Peaches and Scream

by Chelsea Thomas

  Miss May linked one of her arms in mine and the other in Teeny’s. “Come on. I’ll lead the way.”

  Quiet wind chimes sounded as we stepped into Elaine’s psychic reading parlor. The room was small, but distinct. There was a psychedelic, paisley purple rug. The walls were white with floral tapestries dangling from the ceiling. There was a small table in the center of the room. Elaine rose from behind the table as we entered.

  Elaine the psychic was a beautiful woman. Somewhere in her 50’s, she looked Middle Eastern, Persian maybe. She had bright, white teeth and caramel-colored skin. I was jealous of her dark eyebrows and piercing, hazelnut eyes. “Welcome. I’m Elaine. You don’t have an appointment.”

  “No,” I said. “We don’t.”

  “I knew from the way you entered. Like you are hoping for me to make an exception to my ‘by appointment only’ rule. OK. I will, but only this once, and only because you seem desperate. I perform psychic readings, palm readings, and, of course, tarot card readings. I typically read one person at a time however the three of you can remain in the room if that’s what you prefer. Who would like to go first?”

  I stammered, unsure how to respond to Elaine’s wordy greeting. Miss May stepped forward with a nod and held out her hand to shake Elaine’s. “Good to meet you, Elaine. As it happens, we’re here for a bit of an unorthodox reason.”

  Elaine smiled. “Most people who come to me are here for unorthodox reasons. Tell me more. Please, sit.” Elaine took a seat in the chair behind the desk. Miss May, Teeny, and I sat across from her.

  “We discovered a tarot card spread in the bakeshop we own.” Miss May looked over at me and Teeny.

  I nodded and continued, “Our bakery was closed but someone broke in and laid out these tarot cards. We think it might’ve been a message to us but we’re not sure. We don’t know how to read tarot cards and we heard you’re the best.”

  I thought it best not to mention Beth or the murder. Miss May and Teeny seemed to implicitly agree.

  Elaine pursed her lips. “Interesting. So you think this spread of tarot cards might’ve been a message.”

  Teeny leaned forward. “Or a warning. We’ve solved a lot of—”

  I nudged Teeny and cut her off. “We’ve solved a lot of puzzles. Miss May is a puzzle champion in the tri-state region. So she has a lot of people who want to bring her down. Jealousy, you know.”

  Teeny nodded. “Right. She’s a puzzle champion. I used to call her Jigsaw Jane because of how good she is with jigsaw puzzles. Yep. This one’s got endless patience and keen powers of observation. That’s what makes her the best in her field. The governor of New York even gave her a commendation for her puzzle skills a few years back.”

  “Interesting.” Elaine scanned our faces with a disbelieving smirk. “May I see the photo of the spread?”

  Miss May opened the picture on her phone and handed it to Elaine. Elaine turned the phone sideways to get a good view. She pinched and zoomed, inspecting each card carefully. “This is a beautiful deck of cards. I believe they call this the Eternal Deck. I haven’t seen many of these lately. Very hard to find.”

  Neither Miss May, nor Teeny, nor I spoke. A heavy energy hung in the air. None of us wanted to say anything. Even if it was silly, it felt like speaking would jinx the moment or interrupt Elaine’s focus.

  Elaine spent a few more minutes zooming in on each card. Every few seconds Elaine made a small sound of approval or disapproval or concern. Once she bit her lip and scratched her chin like she was solving a puzzle of her own.

  After about a few minutes, she looked up and exhaled deeply. “OK. I believe I understand. I’m surprised this spread was left in your bakeshop. Tarot card readings require the energy of the recipient to be present in the room. The recipient must set their intentions before the reading in order to receive an accurate message. Although I suppose it’s not impossible that whoever left these cards relied on an intuition or sixth sense for their perception. Although it’s also possible they laid out the cards for themselves and not for one of you.”

  Miss May looked over at me. “We hadn’t thought of that.”

  Teeny bit her fingernails. “What does it say?”

