“That's a good point,” I said. “Who wants to miss out if the Universe shows up with a surprise present?”
Miss May turned down yet another deep, dark wooded road.
“So you don’t think Salazar was Linda’s…surprise present?" I asked.
Miss May wrinkled her nose. “Uh, well…Salazar is a good-looking man. But I suspect Linda only visited him for readings.”
“She doesn't strike me as the typical customer of a psychic.”
Miss May rattled to a stop adjacent to a rustic stone walkway which seemed to appear out of nowhere in the woods. The stones led down a hill, deeper into the trees. Gulp.
“Let's find out.”
----
By the time I had gathered my purse and jumped out of the pickup, Miss May was already 10 feet down the path. I hurried to catch up, but the walkway consisted of uneven sheets of raw granite, and I nearly tripped several times. I recovered, took a step, and felt my foot plummet into a grassy hole. I lost my balance and toppled sideways.
Oomph! I landed on my left shoulder in a pile of leaves.
Miss May didn’t even turn around. She called back, “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I grumped. But my sour mood didn’t last long. As soon as I took a good look around, my grouchiness turned to awe.
Maples, oaks, and evergreens towered above me. Translucent beams of sunlight filtered through the leaves. A brook gurgled over small, smooth rocks. And the stone path carved through the trees with such grace, my designer brain tingled with envy. Integrating design into natural landscapes was an evergreen (yeah, yeah, pun) challenge, and whoever had laid this granite had done a seamless job.
“Chelsea.” Miss May’s voice broke into my thoughts.
“Sorry. Yeah, I'm fine. I said I was fine.”
Miss May looked around. “Beautiful up here, isn't it?”
“I had no idea this was here.” Funny how you can spend your whole life in a place and still not discover all its secrets.
“Wait until you see the house.” Miss May led the way down the path.
Once we crested the wooded hill, the house came into focus. The first thing I noticed were the varied rooftops. The main house had a steep stone roof, painted to look like a spotted mushroom. Off to the side were three domed turrets, each painted with bright stripes. Best of all? A heart-shaped weathervane completed the whimsical roofline.
We were there to visit a psychic, so I should have expected a quirky home. But that place looked like it belonged in a fairytale pop-up book, not in Pine Grove.
It was so weird that Salazar’s house shared a ZIP code with the store where I bought my cleaning spray and applesauce. The home was not of this century. Or this world.
Miss May noticed my gaze. “Fun house, huh?”
“I can’t tell if it’s a fun house or a…funhouse. Is this guy roommates with a fancy hobbit?”
Miss May laughed, crossed to the door and knocked. We waited a few seconds, but no one answered. She knocked again. No answer. I noticed a blinking neon sign in the window. “OPEN. COME IN.”
I nodded at the sign. “Look. Should we just go inside?”
Miss May tried the door handle, and it opened. She turned back to me. “Why not?”
10
Psychic Surprise
The inside of the house was sleek and modern, a stark difference from the mossy, natural exterior. I wanted to hate it because Salazar the psychic already creeped me out, but I couldn’t muster a single negative thought about the interior design.
The front room was slate gray, with a darker gray feature wall. A bright white fireplace and mantle popped against the deep gray. Empty, bright yellow frames decorated the walls, giving the whole place a satisfying, minimalist vibe. A yellow armchair and yellow flowers drew the eye around the room and made the whole space feel cohesive and inviting. Dammit. Why did this have to be so good?
Off to the side, a welcome table offered cucumber water, fresh fruit, and granola. So many thoughtful touches! Who was this guy?!
“It looks like the psychic business is going well,” I said, gesturing to the high-end décor.
Miss May nodded. “Agreed. Sleek yet welcoming. No one ever accused Salazar of having bad taste.”
“Who accused me of having bad taste?” A man’s coy tenor echoed in the sparse room. “I want names, addresses, and Social Security numbers. And make it quick!”
