TarotCafeSeries_bundle

by Lynn LaFleur

  Rico was pretty sure no one in the room knew as much about prison as he did. At that moment, he didn’t care if they sent him back for life. All he wanted to do was smash Marty Trinidad’s gloating face into his dessert.

  “Whattaya waitin’ for?” Marty slurred. “Put the damn thing down. You’ll get your tip later.”

  Rico clamped his jaws together and laid the mike on the tabletop beside Marty.

  The room had quieted even more. Although Marty had not raised his voice, Rico knew the folks at the nearby tables had heard him.

  Rico looked away, at a spot a few inches above the crowd and walked back to his place at the far end of the room. He was turning to stone inside. More than a few tables separated him from Mary Beth. It might as well be an ocean. He saw that clearly now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mary Beth stared at the half-eaten pastry now broken and crumbling where she’d dropped it on her plate. Her cheeks burned and what felt like a lump the size of a volleyball kept her from swallowing.

  Marty Trinidad had no right to speak to Rico that way, to humiliate him in front of a roomful of people. If he weren’t her client, and their host for the evening, she’d have cheerfully dumped her glass of iced water in his lap.

  One positive—most were strangers. Rico would never have to see them again.

  So many emotions roiled inside her, many she didn’t understand, including the new feeling of protectiveness toward Rico. When Marty said those things to him, they stung her too. She knew the day Rico arrived in Truckee, he thought a charger plate was part of a battery. Today, he’d helped set the dining room, Leandra told her, each place setting precise and correct. He’d grown in so many ways in such a short time.

  She saw Leandra heading their way. She dreaded what Marty might say next.

  “Is something wrong, Marty?” Leandra hushed him with the touch of her fingertips. She nudged the mike closer to him. “Probably time to start the show.”

  He glanced up at her. “Right as always.”

  Mary Beth inched her chair aside enough for Marty to stand. He took the mike from Leandra and headed toward the host’s stand. Mary Beth relaxed. At least he didn’t stagger.

  The room quieted.

  Flamboyant as always, Marty tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves, adjusted his tie, and began. “Good evening, ladies and germs.”

  Mary Beth closed her eyes and shook her head, grateful that at least some of the guests had laughed at one of Milton Berle’s most famous one-liners.

  The chuckles died and Marty continued. “I know you’re ready for the dice tables, so I’ll keep this short.”

  Applause and a few hoots.

  “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you came tonight. This is a very special night in the life of Marty Trinidad.”

  Oh brother. Mary Beth’s skin crawled whenever he referred to himself in the third person.

  “A little over two years ago, I had an epiphany.”

  “More like a brain fart,” one of the men at a table near the fireplace called out to a round of laughter and more hoots.

  Marty laughed too. “None of you thought it smelled bad enough to walk away. You put your money and your trust in this old racehorse, and made this all possible. Tonight I thank you for your love, your friendship…”

  “Our money…”

  “That too.” Marty laughed again, this time with a little less mirth. “And your support. Especially my beautiful daughter Eve.” He pointed to her. “Eve, honey, stand up. I want everyone to see what a beauty you are.”

  Mary Beth admired how gracefully Eve handled herself. She didn’t get tangled in the chairs that were so close together, as Mary Beth knew she would have, or turn three shades of scarlet. She stood, smiled to everyone, and blew a kiss to her father before sitting down again.

  “Tomorrow while you’re on your way home, our project will be going public.” Marty recapped his latest venture. Mary Beth’s mind wandered during the spreadsheet portion of his speech. She’d worked alongside of him for the last eighteen months and almost around the clock last summer. Top secret, high risk, high yield. Everyone in the room had ponied up at least half a million, some two or three. Two days ago, Marty had signed on the dotted line. A done deal. If they were in Hollywood, tonight’s celebration would be the cast party.

  “Only a few things more,” he said.

  Marty sometimes tended to windiness. She thanked the gods not tonight.

