon offered to stay and wait tables while Lana enjoyed herself at the dance.
“It’s not like I’ve got a boyfriend,” Cinnamon said glumly. “Darren is back in jail and won’t be getting out for another year.”
I shook my head. “Hon, let him go. He may be the father of your children, but he’s always in trouble and he never helps you with child support.”
She shrugged. “I know, I know… but the kids… and I still love him…”
There was nothing more I could say. She was caught in a cycle and had to find her own way out. At least she’d passed all her night classes for spring quarter and had one year left before she earned her associate’s degree in accounting. Maybe I could convince her to go on for her B.A., I thought. Once she had her degree, I’d probably be saying goodbye. Even though the thought pained me—she’d been with me since I first opened and was a huge help in the shop—I knew she needed to be able to earn a good living to support her kids.
The Barry Boys were in full swing when Joe and the kids wandered in, followed by Horvald and Ida. Joe sidled up to me, took me in his arms and gave me a long, leisurely kiss. Not so long that the kids would be embarrassed, but long enough to let me know that he was thinking about me.
Horvald and Ida beamed at us. “We thought we’d grab a bite here, then go out and try our hand on the dance floor,” Horvald said. “Emerald, you and Joe get out there, too! No hiding in the shop. I want to see some fancy footwork from the two of you.”
It occurred to me that the older couple had been keeping close company lately. Hmm… wedding bells in the future, perhaps? It would be so nice for them to both have somebody special again. Ida had lost her husband long ago, when she was young. Horvald had been alone for over a decade.
I ushered them into the tearoom where Cinnamon fixed them up with iced tea and cookies. When I returned to the counter, the kids were waiting, hands open wide.
“Can we have some money?” Kip looked so hopeful that I decided to ignore the fact that his allowance had already disappeared.
I dug in my purse and pulled out two ten-dollar bills. “Here, but that’s it, and no more till next week’s allowance. You understand?”
Kip grabbed his money and ran out the door. Randa grinned and stuffed hers in her pocket. “Thanks. Need any help around the shop?”
“Why don’t you go have some fun?” I frowned.
She shrugged. “Lori’s on vacation, and there’s not much out there that interests me. I’d rather stay in here. I’ll help Cinnamon.”
Lori Thomas was Randa’s one-and-only friend from school. I could hardly wait until she got back in town. While I was happy Randa could entertain herself, I really wanted to see her branch out and meet more kids her own age. If something should happen to her friendship with Lori, it could easily devastate her.
I gave Joe a helpless look. “Okay, if that’s what you want. Just watch the counter though, since you aren’t licensed to handle food or wait on people.” As Joe escorted me toward the door, I said, “I love that she’s so helpful, but sometimes I get a little worried about her.”
“She’s fine, Em. She’s just different than you are and it bugs you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s what everybody keeps telling me and you’re probably right. But I’m her mother; I’ve got a right to fret.”
He laughed, then pulled me out into the street in front of the shop and we strutted our stuff. I loved to dance, and Joe humored me. Whenever we went out to a romantic dinner together, he made sure there would be dancing.
Horvald and Ida waltzed by, spry and graceful. Several of my customers wandered past, all of whom who waved at me. We whirled to the music, stopping between songs to grab our breath. Then the band struck up one a B-52’s classic—“Love Shack”—one of my technopop favorites. The crowd started to clap in rhythm, and then Joe and I were off, head-banging away, singing along as we shimmied until he dipped me back in a sudden fit of boogie madness. My hand slipped off his shoulder and I tripped, promptly bumping into the person behind me. I scrambled up.
Before I could turn to apologize, a voice I knew all too well caught my attention. “Watch it, will you—”
I groaned. Cathy Sutton. Why did she always have to be in my way? Cathy steadied herself, her newly platinum hair shimmering like bleached straw.
“Couldn’t resist trying to knock me over, could you?” A greedy glimmer flickered in her eyes. She gave me one of her crocodile smiles. “I’m sorry my interview with George got out of hand, but you know that I’d be happy to give you rebuttal time. Maybe we could set up a debate between you two. After all, you are our local psychic!”
I shot her a withering look. “What the hell have you been smoking? What are you trying to do? Audition for Jerry Springer’s job?” Oh yeah, I could see the headlines now—“Psychics Duke It Out On The Astral Plane.” Nope. Wasn’t gonna go there.
With a sputter, Cathy narrowed her eyes. “Emerald, you aren’t the only game in town. By now, I’d think you’d learn how to cooperate with the press… maybe even learn to use us to your advantage, rather than demonize us.” She turned on her heel and sashayed off. Good riddance. I needed her around like I needed another ghost in the attic.
