“I agree. Any suggestions?”
“Dolph and Nellie.” I answered without hesitation. “They know the score and they’re competent. We can put Melissa on duty at one end when one of them is busy. She has her ghost book, so that should work out.”
“Yeah, speaking of that, do you think she’s on to something?”
“I have no idea, but it’s an interesting angle,” I replied. “I’ll look closer at the book later if I get time.”
“My guess is that you’ll be busy with other stuff,” Kade said. “You need to be careful. The cops will definitely hit your tent. They’re predisposed to think you’re up to something.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“Because you’re purportedly a psychic and you found the kid,” Kade replied. “They’ll want to feel you out when they think you’re not aware of their identities. Be on the lookout.”
“I always am.”
“Speaking of being on the lookout, have you checked out the parking lot yet?”
The shift in Kade’s demeanor caused me to glance over my shoulder. I frowned when I saw the smattering of people lining up on the other side of the chain-link fence that separated the parking lot from the fairgrounds. “What in the world?”
“They’re pickets,” Kade supplied. “They have signs. I didn’t get a good gander at the signs, but I can pretty much imagine what they say.”
“Clowns should rule the world?”
Kade snorted. He has an irrational fear of clowns, and I enjoy messing with him when it comes to the subject. “Something tells me they don’t say that, for which I’ll be eternally grateful.”
“I’m sure it’s going to involve all of the debauchery they’re convinced is going on around here,” I mused, shading my eyes so I could study the gathering crowd.
“Oh, if they only knew how little debauchery we have to enjoy when no one is looking,” Kade teased.
“That’s only because you haven’t decided to send your boat to port … even though I think you will before the sea monster attacks and sucks us into the Bermuda Triangle.”
Kade’s eyes flashed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Luke.”
“He probably thinks the same thing.”
Kade ran his hand down my arm and then shook his head to dislodge whatever melancholy thought temporarily invaded his mind. “I’ll check in regularly tonight to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure I’m not ready to relinquish the job.”
I HAD TIME, so I decided to check out the pickets up close and personal. I pasted a bright smile on my face as I approached. The picket itself didn’t bother me. We’d faced worse over the years, and a concerted effort to drive us out of town often had the opposite effect. Curiosity almost always overwhelmed the negativity and worked in our favor.
One of the women, a redhead with piercing blue eyes, squared her shoulders when she saw me approach, clearly spoiling for a fight. “We’re well within our rights to picket,” she announced. “We’re on public property. We checked with the county offices and they said we could do whatever we wanted on public property … so we’re not breaking any laws.”
“I’m not here to give you a hard time,” I said, holding my hands palms up and adopting what I hoped was a placating expression. “I’m just curious about what your issue seems to be.”
“This.” The woman made an exaggerated face as she swept out her arm to indicate the fairgrounds. I could only assume she was referring to the circus in its entirety.
“What is it that you think we’re doing here?”
“Satanic things.”
I had to hand it to her. She was downright succinct. “Well, I can guarantee we’re not Satanists. My name is Poet Parker, by the way.” I extended my hand in greeting, which she promptly ignored.
“Are you a Satanist?”
“Aquarian.” It was a lame joke, but I didn’t need to worry about it because it went right over her head.
“My name is Lorelei Forrester,” the woman said, primly tugging down her white cotton shirt. “I’m head of the Brigham City Keep America Clean Brigade.”
Huh. Well that was a mouthful. “Well, um, we have a full custodial staff, so we’re always clean.”
“There’s more to clean living than cleanliness.” Lorelei’s voice was something akin to the droning of a really big bee.
“I swear we’re not doing anything untoward,” I offered. “There’s no Satanism going on either.”
“I heard that you stole that boy from his room, performed Satanic rites on him to remove his soul so you can use it for longevity spells, and then returned him to his parents so he can grow up to be the antichrist.”
I couldn’t see the woman who made the suggestion – she was short, blond and hiding behind Lorelei – but I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “I can guarantee that’s not what happened,” I said after collecting myself. “We saw him walking across the field over there.” I pointed for emphasis. “He seemed pale and disheveled. We collected him, offered him breakfast even though he wouldn’t eat it, and immediately called the police.”
“That’s not what we heard.”
“Then you heard wrong.”
Lorelei crossed her arms over her chest and fixed me with a pointed glare. “What do you do for the circus, if I may ask?”
“I’m the fortune teller.” I twirled my skirt because I could, causing it to jingle, and mustered a grin. “I read palms and cards and tell people what they can expect from their futures.” I could also slip into someone’s mind and read it, as well as control it if need be, but I didn’t think this was the proper audience for that announcement.
“See, Satanists.” Lorelei made a clucking noise as she turned to her brethren. “They’re minions of Satan.”
I bit back an exasperated sigh. There was clearly no changing their minds, so I had no intention of wasting the effort. “You guys probably know a lot about this area, right? Local history and stuff.”
The conversational shift caused Lorelei to arch a suspicious eyebrow. “What are you getting at?”
