Seer in Starlight

by Amanda Hartford

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that, I wasn’t expecting… that.”

  He was upset, but I couldn’t tell why. As usual, he was unreadable, but I didn’t think that this was the usual “What, are you nuts?” reaction I get from so-called normal people. This was something different.

  “Cody, talk to me.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  I was tired and hurt, and my defenses were down after Jack’s murder. I hated the words that came out of my mouth, even as I was saying them. “You think I’m crazy, right? You think I’m some kind of lunatic.”

  The word made him wince, but I was just getting warmed up. “Well, I’m not. Things happen to me, Cody, things I can’t always control. I can hear what people are thinking.”

  “So, what am I thinking now?” he asked, his voice calm.

  I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. As always, he was totally unreadable. “I have no idea.”

  He sat quietly for a moment, then stood. "I think I'd better go. I'm glad to see that you're alright."

  I didn’t walk him to the door. I was far from alright.

  Chapter Six

  I have no memory of getting myself ready for bed, but when my phone woke me, it was nearly noon. At first, I burrowed under the blankets, determined to ignore it. It finally stopped ringing and then began again.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, determined to fling the phone into the other room, but the caller ID came up as Jack. I scrambled to answer it.

  It was a woman’s voice.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m calling from… ,” she purred.

  “Who is this? Is this some sort of horrible joke?” I demanded.

  The woman was clearly taken aback. “Oh, no, I didn’t realize — no, this is Vonda Tarleton. I’m calling from the cell phone we keep at the condo where Jack lived. I guess Jack put his name on as the user. I’m so sorry if I startled you.”

  I forced my racing heart to settle down. “Yes, Ms. Tarleton. What can I do for you?”

  “I found your name in Jack’s contacts. I was hoping you were the driver who brought me home the other day from the airport?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please call me Vonda. I was told that the police impounded your car along with our SUV — is that right?”

  A few hour’s sleep had swept away my memory of the details of last night, and it all came crashing back: not just Jack’s death, but the loss of my car in my livelihood.

  “Yes.” My voice was an exhausted whisper.

  “I was hoping, when you feel better, we might be able to help each other,” Vonda said.

  I waited for her to explain.

  “You don’t have a car, and we don’t have a driver. I was hoping we might join forces for a little while.”

  “You’re offering me a job?”

  Her voice was steady, helpful. “At least for now, until you get your car back and things settle down over here a bit. If you decide that you want it to be permanent, we can talk about that.”

  I pictured my Prius as I last saw it, on the back of a flatbed tow truck headed for the impound yard.

  “I appreciate the offer, Vonda. Yes, let’s talk about it.”

  “How about lunch?”

  I agreed.

  “Excellent! I have a temp here today, helping me with some office chores. I was just about to send her out to get lunch. Shall I have her swing by and pick you up?”

  ♦

  When Vonda's temp picked me up, her car was already filled with the delightful scents of pastrami and Italian beef sandwiches from one of the best delis in Scottsdale.

  We introduced ourselves. Lindsay was a mousy dishwater blonde about my own age. She was wearing a simple skirt, blouse, and flat shoes, all of which I was sure had “Made in China” labels.

  “How long have you been temping for Vonda?” I asked her.

  “On and off, for a couple of years now.”

  “So, you must have known Jack.”

  I was afraid for a minute that Lindsay was about to tear up, but then she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “He was a great guy. This has been really hard on everybody.”

  She’d had a crush on him. Time to change the subject, fast. “I just met Vonda the other day, but she seems really nice.”

  Her enthusiasm was back. “She’s great! I’m always happy when the agency calls and says she’s back in town.”

  “Do you work for the CFO, too?”

  Lindsay wrinkled her nose. “No, thank goodness. Schneider’s kind of a pickle.”

  Interesting turn of phrase. “What’s his deal?”

  “Nothing I can put my finger on,” Lindsay said, quickly backtracking. “He’s always been a gentleman.” She pulled into a gated community. “I guess you should just decide for yourself.”

  I helped Lindsay carry in the boxes from the deli, and Vonda opened the door to the condo for us.

  “Welcome! I’m so glad you could come, even under such sad circumstances.”

  I thanked her, and she led me to a small dining room that overlooked a lushly landscaped swimming pool. Lindsay grabbed a sandwich and scurried off to an office in the back of the condo.

  “This is beautiful,” I said. “It must be lovely to work here.”

  “Oh, you haven’t been here before?” Vonda asked. She was testing to see whether Jack brought his girlfriends to the condo.

  I knew I was blushing. “No, Jack and I were just work friends.”

  “As were we, but we’ll still miss him around here.”

  Vonda picked up a framed photograph on the sideboard. I recognized Vonda and Lindsay, with the Jack on the far side. In the middle of the photo were two middle-aged men. “This was taken the day we got the keys to the condo.”

  The one next to Vonda was smiling at the camera, his arm around her waist. “Is that Jack’s Uncle Ethan?”

  Vonda smiled fondly and nodded. “And the other one is our CFO, Charles Schneider.”