Joe grinned. I turned my oh-so-nasty look on him and he burst out laughing. “Slow down there, partner. Deep breath! Breathe, Emerald, breathe! The dragon lady is gone. You can calm down.”
Too angry at Cathy to cope with his jokes, I headed for the shop door but he caught my arm and whirled me around.
“You’re laughing at me,” I said, hearing a whine in my voice. I sighed and tried to calm down. “Joe, I’m just so mad I could spit. Maybe you’d better leave me alone for a few minutes.”
He refused to let go. “Yes, I am laughing at you,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But honey, I can’t help it. You and Cathy are oil and water, yet somehow you always manage to bump into each other. Maybe you have some sort of… what do you call it… karmic connection?”
&nb
sp; “If karma sent that woman here to punish me, I must have been a horrible person in another lifetime!” Abruptly, I shut up. He’d called me “honey.” Joe had called me “honey.” Everything I’d been fuming about went out the window. He’d called me “Em” and “babe,” but he’d never used any of those endearments that men use when they’re falling in love. “You’ve never called me ‘honey’ before.”
With a slow smile, he asked, “Does it bother you?”
Hurriedly, I reassured him. “No, no! In fact, I like it.” He took me into his arms, gently rocking me back and forth, I closed my eyes, content to bathe in his glow. He rubbed my back and I began to feel a little better.
With a gentle brush of the hand, he smoothed my hair away from my face. “Have I told you lately just how special you are? How much you mean to me?”
I basked, letting the waves of his energy wash over me like flickers of sunlight trickling through my heart. “Joe—you know how I feel.”
“Yeah, I know,” he whispered. “Now, let’s go show that shrew how to shake a leg.”
Laughing, I took his hand and let him lead me back out into the street. We’d managed to break a sweat to Don Wan’s Kodo Drumming Group when Lana came running up.
“Emerald!” She stopped, pausing to catch her breath.
“What’s wrong? What happened? Is it Kip?” I immediately began to look for my son but she shook her head.
“No, he’s over at the cotton-candy vendor, but there is something you should know. I was almost at the corner of Main and Woodruff when I decided to stop at one of the vendors and grab a burger, and I couldn’t believe it. You’ll never guess what I saw—oh, I just hate telling you this! I know it’s going to upset you.”
Perplexed, I asked, “What? What did you see?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I saw a card table there, near the far corner of the street fair. That really obnoxious guy who was in the shop the other day asking you questions… he’s giving tarot readings, and his sign claims that he’s the only accurate reader in town!”
Stunned, I looked up at Joe. “This can’t be right. He’s not a professional reader, he hasn’t got the experience or the wisdom to be dispensing advice.”
“Come on. Lana, tell Miranda we’ll be right back.” Joe grabbed my hand and we jogged down the sidewalk through the thinning crowds. There, near the end of the fair, right where Lana said he would be: George was sitting at a card table with a sandwich board propped on the sidewalk that read, “Ready for a change? Ready to find out what the tarot is really about? Get a reading from the only accurate reader in town. $15 per question.” The word “only” was in bold letters, underlined twice.
“Boy, he didn’t waste any time, did he?” I said in a low voice. “First he insults me, then tries to ruin my business, and now he’s even undercutting my prices!” I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to do this to me, but more important, I worried that his lack of experience might hurt somebody.
I strode up to the table and slammed my hands flat on the surface, knocking his cards onto the street. Nobody around us seemed to notice—this end of the street fair was almost empty. I leaned across the top until we were nose-to-nose. “Georgy-boy, just what do you think you’re doing? You know you’re digging yourself a mighty deep hole.”
His lip curled until he was almost smiling. “I figured you’d show up eventually.”
I pointed to the sign. “What the hell is that? You know I could sue you for slander after what you said on television?”
He shrugged. “I suppose you could, but I doubt if you will. You don’t like bad publicity. It could have been different, Emerald. If you had treated me better, not like some punk kid, maybe I wouldn’t feel this burning desire to prove what a bitch you are. We could have been partners. But no, you had to go and blow it big-time. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you! You aren’t the only tarot reader around, and you don’t have a monopoly on the psychic world. Since you won’t let me work with you, I’m just taking advantage of the free enterprise system we live with in this country.”
“You little prig! If you had any idea of what you were doing, I wouldn’t care if you set up a shop right next door. But you know perfectly well that you don’t have the experience required to read for the public. All you’re going to do is end up hurting somebody, and then you’ll come whining to me to help you fix it. Well get it through your head—some things can’t be mended, and if you mess up somebody’s life, you can’t always make it right. Get it?”