Salazar strode into the welcome area from an adjacent hallway. He was in his early forties, with bright white teeth, a well-groomed beard and deep brown eyes. Fathoms deep. His haircut was all sharp lines and straight angles, and it looked more expensive than my entire pajama wardrobe. He wore khaki capris and a white muscle shirt, an objectively hideous combo yet somehow it worked.
OK. I'll say it. Salazar was hot. Not my type. I will never love a man in three-quarter length pants. But I couldn’t deny the magnetism of his presence.
Miss May smiled as Salazar drifted toward us. “Salazar! So good to see you.”
“Better for you than it is for me,” Salazar said. “I still want to know who accused me of having bad taste. There is no greater sin. Maybe a few. But those I’ve actually committed.” Abruptly, Salazar shifted his bottomless gaze to me. “You must be Chelsea.”
I side-eyed Salazar. How does he know my name? Maybe he really is psychic.
“That's right. I'm a psychic, so I know the names of every person on earth," Salazar said. "I wish! No. That psychic reading came free, courtesy of having lived in Pine Grove my entire life. So good to finally meet you in person. And I am terribly sorry about your failed marriage. I’m sure you didn’t see it coming.”
I touched my ring finger, where my engagement ring had once been. “Uh. Thank you. It's good to meet you too. I love your home.”
“We both do,” Miss May said. “We were praising your taste, not criticizing it.”
Salazar let out an exaggerated sigh. "At last, I can breathe easy! Thank you. This place is my living work of art.” He clapped his hands together. “Now! How can I help you ladies? Are you both here for a reading, or is one of you in tow for moral support?”
Miss May swallowed. “Actually... Have you heard about how Chelsea and I have been solving murders?”
“Of course. Everyone has. Incredible.”
“That's why we’re here.... About Linda Turtle.”
Salazar's smile disappeared. Replaced by a hardened look. “What about her? You know I can't divulge information about my sessions with Linda. Psychic-patient confidentiality.”
“Are people who go to psychics really called patients?” Oops. Did I say that out loud?
Salazar shot me a sharp look. “That is the preferred term, yes.”
Miss May held up her hands to calm the situation. “That's okay. We don't want any confidential information.”
“I've already said too much.”
“Then maybe you can say a bit more,” Miss May said. “The woman is dead, after all. And if we don't find out who did it, the killer could strike again. Isn't there a clause in your oath for situations like this? Innocent people are in danger.”
Salazar turned and looked at one of the empty frames, like he was viewing complex, masterful art rather than a blank space on the wall. “I suppose if I might be able to help... Perhaps I have a moral duty to do so.”
Miss May pressed on. “Was your relationship with Linda more than professional?
Salazar scoffed. “Of course not. I would never use my powers to seduce. I've seen too many psychics go down that path. They lose everything.”
“So she really was a ‘patient?’” Miss May asked.
Salazar nodded. “She's been coming here for months. Long before she moved to the area.”
“Really?” Miss May asked. "I'm sorry to sound so surprised. But she seemed like such a traditional woman."
"You never know who might believe." Salazar looked away from the empty frame. “I draw many of my clients from Manhattan and the other boroughs. City dwelle
rs come to me, seeking solitude along with the truth. Also, I had a spread in an architectural magazine that helps business quite a bit.”
“I saw that,” Miss May said. “Congratulations.”
“It was nothing. They spelled my name wrong. Still, it helped business.”
“So when Linda came, did she say anything interesting? Anything worth noting?”
Salazar shook his head. “Not really. Certainly nothing that would lead to the arrest of her killer.”
“You never know what information might help,” Miss May said. “Could you perhaps share the general details that you learned from Linda?”
“I suppose I could share general details. But I want you to remember that during my sessions, I have a duty to help my patients find whatever information they need. Whatever is out there in the ether, I must harvest at their request. I am nothing but a medium. A tool that my clients use to dredge for the information they seek.”
Clients? I thought they were patients.
“Of course,” Miss May said.