  Schneider wasn’t smiling; he was clearly just putting up with this nonsense until he could escape back to his laptop.

  “Jack was something special,” I said.

  “That, he was,” Vonda said she put the photo away.

  We sat at the dining table, ate our sandwiches and talked about the terms of my employment. It was pretty simple: I was on call whenever Vonda or other company executives were in residence at the condo. Otherwise, the company car was mine to use.

  “Since you have your own apartment, there’s no reason for you to live here,” Vonda said, “but otherwise, it’s pretty much the same arrangement we had with Jack. Will that work for you?”

  Free use of a luxury car and a small income on top of my rideshare money? That absolutely worked for me.

  As we finished off our vanilla Bavarian cream dessert cups, Vonda got an email from the leasing company that the replacement SUV had been delivered. She and I walked out past the pool to a five-car garage at the back of the property.

  The new car was gorgeous. “The keys are in it,” Vonda said. “See how it feels.”

  I eased into the driver’s seat. The cockpit was accented in burled wood and smelled of fine leather. The touchscreen set into the dash was bigger than the tablet I used in college.

  “When do you want me to start?” I asked.

  “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  My rent was due in a week. “Driving for you, if you need me.”

  She looked delighted. “Schneider is coming in on a commercial flight in a couple of hours. Would you mind picking him up?”

  ♦

  It only took Vonda a few minutes to get me added to Uncle Ethan’s commercial insurance. I used the extra desk in the condo’s office to add the SUV to my rideshare and airport parking accounts and make an appointment later in the day for the mandatory inspections. I was ready to go.

  After tooling around town in my little Prius, driving the massive SUV felt like I was piloti
ng the international space station. It sat much higher on the road, and there were big blind spots in the mirrors. Vonda showed me how to use the surround cameras instead. It was going to take some getting used to.

  Mr. Schneider’s plane was right on time. Vonda had given me a hand sign of their company logo to hold up, and he walked right to me. Actually, he walked right past me. I recognized him from the photo at the condo and started to say something, but he looked at me over his shoulder and kept walking, leaving his wheeled luggage standing there. I got the message and scooped it up by the handle as we exited the terminal.

  He never said a word to me all the way back to the condo, which was fine with me — I was happy to keep my concentration on the complicated dashboard.

  When we got to the condo, he didn’t wait for me to open the door for him. I followed him inside and left his luggage in the entrance hall. Vonda waved to me as I let myself out. I was done for the day.

  ♦

  I spent the rest of the day making the car my own. The rideshare inspectors were properly impressed.

  I stopped by my apartment and made myself a sandwich, then did a little online shopping. The cardboard placards had been fine for the Prius, but the SUV deserved one of those flashy LED signs.

  I probably should have headed to the airport to drive the surge, but I was on Vonda’s payroll now. I was beginning to understand Jack’s casual attitude towards work, but goofing off wasn’t in my nature. I’d been given a great gift of free time, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

  I drove over to Papago Park as soon as the moon rose. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw small children gleefully aiming flashlights everywhere as their parents herded them toward the wide footbridge at the entrance to the botanical garden. I carefully maneuvered the SUV around the crowds to the dark area at the edge of the tarmac.

  It took me less than a minute to clear my mind and drop into a meditative state. The clouds in the crystal didn’t alarm me now, and I wasn’t surprised when the rainbow at its core resolved itself into a pair of neon green eyes.

  I realized that I hadn’t yet asked a question, but the cat was the answer. I needed to know what was going on.

  Are you real? I thought at the cat. It was a weird sensation, but I was determined to stay focused, and I brushed it off.

  The cat slowly closed and opened its eyes. That wasn’t an answer, but it was a connection.

  As real as you.

  Whoa. The cat's lips hadn't moved — well, of course, they hadn't — but there had been a voice. No, not a voice: a sentient thought. I knew that it had not come from my own mind. I wasn't making this up.

  What do you want? I asked the cat, smiling to myself at the absurdity.

  The question is: what do YOU want?

  Smart cat.

  I realized that the animal wasn’t really staring at me; it was just listening intently. The cat blinked again, a long, languid lowering and raising of its hooded lids.

  See you soon, the cat said. Smoke was swirling again inside the crystal.

  Wait! I nearly shouted. But the silver cat was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  I hadn’t expected to hear from Cody after our last encounter, at least so soon, but when I woke up the next morning there was a text from him: let’s talk.

  Yes, let’s. Without ever mentioning our fight, if that’s what it was, we agreed to meet for dinner at Terminal Four.

  Cody behaved as if nothing had happened. He met me at the Sky Train, kissed my cheek, and held my hand as we walked into the food court. It was killing me to ignore the elephant in the room, but this meeting had been his idea and I was willing to let it play out.

  We separated to get our food, then met back at the table. We didn’t talk much as we ate, neither of us wanting to touch the third rail of our last conversation.

  “I have a weird request for you,” Cody finally said. He’d put down his Smashburger. Here it comes.

