by Lynn LaFleur
“Do you know who Missy Ryan is…was?”
He thought a moment. The name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Missy made her bones on Broadway at eleven. She was the first Annie—you know, Little Orphan Annie and Daddy Warbucks. She had beautiful red hair and blue eyes. Could sing like an angel. At eighteen, she headed for Hollywood, where she fell hard for the first guy she met, a young stunt man named Marty Trinidad. Aside from Jodie Foster, Missy would have been the most successful child star turned seasoned actress, ever.”
“What happened? Marty do something to her?”
“Oh, Rico, stop it. Of course he didn’t. They married and had a daughter a couple years later—Eve.”
“And?”
“At twenty-eight, Missy was diagnosed with breast cancer. She died two years later. Marty never got over it. He sunk way low after that—lots of drugs and alcohol. According to the grapevine, Marty came to after a weekend binge and found his little Eve standing over him. She was only four at the time, and a mess. During his binge, the nanny robbed the safe and took off. This was Marty’s come-to-Jesus. He cleaned up his act and did so well over the years, he went from stunt man to director and producer. Now the guy could buy a small country with his pocket change.
“Marty lives in a dozen places and has his fingers in a dozen new deals every day. M.B. keeps him honest—at least with his northern California holdings.” She ran her spoon through her coffee. “He owns a piece of Tahoe Towers on North Shore. Loves their dice tables.”
Rico found himself interested, though he didn’t want to be. “So how come he never married again?”
“According to the grapevine, Marty married again and it didn’t work. Others say he loves Missy so much, he’ll never remarry.”
“That sounds like a chick flick.”
“I think it’s part true, part myth. Women love wounded men. I’ve never seen him with the same gal twice.”
“Except for Mary Beth?”
“I think Marty sees Missy when he looks at M.B. That makes her too special to mess with. He also knows he’d lose a heck of a good attorney if he did. M.B. knows better than to date a client. His business represents a huge chunk of her practice.”
“You mean, they never…”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t confide in me about that part of her life. And I don’t ask.”
“So you don’t know. They could be…”
“She’s his attorney, he’s her client and they’re friends—period.”
“But you don’t—”
“Stop it!” She walked to the pantry for a plate of leftover cookies. The woman seemed to think food was the answer to everything. “When we met M.B., she’d just left a job in L.A. as a public defender. The pressure had gotten to her and she kind of melted down.”
“What does that mean?”
“The first time we met her, she looked like a dazed, lost little waif. She was standing on the ledge of the safety barrier at the Donner Pass vista point on Highway 80—sort of weaving in the wind. Syn and I had pulled in to take a picture of Donner Lake for the website. Let’s say we got there in the nick of time.”
A chill passed through his body. “No shit. You mean you think she would have…”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s stuff M.B. needs to tell you herself. She doesn’t talk about it much, so I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting.”
He waved his hand to brush aside her worries. “I’m not much for talkin’ either.”
Leandra smiled. “We’ve noticed.”
“Then what happened?”
“She stayed with us for a few days. Told us she didn’t want to go back to L.A. Guess she’d burnt too many bridges.”
“I know what that’s like.”
“The last night she stayed with us, one of our local attorneys stopped by. Said he was heading home to Chattanooga for a few months. Wanted us to spread the word that he was looking for someone to take over his practice while he was gone. We told M.B. and the rest is history. He never came back. She bought his practice a year ago.”
“Thanks to Marty?”
“I don’t know the details.” Leandra took a cookie, passed it under her nose like sampling the bouquet of a fine wine, then tucked it next to her coffee cup. “Marty keeps a lot of irons in the fire. The other day M.B. told me he was looking for a part-time accountant, someone local. Good way to get to know him. You can judge for yourself whether he’s a huckster or a stand-up guy.”
Rico shifted in his seat. He wouldn’t work for Marty Trinidad if that was the only job he could get. “Sorry, not interested.”
Leandra grabbed the cookie again and this time, shoved it whole into her mouth. After she chewed and swallowed, she took a quick sip of her coffee and said, “Okay, Rico, I’ve told you all I know about M.B. and Marty Trinidad. Now you tell me why you want to know.”
If he’d learned nothing else in prison, Rico learned never to show weakness. He’d gone too far a minute ago. He liked Leandra, trusted her. That didn’t mean she had to know everything about him. Especially not how he and Mary Beth met.
“I…uh…I…”
“It’s obvious you like M.B….Mary Beth.”
“What’s not to like?”
“She’s a great gal, a good friend.”
He nodded and looked away. Leandra knew things. Maybe because of the deck of cards she carried in her pocket, or some kind of other psychic shit. If he let her look into his eyes, she’d know exactly what he was thinking.
“I was awake when you came home Sunday night,” she said.
He still wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Rico, look at me.”
Reluctantly, he did so.
“I may be a woman, but I still appreciate beauty in other women. When M.B. wears her hair down and dresses in something nicer than sweats or jeans, she’s clock-stopping gorgeous.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“There’s nothing wrong with consenting adults enjoying each other’s bodies.”
He groaned, enough that he knew she understood.