  “It’s difficult without understanding the intentions and the question that was being asked specifically. But this much is clear to me… This spread indicates that the person receiving the reading had a horrible childhood. There was trauma there. There were difficulties to overcome. These cards indicate that hope is vital. It always is. But this last card, this is what concerns me. See the skeletal knight riding the white horse?” Elaine extended the phone toward us, zoomed in on a particularly sinister card.

  Indeed, there was the tarot card she described. She took a deep breath, then spoke as if she was plunging into cold water. “That is the card for death. It is subject to a variety of interpretations. But in this context… It seems to indicate that the recipient’s death may be imminent.”

  Teeny gasped and stood up in a flurry. “So the murderer gave Beth this reading before he killed her. He wanted to scare her. He wanted to add drama to the killing! The killers always add drama in my shows. That’s so unnecessary. Like a cat with a mouse! Just kill the poor thing already, you sick cat.”

  Elaine stood too. “You found this spread at the scene of a murder? You lied to me.”

  Miss May held up her hands apology. “I’m sorry. We didn’t… We shouldn’t have…”

  “I can’t have this energy in my studio. I knew there was something off about your entrance. Please go immediately.”

  Miss May, Teeny, and I stood and hurried out of the studio. I looked back at Elaine just before we exited.

  She looked scared. And her fear really scared me.

  34

  Pizza is the Best Medicine

  We stumbled out onto the street and I said the first words that popped into my head: “I need pizza.”

  Miss May hung her head and chuckled. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking about too, honestly,” said Teeny. “When I’m scared I need pizza. It’s a fact of life.”

  We began walking down the street in no particular direction, as New Yorkers often do.

  “That was pretty freaky,” said Miss May. “I feel bad. We shouldn’t have misled her.”

  “Sorry I blew our cover,” Teeny said. “I just couldn’t believe it.”

  Miss May ran her tongue across her cheek. “It’s alright. We should all know by now, it’s never a good idea to lie to a psychic.”

  “Yeah, plus, none of us are very good liars. At least, Teeny and I aren’t,” I said.

  Teeny clucked her tongue. “You think that woman really knows the future? Or the past? Do you think she can talk to dead pets?”

  Miss May threw up her hands. “I don’t know. But why risk it? She seemed like a true authority on tarot cards.”

  “True,” I said. “But do you need to have psychic abilities to read tarot cards?”

  Miss May shrugged. “Not sure it matters. Whoever left those cards out clearly was trying to send a message.. The murderer knew tarot. And they knew Beth. They wanted the killing to feel personal and they tailored everything they did to terrify Beth.”

  “Pizza,” I said.

  “You mentioned,” said Miss May.

  “No. Pizza.” I pointed down the street. We were half a block away from the most legendary pizzeria in New York City (at least in my book), John’s Famous Pizza. “That’s John’s, right?” We’d stopped at John’s during a previous investigation and I was eager for a repeat. I’d take any excuse to get delicious New York City pizza.

  Teeny rubbed her hands together. “I’m getting white pizza and breadsticks. And an Italian ice.”

  It was a little late so we got a table at John’s without having to wait. We were seated in the booth by the front window. John’s was small but oozed with undeniable charm.

  Both sides of the room were lined with booths. Ever
y booth had been scratched to oblivion by decades of diners scrawling their names and other messages into the wood with their keys. In the far corner of the room there was an old, woodfire pizza oven. A little Italian man tossed dough up in the air, spread big circles of tomato sauce on crusts, and sprinkled cheese with the elegance and poise of a ballerina.

  “I love it in here.” I smiled. “I knew pizza would make me feel better. And I’m not even eating it yet.”

  An annoyed Italian-American woman approached with a notepad. “What do you want?”

  “We’re here for pizza,” said Teeny. “It all smells so good. I feel like I want it all.”

  “So you’re not ready to order. Do you want me to come back?”

  “No,” I said. “We’re ready. We’ll take a plain pie and a white pie. And three Italian ices, please.”