  Now that the moment was here, I chickened out. Cody was a good guy, and I didn’t want lose him. I went for cheap humor to change the subject. “You want to whisk me away to the Caribbean for a wild, wanton weekend,” I said with a lewd wink.

  I couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes as Cody considered his answer. “Well, not today,” Cody said. “Actually, my mother wants me to invite you for brunch.”

  I squinted at him. “How did that happen?”

  “I mentioned you at dinner the other night,” Cody said. Meaning that he told her about our conversation? “My mother said — and I quote — ‘I think your friend Stella has good vibes.’ She wants to meet you.”

  “Isn’t it a little early to take me home to meet the parents?”

  Cody blushed right down to his toes. “No!” he stammered. “It’s not like that, I promise. It’s just…”

  “Cody, I’m just teasing.”

  “Oh.”

  I watched him relax. “So, what’s the deal?”

  He grinned. “True confession time. My mother is a little… unusual.”

  I caught my breath. In my experience, unusual can mean anything from an addiction to crossword puzzles to a full-on witch. I waited.

  “How much do you know about the Sixties?” Cody asked.

  This was absolutely not the question I was expecting. “Not much. I’ve seen the Woodstock movie, and my grandmother used to talk about the hippies and the war protesters. That’s about it.”

  “That's a good start," Cody said, leaning back in his chair. "My grandparents were those hippies. Luna was born in a commune way up in the Rockies. Her worldview is peace, love, and pot, not necessarily in that order."

  “Luna?”

  “Legal name: Martha Sue, courtesy of her father, who always kept one foot in the real world. They came back to civilization when she was eleven, after the commune got raided.”

  My eyes widened. “That must’ve been some culture shock for your mother.”

  “She’s never really bought in. The day she graduated from high school, she went back to ‘Luna.’ I’ve never called her mother.”

  “Must’ve been an interesting childhood,” I said.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Cody said, shaking his head. “After graduation, my mother took a few art classes at the junior college. That’s where she met my dad. She’s the Yin to his Yang, but somehow they’ve made it work.”

  “What does your dad do?”

  “He has a Ph.D. in economics. He teaches at ASU."

  I giggled. “What on earth do they find to talk about?”

  “Me, mostly,” Cody said with a grin. “I came along exactly nine months after the day they met. I’ve pretty much been their focus ever since.”

  He leaned forward. “So, what do you say? Brunch on Saturday?”

  ♦

  That evening, I drove my first shift as a black car driver. It didn’t take long for the app to ping.

  ♦

  I was getting used to the enormous SUV. It was bigger in every dimension than my snug little Prius, but it also felt safer as I dodged traffic in the narrow intersections of Old Town Scottsdale.

  I was thankful that my first ride out of the airport that day was an older woman, in town for a long-overdue visit with her adult daughter. Unless somebody really has their walls up, I hear a constant stream of their internal dialogue, whether I want to, or not. Sometimes being a psychic really sucks, but this woman spent the entire trip chattering out loud — no psychic abilities required — about all the fun things her daughter had planned for them to do over the weekend: restaurants and museums, even a concert. It sounded to me as if there would be no time to sit down for a nice long chat, which was probably the point.

  I dropped my passenger at a tidy little house on the edge of Arizona State University. As I pulled up to the curb, a college-age woman — a younger version of her passenger — came out to collect her mother and the luggage. My fare was still talking when I pulled away from the curb.

  My next ride called me ba
ck to the rarefied air of Scottsdale. Anxiety Guy from the other night was leaving the same upscale restaurant in the same bespoke suit. He looked a little rumpled this time, and I could feel the panic flowing off him before he even opened the rear passenger door.

  The guy leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes, precluding any chance of small talk. I wonder where the skinflint hid it? the man was thinking, over and over. It’s got to be in the house somewhere. I felt him walking through the various rooms of a mansion in his mind, rummaging through drawers and looking under flowerpots.

  The search continued right up to the minute I dropped him at the door of a ritzy saloon.

  At least he isn’t going to drive himself home, I thought.

  By the end of the night, I’d made nearly double what I used to make driving the basic fare tier. The only thing I missed was the conversation. The working-class folks I drove in the Prius were on their way to work while their own clunkers were in the shop. Many usually got around on the bus, and their weekly ride with me to the grocery store or a doctor’s appointment took a meaningful chunk out of their weekly budget. Taking a rideshare was an adventure, or at least a luxury. As I drove them, I heard about their lives, their kids, and whatever disaster had landed them in the backseat of my little car.

  The black car passengers were a whole different breed of cat. I was playing chauffeur for the night, and I was treated as such. When I picked them up from the airport, they spoke to me only to be sure that I’d grabbed all of their luggage, and they expected that I would open and close the car doors for them. The business types shuffled important papers or worked on tablets the whole time they were in the SUV. If I was picking them up from the hotel or restaurant, the party was underway and continued in the back seat until I dropped them off at their next fun destination. I didn’t take it personally, and the tips were fabulous.

  Still, I could see why Jack had been ready for a change. Grateful as I was for Vonda’s rescue, I wasn’t sure I’d be willing to make a career of it. I’m an astronomer; that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.