He snorted, but I was just getting warmed up. “By the way, you do realize that by slandering me, you’re interfering with my livelihood? I hope you’ve taken that fact under consideration, because I can and will put a stop to it if you see fit to continue this little vendetta.”
George laughed. “My mother can afford any lawyer in this state. You wouldn’t stand a chance in court.” He narrowed his eyes and let out a loud huff. “Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to throw me out of your shop. Think about that for a while.” He looked around at the thinning crowd. “I’m packing it in—the dance is almost over and I’ve made several hundred dollars tonight.”
Damned pompous little pup! Without another word, I turned to stomp away, but stopped when I heard Joe’s voice. I whirled, only to see that Joe had backed George up against the wall of Elegant Evenings, a designer clothing shop.
“If you ever upset my girlfriend again, I’ll wipe that smug little smirk off your face. Got it?” Joe’s voice was low, but his intentions were clear.
“No!” This was getting out of hand. I couldn’t let my boyfriend mop the street with George, regardless of how much the idiot deserved a good thrashing.
Right about then, Greg and Deacon—who were on foot patrol during the fair—came sauntering up. “What seems to be the trouble?” Deacon asked, eying Joe. “Maybe you should let the dude go,” he suggested.
Joe reluctantly backed away, crossing his arms. “All right, all right…” He nodded to George. “You just got lucky. Now, beat it, and don’t come around Emerald’s shop again.”
With a snort, George shot back, “Don’t sweat it, Mr. Fireman. I’m not sniffing up her skirt. She’s too old for me, but I guess she’s all you can get?”
Oh shit. That did it. Joe lunged forward, catching hold of George’s collar. “Let me tell you, boy, you picked the wrong night to come downtown.”
George let out a shriek as he struggled against Joe’s grip. “Help!”
Deacon and Greg waded in, separating them. I gave Deacon a pleading look. “Please, don’t do anything rash.”
After a moment, Deacon shook his head. “Joe, my man, you can’t just go around punching people you don’t like, especially if they didn’t hit you first.”
Joe grumbled. “I tell you, this guy is a troublemaker.”
“Aren’t you going to arrest him?” George whimpered. “He threatened to hit me! He grabbed my shirt! You saw him!”
If I’d been close enough, I would have smacked him one myself, just for being a whiny brat. As it was, Greg dragged George over to one side of the table, while Deacon pulled Joe to the other side. I stood there alone, watching while they worked things out.
Finally Deacon motioned to me, giving me a long, deliberate look. “Emerald, you need to take your man home and cool him off.”
I read him loud and clear, and grabbed Joe by the arm. “It’s time to go lock up the shop.” Looking dark as a thundercloud, he gave in. I knew he didn’t want to back down, but we both knew that if he took one more step toward George, Deacon and Greg would be forced to cart him away to jail.
As we wordlessly trudged back to my shop, I thought about George’s behavior. He’d obviously expected me to fall at his feet when he offered to work with me, and my rejection had stung, and stung bad. Yeah, it was his problem, but how far would he go to try to ruin my business in revenge?
Chapter 10
STILL TIRED FROM the nig
ht before, I headed out for my daily trek through the jungle that was our front lawn. Our paperboy hadn’t managed to get the paper on the porch or in the mailbox once in all the time we’d lived here.
As I waded through the weeds and wildflowers, it occurred to me that Kip had been neglecting to mow the lawn, one of his regular chores. I hunted through the usual places where our paperboy usually tossed the paper, then saw the rolled-up end sticking out from under the gigantic deer fern that occupied the center of the lawn. As I bent over to retrieve it, an argiope—those huge, orb-weaver, striped, garden spiders that like to hang around in webs and eat bugs—shimmied across the frond and brushed against my hand. I shrieked, the paper went flying, and the spider probably had a heart attack.
Okay, that did it. I gathered up the paper and marched back inside. As I neared the kitchen, Kip raced out of the room, heading for the stairs. “Whoa, kiddo! Slow down. Where are you going?”
“To Sly’s. I’m not hungry this morning.”
“Back to the table, buster.” I gently herded him into the kitchen. “You are going to eat breakfast, and after breakfast, you will spend the day weeding and mowing the front yard. You skipped last week, didn’t you?”
He grumbled. “Aw, Mom, can I do it tomorrow?”
“Today.” I sliced up a cantaloupe and set it on the table as Randa dished up instant oatmeal. “If you finish early, and do a good job, you can go over to Sly’s later this afternoon.”
Obviously irked, Kip shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into this mouth, glaring at me as I poured evaporated milk over my cereal and liberally sprinkled on the brown sugar. Randa suppressed a grin as she said, “Mom, after my chores, I’m going to the library.”
“Baby, isn’t there anything else you want to do on your vacation except hang round the library?”
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