The Cards of Life and Death (Modern Gothic Romance 2)

by Colleen Gleason

  Diana nodded and sipped from her iced tea, more relaxed around Ethan than she’d ever been. This was good. They were actually conversing, and she hadn’t said anything lame or rude. Making casual conversation was so much different from arguing a case, when she knew exactly what to say and how to say it. “Your mother … er, she sounds like an unusual woman.” Well, crap. There she went, stepping into it with that comment. She looked quickly at him to gauge his reaction.

  But he didn’t seem to take offense. “She’s a modern day Flower Child, and Fiona and I were raised in a commune in Western Pennsylvania abounding with Free Love, marijuana plots, a nude beach, and lots of other earthy things.” He flashed her a brief smile that sent a little zip of heat down to her core.

  “Free love, huh?” she repeated, wondering why she fixated on that aspect of his speech.

  He raised a brow, creating more squiggly stirrings in her belly. “Yes, indeed—free love.” His voice had dropped to a low rumble and Diana found herself unwilling to look at him. “And nude beaches.”

  She stood abruptly and walked over to refill their glasses. “What sort of rough time?” she asked, hoping to turn the conversation to something less … intense. At least for her.

  He stilled, then began to move his glass in small circles on the counter. “My wife and I split up a little more than two years ago.”

  “Oh,” she said, surprised that he’d been married, and at the dark, pained expression that settled on his face. “I’m sorry to hear that. Really sorry.”

  “She was sleeping with one of my friends. But the divorce was my fault.” Bitterness flattened his tone.

  “Because … she was sleeping with one of your friends?” Diana repeated, allowing full irony into her voice. “That sounds logical.” Now she regretted bringing it up, for it clearly bothered him. And aside from that, it was a situation too close to home for her comfort.

  “Yeah. Well, as it turned out, Meghan figured she’d get out of our marriage since I was screwing around with one of my students, even though she’d been sleeping with my friend for months. Maybe even before we got married. I don’t know for certain. So it was my fault. Except that I wasn’t screwing around with Lexie, even though Lexie, my student—are you following this?—made everyone think that’s what was going on.”

  “Nice,” Diana said. “How did she do that? Lexie, I mean. The student.”

  “Yeah, my life was like a soap opera around that time.” He flashed a brief, wry grin. “Lexie was very smart. She set it up and I walked into it like a complete idiot. She’d been trying to get my attention for awhile, taking all my classes that she could, stopping by at the end of every office hour session so she could walk with me to wherever I was going next. It was the perception, you see. Like I said, she was smart. Anyway, I wasn’t having any of it—not only was I married, but she was a student—and ten years younger than me, and I just wasn’t into that. So she got desperate, I guess, and made sure her car broke down one night outside a place she knew I’d be. She got me to give her a ride home—with witnesses, of course—and then when we got there, she tried her best to get me to come in.” He looked up sharply at Diana, as if expecting her to accuse. “I didn’t. Not even to see her safely inside. I didn’t even step onto the porch.”

  She was staring, listening in disbelief. “That does sound like a soap opera. I take it your wife heard about it and didn’t believe you when you told her what happened.”

  He shrugged, his mouth a hard, flat line. “It wasn’t only my wife who heard about it—it was the whole damn department and half the campus. You know what they say about a woman scorned, and Lexie considered herself scorned. It was a very difficult time, and instead of defending and supporting me, like you’d expect a partner to do, Meghan used it as an excuse to end the marriage.”

  “She sounds like a real winner.”

  “Yeah. I really know how to pick’em.” He gave another one of those wry smiles, and she could see hurt lingering in his beer-bottle brown gaze. “So … when I walked by the den just now, I noticed you were playing with those Tarot cards again.”

  Nothing like changing the subject, turning the spotlight back on her.

  “I dropped them on the floor last night,” Diana replied casually. But her insides tightened and the ease she’d felt with him dissipated.

  Ethan cocked the eyebrow that let her know he didn’t believe her. It arched like an inverted black vee, the point edging into his hair. “And you just left them there, did you?” He gave a little laugh, adjusting his position on the chair. “You aren’t going to give even a little, are you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said firmly. “The cards are nothing to me.”

  He shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps shifted smoothly, round and sleek. “Diana, we all have instincts and gut feelings. Some people have honed those skills to become even more than just intuition. If you have that ability, it’s a gift. If you want to talk about what’s been going on with those cards you ‘dropped’ on the floor, I’ll listen.”

  “There’s nothing going on with them.” She felt the force of the denial like a Biblical Peter, and pushed it away. “I just had a few odd coincidences and it unsettled me a little.”

  “You aren’t ready to believe me, or to talk about it. That’s okay,” he held up his hand to fend off her intended fiery retort. “Just think about it, Diana, think about it. A card—The High Priestess—that has shown up randomly five times signifies that one should look beyond the obvious and listen to your inner voice. Isn’t that a bit hard to swallow as a mere coincidence?”