“One of the workers here checked a book out of the library yesterday,” I supplied. “It was a book on local legends and myths. She found some interesting stuff about the Great Salt Lake. We visited the other day for a swim, but it was mostly empty. Is that normal?”
“Actually, yes,” Lorelei replied. If she was uncomfortable having a humdrum conversation about the local sights, she didn’t show it. “The water is extremely salty. It’s rough on hair and skin.”
“It’s such a beautiful location, though,” I pointed out. “It would still be nice for a picnic.”
“There are other freshwater lakes in the area,” Lorelei explained. “Families visit those lakes or swim at the municipal pools. As beautiful as the Great Salt Lake is, it’s simply not easy to swim in. Tourists are much more interested than locals.”
That was an interesting tidbit. “The book mentioned some rather fanciful legends, like whales in the lake, for example. Is that true?”
Lorelei shrugged. “I’ve never seen a whale in the lake, but everyone believes that story, so it must be true.”
I wanted to point out that’s not how facts are substantiated, but now didn’t seem the right time. “What about the lake monster stories?”
“Hogwash.”
I shouldn’t have expected a different answer, but I had to work overtime to tamp down my disappointment. “There was another story, something about a ghost. I believe the name associated with the story was Brother Brehem.”
Lorelei’s eyebrows shot up, her expression momentarily slipping before she recovered. “You’ve been busy.”
“I like learning about local history.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. “This is the first visit we’ve made to the area. I’m simply trying to get a feel for the location. I’m something of a history buff.”
Lorele
i heaved a sigh. She obviously didn’t trust me, but there was no harm in relating a story, so that’s exactly what she did.
“Brother Brehem was famous around these parts,” she started. “He came from the West, from California I believe, and he brought his wife with him.”
“Only one? I was under the impression that plural marriage was the norm back then.”
“It was. Do you want me to finish my story or do you want to keep interrupting?”
I had the grace to be abashed. “Finish. Please.”
“He moved to this area and started a tent revival of sorts,” Lorelei supplied. “He originally worked as a Christian reverend, spreading the word and collecting tithes from his rather small congregation.”
I took the opportunity to ask another question even though I knew I risked Lorelei’s wrath for interrupting. “Was he a grifter?”
“I obviously wasn’t there, but that’s the rumor,” Lorelei replied. “When he realized he wasn’t drawing nearly enough converts, he had an epiphany of sorts. He embraced the Mormon religion and started collecting wives.”
Ah, well, I saw that coming. “How many wives?”
“I believe it was seven at the time of his disappearance.”
“His disappearance?” I searched my memory. “I thought he died.”
“Well, he’s clearly dead by now, but he disappeared and no one ever discovered his body,” Lorelei supplied. “He had something of a legendary following. He built a big house on the far side of the Great Salt Lake. It’s an assisted living facility now. If you believe the whispers, the first wife never got over being supplanted and killed him when he suggested bringing an eighth wife into the mix.”
“Do you believe the stories?”
“There are multiple stories,” Lorelei replied. “One of the more popular ones has all of the wives joining together to poison him because he was abusive. Another has Brother Brehem stealing the wife of a local minister and adding her to his collection, which propelled the minister to seek revenge.”
“There’s a legend about his ghost, right?”
“That’s another story entirely,” Lorelei answered. “One of the stories – and this one isn’t popular in most circles, mind you – says that he was a child predator and the wives covered it up until he attacked a child that wasn’t his own and the community got involved.
“In that story he was strung from a tree, four ropes tied to each limb at one end and a horse at the other, and then the horses were scattered in four different directions.”
I cringed at the visual. “That sounds lovely.”
“The people who believe that story say his ghost remains behind to torture the descendants of the men who killed him,” Lorelei said. “I’m not sure how many people actually believe that story.”
“Which one do you believe?”
“I don’t really believe any of them,” Lorelei replied. “My guess is he took off with a younger woman when he found one that caught his fancy. He probably set up a new operation in a new state and lived out his days there.”
That was certainly a possibility. “Okay, well, thank you for the information.”
“No problem.” Lorelei scratched her cheek as she regarded me. “Can I ask why you’re so interested in the legend? Have you … seen something?”
It was an odd question, but she looked legitimately curious. “I just like ghost stories,” I lied.
“Well, I guess we all like a good scare now and then. Otherwise, how do you explain Halloween?”
I answered without hesitation. “Candy.” I offered the woman a half-hearted wave before taking a step back. “Thank you for your time. I have to get to work. We’re almost ready to open. Good luck with your picket. I hope you keep the unsuspecting population free of debauchery for the foreseeable future.”
17
Seventeen
“My goal is to be rich and famous, and make my father cry, because he told me I have to get a job if I expect to continue living under his roof. Can you believe that? I’m an entrepreneur, for crying out loud. Tell me that’s going to happen. Tell me he’s going to cry like a woman and bow down to me.”