  “You’ve all seen the logo of our new corporation.” He dipped his hand inside the box Rico had opened and pulled out a piece of shiny material. He shook it twice before it ballooned into a bunting. To a loud round of cheering and applause, he hung it from the edge of the podium.”

  “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” He held up his hands to quiet them. “But in case you’ve forgotten, and so that you’ll remember tonight always, we have a little something for each of you.”

  He signaled the waitstaff lined up near the back wall to come forward. Each carried a carton in their hands. “These nice boys and girls are going to give you your little something.” A murmur swept through the crowd, along with the sounds of chairs scraping aside to make room for them.

  Mary Beth had helped pack the cartons according to the seating chart. The waitstaff needed only to check the place cards in order to distribute the gifts—solid gold pendants engraved with the logo of their new business and tonight’s date.

  As soon as the crew had swept through the dining room and returned to their places at the back of the room, Marty raised a hand again to quiet the crowd. “One last thing and then we’re done.” He looked over at Mary Beth, who hadn’t bothered to open her gift as the others had.

  “You’ve probably spoken to M.B. Hunter dozens of times in the last year. Some of you have met her before, some for the first time tonight.” He crooked his index finger at her. “M.B., would you come join me, please?”

  Oh god. Now what?

  She wasn’t used to walking in shoes with heels as high as these, supported by only thin straps. How did Eve do it? With luck, she might make it to the host’s stand without tripping over her own feet.

  Marty met her halfway, draped an arm around her and pulled her close against him. She knew she had to smile, to look charming and relaxed, and yet she felt daggers hurling across the room from where Rico stood. Like the swords that pierced the blindfolded woman in the Tarot cards Leandra read the other day.

  “I met this little gal…” Marty glanced down at her and squeezed her shoulder. “What, about two years ago?”

  She nodded. “Something like that.”

  “I knew after the first hello that working with M.B. Hunter at my side, I couldn’t fail.” He nudged Mary Beth away from the podium, so that everyone had a bird’s-eye view at what happened next.

  To Mary Beth’s horror, Marty dropped to one knee and grasped her left hand in his. He still held the mike in his right hand and spoke into it so no one missed a single word.

  “Sweetheart, you’re my good luck charm. I want you with me always.”

  She tried to twist her hand free. He tightened his grip. Perspiration shined on his forehead and upper lip. Without releasing her, he tucked the mike under his arm and fished inside his jacket pocket for something.

  Mary Beth felt faint, the room started to spin. He held a circle of gold between his fingertips, an engagement ring with a diamond the size of a maraschino cherry. Worse, he was slipping it on her finger.

  Her heart thudded and her head pounded. Oh my god, what the hell is he doing? “You don’t want to do this, Marty,” she whispered. “Get up. This isn’t… I-I can’t…we can’t.”

  “M.B. Hunter, I love you,” he said into the microphone. “Will you honor me by being my wife?”

  Mary Beth didn’t believe in out-of-body experiences, yet she felt like she was drifting somewhere near the ceiling, watching Marty slip the ring on the hand of a stranger. This couldn’t be happening. They were friends, colleagues, not lovers.


  A flash of blue and red caught her eyes and sent her crashing back to now. Across the room Rico stood staring, lips parted in shock. The pain in his face went straight to her heart. She looked down at her hand. Why couldn’t she speak? Why couldn’t she cry out, “It’s not true, Rico.”

  Instead she said nothing. He turned and strode into the kitchen.

  “Marty, I-I…” Too late. A crush of people surrounded them, nearly smothering the life out of her. She stood numb. Around her, people congratulated Marty, pounded him on the back. They did the same with her, kissed her cheek, hugged her, saying the things people said at times like this. Yesterday a hug and kiss on the cheek from George Clooney would have been a tale she’d one day tell her grandchildren. Tonight it left her joyless and hollow inside.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” one of Marty’s cronies from the movie industry said. “Why don’t we all go over to Reno and you and M.B. tie the knot tonight? We can all be your witnesses.”