  He unstraddled the chair and stood, looming down over her. “Well, like I said—when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be happy to listen.” Then the laughter disappeared from his face and intensity replaced the humor. “I guess I’d better get going. Sounds like you have a lot of work to do.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled the pitcher of tea out again. “I really appreciate this.” he gave a little gesture with his glass after he drained it for the third time.

  “I appreciate the work you did in the yard.” What else could she say?

  “No problem.” He gave her one last easy smile that sent a long, slow curling through her stomach, and started toward the front door. She resisted the urge to follow him, and paused at the entrance.

  “By the way,” he said, leaning his head against the doorjamb and giving her a calm look, “I don’t study ghosts or UFOs. Just people.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  How in the world had he managed it?

  Diana frowned at the ugly black phone, still baffled even though she’d hung up with Ethan twenty minutes ago. She had half a mind to call him back and tell him she’d changed her mind about riding with him to Marc Reardon’s barbeque that evening, but for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

  With a last, perplexed glare at the phone, she pushed it from her mind and continued on her way to the den, where she’d been headed when his call interrupted her plan to work on clearing out the room.

  The first thing she saw when she walked in were the two cards, lying where she’d left them on the ottoman two nights ago.

  “Maybe if I start to straighten up this room I’ll get those cards off my mind,” Diana said aloud, sliding into the chair behind Aunt Belinda’s desk. And Ethan as well.

  At the desk, which was a heavy, old walnut clunker, Diana looked through the single neat stack of items: bills that were due to be paid that month. A little calendar hung on the wall behind the desk—a promotional item from Dr. Douglas Horner, DVM, Damariscotta Veterinary Hospital & Shelter—and each of the bills’ due dates was clearly marked. She noticed that this Thursday was the date for Motto and Arty’s annual shots.

  Diana glared around the den at large, knowing that the aloof cats were lurking about somewhere. “I guess I’ll have to keep that appointment for you two. Heaven knows why I should, since you’ve been nothing but inhospitable since I arrived.�
� Despite the accusation, her voice was light and chirpy in case the cats were actually listening and would deign to make an appearance.

  They didn’t, of course.

  Once she cleared off the desk, leaving only the stack of bills to be paid after she obtained access to Aunt Belinda’s checking account, Diana moved to the nearest pile of newspapers. It would have made sense, she thought wryly, if her aunt had stacked each periodical in one place. Instead, Oregon Posts were piled among San Francisco Chronicles and Chicago Tribunes and Detroit Newses and New York Timeses.

  As she flipped through them, wondering why on earth Aunt Belinda had saved a decade’s worth of newspapers, Diana noticed that an article in the Chicago Tribune, May 30, 1995, had been circled in green ink. She stopped to read its headline. “Blackout on Miracle Mile Caused by Train Derailment.”

  The article was of little interest, simply explaining that an Amtrak train had derailed while backing into its station, knocking over a power line. No one had been injured and it had little effect on the city except that many of the shops and businesses were forced to close for part of a day.

  Diana set that paper aside and looked through the next one. Now that she was looking more closely, she saw that another article had been circled in a different paper … and another in the next paper, and then another, and so on. Each paper that Belinda saved had something circled—most often, items of little interest. Many times, it was the score of a sporting event or an obituary.

  By the time she had waded through the first pile of papers, it was almost six. Her stomach growled, reminding her that lunch had been forgotten. She’d have to wait for the barbeque, for Ethan would be there in less than an hour to pick her up.

  Her stomach tingled at the thought, and Diana frowned at herself. It wasn’t as if it were a date.

  Of course it wasn’t a date. She was engaged to Jonathan. Wasn’t she?

  With a start, she realized it was the first time she’d thought of him all day, and then in the next moment, realized that she and Ethan shared a similar experience—that of an unfaithful mate. She wondered if Ethan had had the choice whether he would have forgiven his wife and stayed married after finding out about her affair.

  And whether she would ever be able to move on from her own experience.

  Despite the fact that she shouldn’t be concerned about how she dressed, after her shower, it took much too long to decide what to wear. Finally, she chose a simple maxi-dress from a hanger. It was sea foam green with a halter tie that left her back bare. The skirt was long, just skimming the ground, but the dress flowed and fitted enough to more than hint at what it covered.

  She’d barely finished dressing when she heard the front door open. “Hey, anyone in there? It’s me,” called a familiar voice.

  Would the man ever learn to knock? But she felt only mild irritation at his presumption, along with a tingle of anticipation that she had no business feeling. “I’m coming,” she called.

  When she started down the hall, she didn’t see him anywhere, and it wasn’t until she came upon the den that she realized he’d walked in there to look at the two cards sitting on the ottoman.

  “I’m ready to go.” Her voice was cool, but it trailed off when he looked up at her. In fact, her whole insides turned inside out. He sure cleans up well.