  The waitress walked away without saying anything. Miss May shrugged. “I think she likes us.”

  Ten minutes later, and we were each onto our second slice of pizza. As often happened when we were eating, none us had said much other than some variation of “yum.” I’m sure were all deep in thought about the case. And even deeper in thought about our love of pizza. Then something occurred to me about what Elaine had said back at the studio.

  “Hold on a second. I think Elaine may have given us an important clue back there.”

  Teeny and Miss May looked up from their pizza.

  “Are you going to tell us or make us suffer?” Miss May took a big bite of a plain slice.

  “You always challenge me to observe the clues that you’ve already noticed,” I said. “Now I issue the same challenge to you.”

  Teeny slumped her shoulders. “I hate this game. I just want to eat my pizza.”

  I grabbed a slice and smirked. It felt good to finally be the one withholding information.

  Miss May put her slice of pizza down. “We can do this, Teeny. Let’s think.”

  Teeny crossed her arms. “Thinking is boring when the alternative is pizza.”

  “Elaine mentioned that it’s possible to give yourself a tarot card reading,” Miss May said. “Do you think Beth might have… hurt herself?”

  I shook my head. “No. I think she was murdered. That’s not the clue.”

  “Elaine also mentioned Beth’s childhood. Maybe the killer was someone Beth knew what she was a kid,” Teeny said. “I still have plenty of enemies from my schoolyard days.”

  “That’s an interesting observation. This might have something to do with Beth’s past,” I said. “That’s not the clue of which I’m speaking.”

  Miss May Miss May’s jaw dropped. “I know. I know what it is.”

  I spread my palms across the table. “Go on.”

  “The first thing Elaine said when she began the tarot card reading was that the deck was interesting and unique. She implied it was a rare deck.”

  I smiled. “That’s right.”

  “So what?” Teeny asked.

  “Elaine didn’t just say the deck was rare,” I said. “She gave us the name.”

  Teeny nodded. “Oh yeah. It was an Eternal Deck. She said it’s hard to find.”

  I touched my nose, like Miss May always did when we were onto something. “That means there aren’t a lot of shops that sell the Eternal Deck. If we can figure out which stores stock that particular deck, we might be able to trace the purchase back to the person who bought the deck. It sounds like this Eternal Deck isn’t mass-produced. We might have to sort through a lot of sales data from magic stores, but I think this might be a breakthrough.”

  Miss May chuckled. “We don’t have to go through any sales data,” she said.

  I puffed up my lower lip. “We don’t?”

  Miss May shook her head. “We just need to find out if Big Jim sells that deck.”

  35

  Out of Africa

  By the time we got back to Pine Grove that night, Big Jim’s magic shop was closed. We all agreed we would head over there first thing in the morning. My keys were still missing, so we were planning to continue sleeping at Teeny’s… but first, Miss May and I stopped by the farm for a few hours to check up on KP and the animals.

  I chatted with See-Saw the tiny horse about the case. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. I played fetch with Steve the dog, but he got tired and fell asleep. I petted Kitty, but she just wanted food and lost interest in social interaction as soon as I gave her some tuna. Then, Miss May and I locked up and headed back to Teeny’s place for the night.

  But when I climbed into bed around 11 PM, I felt lonely. Maybe part of it was sleeping at Teeny’s house instead of in my own room, but I knew there was more to it.

  The truth was, even though my aunt and Teeny and the farm animals were good company, they weren’t the company I wanted. I missed Germany.

  Since he had returned to his research in Africa, he and I hadn’t been able to connect much. He rarely had Internet access. Besides, he spent most of the time in the field, studying lions. He was so deeply immersed in his work, so cloud-headed, that sometimes he didn’t even remember to text when he did have a WiFi connection.

  I pulled my covers up to my chin and turned on my side. “I miss Germany,” I said out loud. As if by magic, my phone rang. It was a video call. And it was from Germany.