Reading futures is a little like playing The Price is Right. You have no idea what prize package you’ll be offered and often you want to pick another package. I mean … who wants to win a washing machine?
In truth, most people only want to hear what they’ve built themselves up to believe. It’s a rare person who wants to hear the truth no matter what. Frankie Hendrickson was not a rare person. No, he was twenty going on twelve and his petulance threatened to bring down his entire family.
I tilted my head to the side as I decided how to respond. Frankie had a rough future ahead of him. He still had time to change the outcome, but he struck me as someone who couldn’t change his belief system. Still … .
“You’re not going to be successful if you stick to your current life plan,” I announced, taking myself by surprise with my fortitude. Seriously, where did that come from? “You need a total change if you expect to do anything with your life.”
Frankie knit his eyebrows as he regarded me, leaning forward in an effort to make me uncomfortable. I read the intent on the edges of his mind. He was used to bullying his way – especially with women – through life. “I want to make my father cry.”
“Oh, you’re going to make him cry.” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to debate how wise it was to utter them. Frankie didn’t appear to have violent tendencies, but you never know.
“That’s good,” Frankie said, bobbing his head. “How soon does that happen?”
He was clearly misinterpreting my words. “I’m going to be frank with you, Frankie … frank with you Frankie, that’s kind of funny.” Frankie’s scowl caused me to collect myself and I wiped the smirk off my face. “You’re a mess, dude.”
“I am not a mess,” Frankie snapped. “I’m an entrepreneur.”
“You keep using that word, but I’m fairly certain you don’t know what it means,” I argued. “Dude, you live in your parents’ basement and refuse to get a job. You’re twenty – almost twenty-one – yet you believe you’re above menial labor. That’s extremely hard for a man like your father to understand because he started his own business and worked eighty hours a week to put food on the table when you were younger. You refuse to work eighty minutes a week because you’re lazy.”
Frankie slapped his hand on the table, taking me by surprise. I wasn’t particularly worried – the guy weighed a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet and I could take him with one magical hand tied behind my back – but I let a frigid cool warning waft through my eyes as I regarded him.
“I am not lazy,” Frankie spat. “I’m gifted and intelligent. I’m … going to be rich.”
“You’re going to get more and more desperate until you rob a liquor store across the state line and get shot,” I corrected. “Don’t worry, though, because you’re not going to die. The bullet will rip through your spinal column and paralyze you. Then you’ll live with your parents for the rest of their lives … but for a different reason. That’s after you do three years in prison for the attempted robbery. Trust me … the other inmates won’t care that you’re in a wheelchair.”
It took Frankie a few moments to realize what I was saying. “You’re making that up.”
“That’s not part of my job.”
“You’re making that up, you … bitch!” He howled the words and I read the intent behind the hand reaching for my hair before he exhaled completely. I caught a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye – Kade bolting inside to be the big hero – but I was already moving.
I caught the top of Frankie’s head with my left hand and slammed it down, smacking his forehead into the table with a thud that emanated throughout the tent. Frankie looked dazed when he lifted his eyes, his right hand clenched into a fist as he stared at me.
“I … what just happened?”
Kade widened his eyes as he rega
rded me, dumbfounded. “Did you just … ?”
“Show Frankie his future? Yes.” I bobbed my head for emphasis as I stared into Frankie’s eyes. “Can you hear me, you little punk?”
“I hear you.” Frankie’s voice was slurred and his eyes distant as he rocked slightly in his chair.
“That’s good,” I said, keeping my voice low as I weaved a controlling web throughout his brain. I filled the silky magic tendrils with images from the future I witnessed, making sure to stitch them in tightly so he couldn’t forget. “I don’t think you’re a bad kid, Frankie, but you’re unbelievably lazy. You know that, right?”
“What are you doing?” Kade asked.
“Hopefully saving him from himself,” I replied, never moving my eyes from Frankie’s rapidly bruising face. “You need to get a job, Frankie. I don’t care if you think it’s beneath you. I don’t care if you think you’re an entrepreneur. No one ever died from old-fashioned hard work – just ask your father – and that’s the only way you’re going to thrive. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I … yes.” Frankie’s voice took on a whiny tone. “But I don’t want to get a job. I don’t like work. It’s too hard.”
“Too bad,” I shot back. “Everyone needs to earn their keep in this world, Frankie. If you don’t, you’re going to get kept another way. You see those pictures … do you see the prison … you’ll lose yourself there if you’re not careful.”
“I don’t want to go to prison,” Frankie mumbled. “I can’t go to prison.”
“Then get a job.” I held the magic in place for a moment before releasing him.
Frankie shook himself out of his reverie, his eyes unfocused for a moment before he zeroed in on me. “What just happened?”
“You saw the light and are going to change your ways,” I automatically answered.
“I … don’t remember that.” Frankie rubbed his chin as his gaze bounced around the tent, resting on Kade before the security guru’s size made him nervous and he turned back to me. “I want my money back. You’re a fraud.”
Freaky Hearts Page 15