  A boxy maroon-and-cream woven shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of dark hair under it. His face was tanned from working outside, and his hair was damp and combed into some casual disarray. And that mouth … it tipped up in a faint smile, echoed by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  Ethan stepped away from the ottoman, looking less guilty than satisfied—like the Cheshire cat, she thought suddenly. “I had a thought,” he said, taking the sweater she held.

  “About … ?”

  “Let’s go by water instead of by land.” He closed the front door behind them and waited as she locked it. “Reardon just lives a little way south along the lakeshore. My canoe is down at your dock.” He grinned. “What do you think?”

  “Canoe?” Diana stopped. “Oh, I don’t think so—what if we tip over? I don’t want to get wet.”

  “We won’t tip over if you don’t stand up. I’m an expert at this.” His eyes danced as he said, “It’ll be relaxing to just paddle down the lake, don’t you think? And it’s a more direct route.”

  “That does sound nice,” she said, smiling back at him. “All right.”

  His smile turned warmer, and for a moment she wished she hadn’t agreed. It suddenly sounded much too romantic to be paddling down the lake with a man who wasn’t her fiancé. But, geesh, it was just a boat ride.

  ~*~

  “What a beautiful place you have,” Diana said as Reardon greeted them at his dock.

  Ethan couldn’t argue that. The house and grounds were very welcoming—the perfect place for an outdoor party. The patio stretched a good twenty by twenty feet, and was graced along its edges by large terracotta planters overflowing with bright red flowers (he had no idea what they were called). Several benches were built into the sides of the patio, providing a comfortable place to sit and watch the sun set.

  “How long have you lived here? Did you put the patio in yourself?” Ethan’s ears found Diana’s voice unconsciously—even over the screeching greeting of Helen Galliday, who came hobbling up to him with such speed that he feared she’d bowl over mousy Betsy Farr with her cane. Martha Woden trailed along at a much slower pace in the wake of her co-quilter, squinting behind her glasses and carefully placing her own walking stick firmly in the dead center of each tile.

  “Good evening ladies.” Ethan gave a little bow and his best charming smile, listening with half an ear to Reardon’s cultured voice. The man had a slight accent, probably from the northwest, but combined with his precise speech it made him sound like a nasally snob.

  Or so Ethan thought, listening as the physician explained, “I’ve been here for three years, and the patio was the first thing I did when I moved in. It seemed a shame to waste such a beautiful view of the lake on a mere deck off the house.”

  They were skirting along the edge of the patio, and soon they were out of earshot. Ethan, unaccountably irritated that Diana had allowed herself to be led off without a word to him, decided to put her out of his mind and enjoy the evening.

  “ … so glad you could make it,” Helen Galliday was trumpeting. She curled her claw-like fingers around Ethan’s wrist and started to lead him across the patio. “You must say hi to Doug Horner and his niece, who’s here on vacation and helping out at his office for a few weeks.”

  Ethan paused and offered his other arm to the near-sighted Martha, who took it gratefully. Thus, he was able to slow Helen’s freight-train pace and save a few people from having their toes smashed by her helter-skelter cane. Summer was a particularly precarious time to be in the way of Helen’s cane, since sandals and bare feet abounded.

  At one end of the patio, Pauline Whitten had settled her generous self in a wrought-iron chair facing Doc Horner, who was effectively blocked into a corner by her. He shot Ethan a look of gratitude as Helen stormed up with her charges.

  “Ethan, great to see you again,” Horner said. “How’s that black lab of yours?” He stood, a short, stout man with a bristling moustache and a shock of straight white hair. Ethan thought that if Albert Einstein had been caught in the rain and his famous bushy hair gone flat, he’d have looked just like Doc Horner.

  “Cady’s just fine—swimming in the lake, chasing her tennis balls every day, barking at the squirrels and chipmunks. You know, the usual.” He turned to take Pauline Whitten’s soft, pudgy hand tipped with pearl-colored nails. “How are you tonight, Mrs. Whitten?”

  “Just fine, Ethan, just fine. What a lovely sunset it’s going to be.”

  “Why don’t you sit yourself down right here.” Helen fairly pushed Ethan into a chair she’d wrangled over to their corner, cane and all. “I’ll go fetch Mindy so’s you can
meet her.”

  Doug Horner gave Ethan a helpless glance and sank back into his chair while Helen stomped off. With a shrug and a good-natured smile, Ethan, too, sat, knowing that his fate—for the time being anyway—had been sealed.

  ~*~

  Marc insisted upon giving Diana a complete tour of his large, brick home, and encouraged her to call him by his first name. They finished in the kitchen, where he offered her something to drink.

  “White wine would be wonderful,” she accepted, turning toward the four large windows that overlooked the patio. There were about fifteen people out there, many of whom she recognized from the other evening at the restaurant.

  “How are you coming with the work at your aunt’s house?” Marc asked, handing her a glass of clear white wine. “I’m sure that den of hers is a project in itself.” He poured his own glass and sipped, then swished it about before swallowing. Pleasure lit his handsome face. “Ah, wonderful. Mantigua, Sonoma Valley, 2003. Beautiful.”