“What’s so hard about admitting you’re attracted to her? I’ve seen you two together. Neither of you can keep your eyes off the other.”
He wanted to believe Mary Beth cared for him, yet couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to the Marty story. “What about her and Trinidad?”
Leandra slammed her hand against the table, causing the thin gold bracelets she wore to tinkle against each other. “Rico Zanini, listen to me. Read my lips. Business partners, friends, not lovers. How much clearer can I say it?”
“You said you didn’t know for sure.”
“I said she never told me. I didn’t need to hear it from her. I can tell by watching them together. Now stop trying to talk yourself out of what you’re feeling. It’s okay, it’s natural, just make sure you’re careful and that you don’t stomp on her heart.”
“Ha!” The word flew out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Me stomp on her heart? Shit, she doesn’t even know I’m alive.”
“Oh pul-leese, enough with the angst. If she slept with you, she knows you’re alive.”
“I can’t give her the things Trinidad can. She’s a lawyer. What am I, a handyman?”
“A handyman with an accounting degree.”
“Shit, I don’t even know what half the stuff on the menu is or what fork to use if I ordered it.”
Leandra placed her hand on his wrist. “Those are small things, Rico. Easy to fix.”
He relaxed under her gentle touch.
“You were locked up when most guys learn that stuff. But if you really want to know what a Béchamel sauce is, or which is the salad fork and which is for dessert, we can go over that any time you like. You’ll be amazed at how simple it is.”
Rico pointed to the cobra’s head. “What about this?”
“Um, I don’t suppose you’d consider heavy makeup?”
He heard
a smile in her voice and ground his teeth. “Yeah, right.”
“There’s a laptop in the pantry. We never use it. Take it with you and surf the ‘net. I know there are docs out there who specialize in tattoo removal. Might be expensive and hurt like crazy, but…”
For the first time, Rico realized that he was leaning forward in his chair, not pushing away, or using his jacket or shirt as a protective shield to hide the physical scars he could not hide as easily as his emotions.
“I got money,” he muttered. He knew Synda and Leandra had checked him out, but maybe they didn’t know he received a settlement from the State of New York.
“Syn and I like you exactly the way you are. But if you’d feel better without the body art…”
Rico started when someone shouted from the dining room, “Hey, anyone home?” He didn’t recognize the voice.
“In here, Tom.” Leandra was on her feet and heading for the door before she’d finished her reply.
Tom Connors. The deputy sheriff. A too-familiar ugly feeling gripped Rico’s gut. Just seeing a black-and-white on the highway had the same effect. He shot to his feet and headed for the back door.
He didn’t move quickly enough.
“Hey, wait up, Rico,” Tom called to him. “I came by to see you.”
He turned to Tom, and his nerves calmed. Tom wore jeans and a golf shirt, not his deputy’s uniform. A social call, not official business.
“Yeah, what can I do for you?”
“A bunch of us from Search and Rescue are getting together to look at some equipment we’re thinking about buying. Afterward, we’ll kick back and BS for a while. Thought you might like to join us.”
The hackles rose on the back of Rico’s neck. A guard had “befriended” him once. Suggested a game of one-on-one in the yard.
Instead Rico learned the hard way that the rumors about gladiator games staged by the guards were more than rumors. He’d endured the worst beating of his life while the guards stood by betting on who would go down first. Even though his eyes had been swollen shut, Rico saw death heading straight at him.
To his amazement he woke up in the infirmary the next day, still alive but broken in so many places every part of him throbbed or bled. He found out later, after thirty days in the hole for fighting, that another inmate had stopped the fight before they killed him, not one of the guards.
“What do you say, Rico?” Leandra walked over to him and took his hand. “You have to learn to trust again. This might be a good time to start.”
She said it in a voice so soft and gentle he almost didn’t hear every word. He looked into her face, at her eyes and saw the depth of the friendship she offered. And a plea for trust. At some point, things had to change in his life.
Perhaps this was the turning point.
He looked over her shoulder at Tom. “Hey, sounds good. Let’s do it.”
*
Leandra waved and watched them head up the street. When she was sure they were not going to return because they’d forgotten something, she whipped out her cell phone.
Mary Beth answered on the second ring. “Hey, girl. What’s going on?”
“The Tarot’s talking to me. About you.”
“Me? Why me… Wait a minute.” Suspicion oozed from her words. “This wouldn’t have something to do with your Director of Maintenance, would it?”
“I dunno,” she fibbed. “Could be. Only a reading will tell.”
“Uh-huh. I’m not falling for that one. If you want to know something, ask.”
“It’s not that simple, M.B.” Leandra knew she had to proceed with caution. “You haven’t had a reading in a while.”
“I told you before, Lea. I love you and Syn, but I’m not a believer.”
“But I am, and I know the cards have a message you need to hear. I’m free until four. You either come here, or I come to you.”
Chapter Ten
A grumpy M.B. Hunter, no makeup and her wild curls held mostly in place by a bright green scrunchie, banged on the locked front door of the café. Leandra heard her drive up and opened the door before her knuckles rapped a third time.