“Linda came to me looking for advanced information on the Pine Grove real estate market,” Salazar said. “She wanted to know what houses were going to be foreclosed upon, before the foreclosure proceedings began.”
“She used you to find a deal on a house?” I asked. Not the juicy details I had been expecting.
"The whole process did make me feel used,” Salazar said. “Though, as I said, I am nothing but a tool. The clay cannot judge the potter for sculpting an ugly pot.”
"I guess not," Miss May said. "But that's all Linda wanted? Really?"
"I've told you everything I know." Salazar turned back to the wall and ran his finger along the edge of a yellow frame.
“What if...I bought a session?” Miss May asked. “Is it possible that, in the reading, new information might pop up?”
Salazar narrowed his eyes. “I never know what will happen in any given reading. Though I suppose it’s possible that more information regarding Linda might surface.”
“Then we'll take one reading, please.”
“We will?” I blurted. Miss May shot me a silencing look. “I mean, we will!” For some reason, I sounded faintly Irish as I feigned enthusiasm.
“My sessions are not cheap,” Salazar said.
“I know.” Miss May smiled. “And I tip well.”
Salazar crossed to a laptop and opened up a payment page. “And who will be my patient today? You or Chelsea?”
----
Moments later I followed Salazar into his “reading room,” trying to hide my annoyance at Miss May for thrusting me into this bizarre process. Then Salazar killed the lights and instructed me to sit behind a hanging silk curtain.
I sat, as instructed. And that's when the chanting began. Here's a summary: Salazar repeated the word “MO” in a monotonous tone for five minutes, then he drew the curtain back and sat cross-legged opposite me.
“That was powerful,” Salazar said. “And now we begin.”
“Wait, that wasn’t the beginning?” I said.
“No. The chanting was for me. To zone my energies so I could best serve you in our session.”
Salazar reached out and grabbed my skull. It tickled. I laughed.
“Please. Keep your laughter to a minimum. It disrupts my vibrations.”
I remembered Miss May's wisdom about being open to the Universe, and I put on a straight face. “Sorry."
“You apologize too much. Stop doing that.”
Uhhh, what? Maybe Salazar was right, but I expected more fortune teller than life coach. Salazar continued before I had a chance to object.
“The vision is forming.”
“OK…”
“Shh!” Salazar closed his eyes and moved his hands about in front of him as he spoke. “I see you. Standing in a kitchen. The walls are white, as is the floor, whiter than the whites of your eyes. The table is set for dinner, but the food isn't real. It’s plastic. Everything is plastic. The walls, the floor, the furniture. Your whole life is plastic. Attractive upon first glance, yes. But you cannot eat plastic. You cannot sing a plastic song. You cannot live a plastic life.”
Salazar's left shoulder shot back, and his head jerked to the opposite side. “The phone! The phone is ringing. But there you stand. Across the room. Like you too are made of plastic. A motionless doll. You must answer the phone. There is nothing to fear on the other end of the line. Everything you fear is plastic.”
The logical part of me told me that Salazar was spewing nonsense. Plastic? Dolls? Phones? The dots didn’t connect.
That was my brain. But my body disagreed. My chest seemed to be stretching wide, pulling itself tight at the seams and opening up. Something in Salazar’s gentle monotone felt otherworldly. The forest, the house, the waiting area…all of those places I’d passed through felt like other dimensions or other times. Maybe I had traveled beyond the realm of the physical.
“It’s ringing,” Salazar droned. “The phone is ringing. Why won’t you answer?”
I thought of my parents first. After they’d died, I’d had recurring dreams that my mom or dad was calling me, but in every dream I either missed the calls or ignored them. Just like I’d ignored my grief, shoved it away to avoid dealing with an unthinkable loss.
My next thought was of Mike. He kept calling me, but I wouldn’t answer. Why? I started to hear a faint ringing, which sent shivers shooting up and down my back. Was Salazar conjuring sounds of a phone from the netherworld?