  That hit Mary Beth with the force of a bucket of ice water, a blessed bucket because it snapped her out of her trance. “N-no,” she cried, and then in a stronger voice. “No!”

  She pushed Marty out of the way, past the people who had gathered ’round her, and began running toward the kitchen.

  *

  How many times did life fuck you over before it finally killed you?

  He’d been right about Mary Beth from the beginning. She’d played him in the courtroom and she still played him. She’d given him her body, done things he didn’t know women did, things that made him believe she loved him.

  She never said she loved him. That should have been his first clue. Instead, he’d been blinded with hope, with possibilities.

  After he left her this morning, had Marty come to her place? Made love to her in the same bed where Rico had opened his heart and bled his guts?

  Shit. Prison was nothing compared to this. At least there he knew his enemies, both among the guards and the other inmates. Knew which alliances to make, which to avoid. He’d never been anyone’s bitch, but he had his protectors too—thanks to his cousin Tony and his family connections.

  And none of them hid behind a pretty face.

  Rico groaned. He’d been whacked around pretty good his first few weeks in prison. Bones broken, shanked a couple of times. Nothing hurt like this. None had ripped out his guts or carved a hole in his heart. He’d never fall in love again—ever. If he even thought about it, he hoped someone killed him first, before the misery started.

  Snow fell lightly on the road. Soft, wet snowflakes the size of his hand. They fell soundlessly and piled up quickly. The temp had hovered in the low forties all day. Now he felt it dropping. Soon the snowflakes would conceal the slick spots the locals called black ice, transparent and deadly.

  He revved the engine on his hog and with a burst rounded a corner. He had no idea where he headed. He had to get away from The Tarot Café, from Mary Beth, from the looks of sympathy he’d seen in Leandra’s and Synda’s faces.

  Synda had run after him until he gave her that death stare he’d perfected in prison, the one that said, “Cross that line and you’re dead.” She’d backed off immediately.

  They weren’t like Mary Beth. They were honest and caring, the only friends he’d made in years. He loved them like he might a sister. He didn’t want their pity.

  Tomorrow, he’d leave. They wouldn’t try to stop him. They knew better.

  He gunned the engine. If he lived until tomorrow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What the hell happened tonight?” Synda asked.

  She and Leandra had been sitting quietly on the floor in the hallway between their apartments for nearly half an hour. Neither had spoken nor even moved except to add more brandy to their china cups.

  Leandra shrugged and waved an arm in a useless gesture. “I wish I knew.”

  “How did we miss it? I still can’t believe Marty did that. Anyone who knows M.B.—”

  “They were lovers once.”

  Synda ran a hand through her hair. “They drank too much wine and did the nasty. One time and one time only.”

  “Was it that good, or that bad?”

  Synda laughed. “Probably a little of both. Marty ought to know women better than a lot of men because he’s had so many. The old blessing or a curse?”

  “Quantity does not always ensure quality.” Leandra tried to stifle a yawn. “I’m so tired I can barely move, but if I go inside, I know I won’t fall asleep.”

  The candle flickered. Ten minutes from now, the flame would dissipate into a thread of smoke.

  “You hungry?”

  Synda thought a moment. “Maybe.” She yawned too. “What time is it?”

  Leandra looked at her watch. “After eleven.”

  “Must still be snowing. Not much traffic noise.”

  “Or the sound of a motorcycle pulling in across from us.”

  “That too.”

  “I’m worried about him, Syn. He took out of here like someone had filled him full of buckshot.”

  “I couldn’t hear what Marty said to him.”

  “It wasn’t so much what he said, but who he was. Rico’s come a long way in a few weeks, but…”

  “He’s still carrying a load of baggage.”

  Leandra nodded. “I’m afraid Marty added to that baggage tonight.”

  Synda tossed back her last drop of brandy, drew her legs in and pushed up onto her feet. She offered her hand to her cousin. Leandra blew out the candle, took Synda’s hand and stood too.

  “Do you…” Synda shoved her hands into the pockets of the chef’s coat she’d thrown on over her dress.