  I sat straight up in bed, turned on the light, fluffed my hair, accidentally over-fluffed my hair, de-fluffed my hair, then answered the call. There was Germany, wearing a tan safari hat and smiling from ear to ear. “Chelsea. You look lovely. More radiant than the most radiant lioness on the plains of Africa, and let me tell you, that lioness is radiant. Yet compared to you, all of the wildlife in the jungle is nothing but pebbles on the dirty ground. How are you?”

  I laughed for a minute straight. Germany may have traded his rural American denim for African khaki but he had not lost his bizarre way with words. “Hi, Germany. I miss you. I was just thinking about you.”

  “I’m always thinking about you. This afternoon I found myself passing an Internet café in a small town. That is where I am now. I’m not often here. But I wish I could communicate with you more frequently via phone, video, or telepathic means.”

  Over the next ten minutes, Germany and I chatted about everything that had been going on since he had left. I tried not to talk too much about the case because I didn’t want to bring the conversation down. I wanted to hear about Africa and Germany’s work. He was helping research the behavior of a pride of lions in an area where there was a drought. That was as much as I could gather. Although he said a lot of scientific and environmental jargon that sounded very impressive.

  Eventually, the connection started to flicker and corrupt. Germany’s image pixelated, then disappeared, then reappeared in strange pieces. “Germany. The connection is bad.”

  His voice replied in choppy half-words, fragmented by the slow Internet. “I… You… Love… Radiant… Miss… Splendid and… Every single day.”

  “I love you, too,” I said. “Good night, Germany.”

  With that, the screen went black. And I finally managed to fall asleep.

  36

  The Earlybird Gets the Muffin

  I woke up to the smell of chocolate chip muffins in the air. My nose dragged me out of bed, pulled me into the hallway, and sat me down at Teeny’s kitchen table. Miss May had fully made herself at home in Teeny’s kitchen. As I entered the room, Miss May pulled a tray of muffins out of the oven and turned to me with a smile. “Morning, Chelsea.”

  I squinted and looked at the time in the microwave. “It really is morning. 7 AM?”

  Miss May shrugged. “I didn’t force you out of bed.” She placed them up on a plate and put it down in front of me.

  “You know muffins wake me up,” I said. “So you basically did force me. Why?”

  “We’ve got a big day ahead of us,” Miss May said. She sat at the table across from me and broke off the top of one of the muffins.

  “I know. But Big Jim isn’t going to be open until at le
ast nine or ten. Do you need help with something back on the orchard or in the bakeshop?”

  Miss May nodded. “We’ve been falling behind on our peach pie orders with this investigation. I was thinking, maybe… We could bake a few pies before going over to Big Jim’s?”

  I laughed. “How far behind?”

  “Twenty pies?” Miss May said with a shrug. “None of them are technically late yet but they will be.”

  I spread a slab of country butter on the muffin and watched it melt. “Doesn’t sound like there’s much of a choice.”

  Miss May took another big bite of muffin. “Smart girl.”

  A couple minutes later, we’d piled into the VW bus and were rumbling toward the farm.

  KP was drinking coffee and grumbling about the morning when we arrived. We said hello, he grouched out a greeting in return, and then we headed straight for the bakeshop.

  Do you want to know the secret to perfect peach pie?

  The secret is using farm fresh peaches straight from the trees on your family orchard, juicy and delicious and the best in the world. Alright, maybe that’s not helpful advice for the home cook. But store-bought peaches can be good too. And the real secret is just to use tons of butter in the crust.

  Miss May and I worked hard for about three hours. I prepped the peaches and she prepped the dough. I hadn’t yet graduated to making the crust. It was an art. But trust me, I saw all the butter she used.

  When everything was all set for baking Miss May dusted her hands off on her apron then hung the apron over a chair. “OK. We’re almost ready to talk to Big Jim.”

  I checked the clock. “It’s 11 AM. He’s open by now. Why aren’t we completely ready?”

  The oven dinged. Miss May pulled a fresh peach pie out and smiled. “Now we’re ready.”