“This better be good,” M.B. grumbled. She walked past Leandra without a greeting. “And it better not be about Rico Zanini and me.”
“The cards will take us where they want us to go.”
M.B. whirled around and shook her finger at Leandra. “No, they’ll take us where you want us to go.” She looked around. “If I have to do this, I need wine.”
“After the reading. Not before.”
M.B. scowled and blew out a loud, irritated sigh. “Fine. Whatever.”
Leandra led her to the table nearest the fireplace, the one where she’d read for Synda and Rico the day they formed their partnership. “Please take the seat facing me.”
Once again M.B. grumbled but plopped into the chair, slouching much like Rico had that day. “Let’s get this over with. I’m meeting Marty in a couple of hours. We’re going to North Shore—the P.J. Kendall Band’s opening at Tahoe Towers. P.J. invited us to the party afterward.”
Hmm. Leandra tried not to raise an eyebrow. She knew Kendall was one of Mary Beth’s favorites. Too bad Marty had arranged it. “I know how much you like the band.”
“I had the wildest crush on P.J. I’ll probably puddle up when Marty introduces us.”
They could engage in small talk for the next hour. That would solve nothing, so instead of answering, Leandra reached inside her pocket for her favorite deck, the worn Rider–Waite she had used to learn the Tarot as a child. She kept it in her nightstand and had fetched it specially for M.B.’s reading. She knew the powers it possessed. With care, she slid the cards from their velvet pouch and placed them on the table between them.
“Pick them up and hold them with both hands, a palm on either side.” She wanted M.B. to draw on their power.
Mary Beth rolled her eyes but did as asked. “Now what?”
“Close your eyes and let your thoughts run free. Don’t think about the cards, don’t think about anyone or anything you ought to be doing instead of sitting here. Clear your mind, let your thoughts roam.”
“We didn’t do it this way the last time.” Mary Beth closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “I asked a question, you answered it.”
“I didn’t answer your question, M.B. You did and found the answer in the cards. We will again.”
“Well, you’re out of luck this time, girlfriend. I don’t have any questions, and I’m not seeking any answers.”
“Because you’re afraid to face them. The questions will come, Mary Beth, and the answers too.”
Mary Beth’s eyes sprang open. “What did you call me?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“You’ve never called me Mary Beth before. Only Rico…” She cleared her throat. “Don’t think you’re going to lead me in meditation.” Mary Beth went on as if she’d never made the gaffe. “I think it’s boring and it sucks.”
Leandra glanced down. She didn’t want Mary Beth to see her smile. The attorney who sat before her found it impossible to let go. The woman inside wanted desperately to free herself.
“What are you afraid of? We all have questions. Knowledge helps, not hurts.”
Leandra sat quietly. Mary Beth held the cards tightly, a grimace on her face. How she struggled inside. “You have to ask the questions, whether you say them aloud or not.”
Two long minutes dragged by. Mary Beth fidgeted, sighed several times, and only moments before Leandra decided it was time to stop the session, she saw a change in Mary Beth’s expression. Her cheeks now shined with high color.
“When you’re ready, shuffle the cards and pass them back to me.”
Once she did, Leandra took the cards and cut them into three piles. “Choose the pile you want me to use.”
Mary Beth folded her arms across her chest. “Marty always plays the three horse. Let’s do pile three.”
Leandra picked up the third cut. Re
sistance didn’t bother her. She’d faced it in readings many times. Seldom by anyone she knew so well and cared about as much.
“The first card represents you.”
Usually sure-handed, Leandra slid the card from the top of the deck with her thumb and index finger. Not one card, but a second hitched itself to the first.
Mary Beth sat up straighter. “Now what?”
“Looks like the Tarot’s giving us a qualifier.” She placed the first card facedown in the center of the table. “These two cards go hand in hand. We’ll put the second right next to the first, a bit lower.”
Mary Beth watched without commenting.
To the left of the first, Leandra placed the second card. “This is your dilemma.”
She placed the third card to the right of the first. “This is what’s clouding your judgment, what’s keeping you from making the right decision.”
The fourth she laid beneath the first card. “This is what you know is right.”
The fifth card, and the last of the reading, she placed directly above the first.
“This is your answer, M.B.” She tapped the card. “You know it in your heart. Now it’s time to accept it.”
Mary Beth had inched forward in her seat and teetered on the edge of her chair. She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the heels of her palms. “Isn’t this where you turn the cards and show me how I screwed up?”
“The Tarot’s not judgmental.”
“Oh right. They speak to me.”
“If you’re willing to listen.”
“Do I have a choice?” Mary Beth leaned back in her chair, rolled her eyes and waved her hand. “Que sera, sera. Go for it.”
Leandra took a deep breath and turned the first card.
The Queen of Swords. A queen sitting alone on her throne. In her left hand, she held a sword with strength and great determination. The fingers on her right hand were splayed in an attitude of authority.
“Look what we have here,” Leandra said. “Majestic, commanding, powerful…and a redhead.”
“Isn’t that just too convenient? You expect me to believe you didn’t rig the deck?”
“You shuffled them and chose the cut.”
Mary Beth looked away.