Nope. My phone was ringing. Mike was literally calling me at that moment. My eyes shot open, and the strange surrealism of the reading vanished. What just happened?
I picked up my phone, double-checked the caller ID, and then I did what any normal, responsible adult would do.
I silenced the call.
11
Fifty-Five and Over
As Miss May and I exited Salazar's fairy-tale house, my whole body felt wrong. My legs were jelly, struggling to carry me up the walkway. I felt like I’d taken my skin off and put it back on backwards. Miss May tried to make polite conversation, but I was in a stupor.
Had I just gotten a genuine psychic reading? Yes, the stuff about the ringing phone had been ambiguous. And it was probably coincidence that my own phone had happened to ring. But there was also all of that plastic talk.
As an interior designer, plastic was my enemy. Cheap, inauthentic, and ugly. But sometimes I’d used plastic in a pinch. That all seemed pretty literal.
But maybe Salazar’s reading went deeper than that.
“You cannot eat plastic.”
"You cannot live a plastic life."
“You cannot sing a plastic song.”
What did he mean by that stuff? Was I living a plastic life because I was afraid to face reality? Why was I so afraid to talk to Mike?
Miss May honked the horn, and I snapped back to the present.
“Why are you honking?” I asked.
“To get your attention,” Miss May said. “You've been off in Chelsea land for five minutes. We’re already back in town. What happened in that reading?”
I shrugged. “Nothing.” I didn’t want to rehash the whole thing with Miss May. But she had psychic powers of her own.
“Salazar said something about Mike, didn't he?”
“Can we please talk about the case?”
“I've been waiting for you to ask,” Miss May said. “Salazar dropped an enormous clue back there, but I don't even think you realized it."
“What clue?”
Miss May turned back onto the main road, exiting the forest. “Think about it.”
All I could think about was plastic and ringing phones. “My brain isn’t in the mood to think right now. Just tell me.”
Miss May sighed. “Come on, Chelpie. What did Salazar say about Linda? About why she saw him?”
I picked at some peeling paint on the car door. “I don't know. The stuff about foreclosures? How is that a clue? It just makes me hate Linda even more. What
a predator.”
“Exactly! If Linda and Reginald were predatory about buying their house, that means someone was their prey.”
My lips flipped into an impressed frown. “That's a good point. Didn't you say you knew the person who owned that house, though? The farmer's market lady or something?"
“The flower shop lady," Miss May said. "Petunia. Remember this morning, when we went to see Reginald, you were surprised that the house was in such disrepair? Now it all makes sense. Petunia didn't sell that house willingly. She would be too proud to admit it, but she must be broke.”
“Do you think Petunia might want to kill the people who bought the house out from under her?”
Miss May slowed as a young mother pushed a stroller across the street. “Petunia is one tough gingersnap. I wouldn't put it past her.”
The young mother waved to thank Miss May for waiting. Miss May waved back but didn't smile. My aunt was thinking serious thoughts. She needed all her face muscles for contemplation.
“What do we do now?” I asked. “Can we go talk to Petunia? Maybe Salazar was wrong. This could be a complete misunderstanding.”
“We can't talk to Petunia until tomorrow,” Miss May said. “She lives in Washington Village.”
“The 55 and over community?”
Miss May nodded. “Their quiet hours start at 5 PM. Won't make it in time. But we can stop by first thing in the morning.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Not good, but you know what I mean. If Petunia is the killer, we'll most likely catch her in the morning. Which is good.”
"I get it, Chels."
"Good." I sat back and sighed. My thoughts drifted back to the reading, and I bolted upright in my seat. “Hang on a minute!”
“What?” Miss May asked.
“Salazar said the thing about the foreclosure before you suggested a reading. You already had the clue you wanted!”
Miss May kept her eyes on the road. “Oh. I didn’t really think about that.”
“Liar,” I said. “You tricked me into a psychic reading!”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Miss May’s mouth. “Maybe,” she said, “you have some sleuthing skills after all.”
Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery series Box Set 1 Page 39