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you have your cards with you?”

  “No pockets,” Leandra answered. “They’re inside. Why?”

  “Maybe they can tell us what’s going on. Get them and meet me in the kitchen.”

  A few minutes later, with a fresh pot of tea and some crackers and warm brie, Synda sat down across the table while Leandra shuffled her deck.

  “Any question in particular you want answered?”

  Synda barked a laugh. “Yeah right, like we aren’t both thinking the same thing—what the heck’s going to happen?”

  Leandra cut the deck. “Need to ask something a little more specific?”

  “Okay. Will Mary Beth marry Marty?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Syn, I don’t need the Tarot to answer that. Of course she won’t.”

  “Okay, okay. What about her and—”

  They both started at the knock on the door.

  “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying,” Synda shouted. She stood slowly and headed toward the door. “Oh jeez.”

  Mary Beth stood in the cold. Synda saw her teeth chattering through the windowpane. She wore no jacket, her hair hung wet with the snow, and mascara ringed her eyes. “Get in here.” Synda pulled her inside. “Where is your coat? You look like hell.”

  “Give her a break, Syn.” Leandra pulled a fresh tablecloth out of the kitchen closet and wrapped it around Mary Beth, covering her from neck to ankles. “M.B., what’s going on?”

  “I c-can’t find R-Rico.” She pulled the cloth more tightly around her. She still shivered, despite the warmth of the kitchen.

  “Pour her some tea, Syn. I’ll get her a sweater.”

  “And grab another brandy bottle off one of the tables.”

  Once her teeth stopped chattering and she’d stilled her shivers, Mary Beth looked up from her cup filled with half brandy, half tea. “I’ve called the cottage a dozen times. And the cell you gave him. He didn’t answer at either.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I never told him I love him. I thought he knew it. Now I’ve lost him.”

  Synda’s jaw dropped. “Our Rico? You love our Rico? How did I miss that too?”

  Leandra shushed her with a stern look and turned back to Mary Beth. “He’s upset, sweetie.” She raised Mary Beth’s hand. She still wore Marty’s ring. “What’s
the story here?”

  “I swear to you, I had no idea Marty planned to do this tonight.” She pulled the ring off her hand and shoved it into Leandra’s palm. “I don’t want it.”

  “Marty keeps calling. You need to talk to him.”

  “I can’t. Not tonight.”

  “I’ll keep this until tomorrow.” The ring sparkled in her open palm—garish, extravagant, totally Marty. “Then you have to deal with it, M.B. Marty’s a good man and a good friend. This isn’t fair to him.”

  Mary Beth sat up straighter. Anger replaced the forlorn look in her eyes. “Do you think what he did tonight was fair to me? We’ve never dated or talked about us in that context. He should have said something to me before he announced it in front of all of his business partners and friends.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” Synda poured herself a heavy hit of brandy and tossed it back.

  Leandra sighed. “Timing’s everything.”

  “His sure sucked,” Synda added.

  “And now there are three of you nursing broken hearts. Call Marty, M.B. He’s worried. At least let him know you’re safe.”

  Mary Beth took a deep breath. “You’re right.” She looked around, as if she just noticed she hadn’t worn a jacket or carried a purse. “I left my cell in my jacket, but I don’t know where I left it.”

  Synda handed her the café’s portable phone. “Probably in your car.”

  Before Mary Beth had time to punch in the number, the phone rang. Startled, she dropped it. Synda caught it before it hit the floor.

  “This is Synda.” She listened, and after a moment, frowned. “Hold on a minute.” She handed the phone to Mary Beth. “It’s Tom Connors. Your alarm went off. Someone’s broken into your house.”

  *

  Rico had no idea how he ended up in the little clearing above Mary Beth’s house. She was the last person he wanted to see again—ever.

  The outdoor lights shined brightly through the falling snow. She’d probably turned them on before she left for the party—her engagement party. They’d made love three times last night and once this morning. Tonight she’d spend the night in her fiancé’s arms. Bitch!