by Ani Gonzalez
Sean laughed, knowing she had a point, but he couldn't help it. This was the perfect music for a long drive. "I guess you can download more music when we get to the rest stop."
Luanne nodded, making her red curls bounce. "You bet I will. It's time to expand your musical horizons."
"Just no Stevie Nicks, please."
Journey he could live with. Stevie, however, was a different story.
"You don't get to choose," Luanne said with a smirk. "Given your new attire, I don't trust your judgment anymore."
Oh, boy. He was in for a couple of hours of bohemian gypsy whining, wasn't he? Weirdly enough, he didn't mind so much. Driving with Luanne was a treat, even with the hellish traffic.
And she seemed much more relaxed now. She'd been tense and jittery when he'd arrived at the house, but she'd loosened up once they got in the car.
She was probably nervous about the convention. She'd spent hours and hours planning it, and had often complained about the difficulty of managing her colleagues.
However, her work was now done. The association leaders had taken over last week and Luanne was now off the hook. She should be able to unwind and enjoy her vacation.
The cars inched forward and the Chesapeake Bay exit came into view. Hallelujah. Nothing said "beach vacation" like a bag of mini donuts.
Unfortunately. they weren't the only ones who planned to wait out the traffic jam. Several cars were headed for the rest stop. Ah, the joys of the mid-Atlantic summer season.
"They better leave some mini donuts for me," Luanne muttered.
"It's getting crowded," Sean teased as he reached the exit ramp. "You may have to settle for chicken nuggets."
"No way. If Morgana Shaw cleans out the mini donuts there will be trouble."
He glanced at the passenger seat. "The association president? How do you know she's here?"
Luanne made a face. "Don't look at me like that. I didn't use any powers. I just recognized her car."
She pointed at a sparkly purple Volkswagen Beetle several cars ahead. It was covered in bumper stickers, which he mostly couldn't read. The largest of them, however, had the Diviners' Association crystal ball logo.
"Are you really going to get into a fight with your group's president over mini donuts?" he asked. "You've been working harmoniously with her for months."
Luanne's eyes narrowed. "Mini donuts would be the last straw."
Sean laughed. The cars moved forward and they were finally able to enter the parking lot. Sean circled the lot, looking for a parking space, but the lot was full of cars, most of them sporting crystal-ball bumper stickers.
"Looks like many members of your fellow members got caught by traffic," Sean said. "I guess the third eye didn't help with that."
"Knowing there will be traffic is one thing. Packing fast enough to avoid it is another. I think there's a spot coming up."
Sean spied the empty parking space and turned. Victory.
Luanne grabbed her purse and opened her door. "Hurry up. There are still a few donuts left."
"I'll catch up." Sean said, turning off the car. "I need to stretch my legs."
"I'll save you some." Luanne promised, already out of the car.
"I'll 'hole' you to that," Sean answered.
But Luanne had already slammed the door. She hadn't heard his terrible pun, which was probably a blessing in disguise. Sean smiled as she raced toward the low-slung concrete building. Never get between a woman and her mini-donuts.
He climbed out of the car, locked it, and stretched. He loved the Mustang, but it was not the most comfortable ride for long distances.
The sports car was a great bachelor ride, but maybe it was time for a trade-in? He'd been doing a lot of traveling with Luanne. They went to New York to visit his family, and visited the Outer Banks. There was a law enforcement convention coming up in New Orleans. That would be a great drive.
But not in the Mustang.
And then there was the future. The Mustang was very much a single man's car and, well, he wasn't single any more, was he?
A loud honk disturbed his train of thought. He turned to see a large A-class recreational vehicle with a garish blue and gold paint job swerve into the parking lot. A nearby motorist honked loudly as the vehicle came perilously close to their side. Whoever was driving that thing was not exactly making friends and influencing people.
As the vehicle turned, Sean caught sight of the custom paint job. It consisted of gold stars and sky-blue swirls and it bore the legend Walter Farsight, He Sees All And Knows All. Several cars followed the coach. Good heavens, did this guy have an entourage?
Apparently so.
Sean shook his head. He'd thought Luanne had aggressive marketing with the Madame Esmeralda promotional materials and social media presence, but that was nothing compared to this. This Walter Farsight person had dialed it up to eleven.
To be fair, most of the association members had decals on their vehicles advertising their services. They were just more understated. Some were rather funny, like the palmistry expert who announced Fortunetellers Talk to the Hand and the psychic recommending one Keep Calm and Consult the Oracle.
He passed by the purple VW Beetle Luanne had identified as belonging to the president of the association. Morgana Shaw had more bumper stickers than any other member. The best one was Yes, I'm Psychic But Please Use Your Turn Signals Anyway.
He made a mental note to buy one for Luanne. Banshee Creek drivers could use the reminder. She didn't have a car, but she could pin it up in her fortune-telling alcove.
Or maybe he could convince Kat to add the bumper stickers to the Botánica's inventory. Wasn't she always looking for more tourist-friendly items? These would be fantastic.
He entered the building, still mulling this idea. The Walter Farsight entourage had parked in front, something that was not entirely legal. They were now arguing with the security guards.
Sean walked past them, smiling slightly. He was on vacation, this wasn't his jurisdiction, and it wasn't his problem. It was a nice change. It wasn't until he passed the gift shop that he realized he'd forgotten one very importing consideration.
The food court would be filled with Mystic Bay fanatics.
And he hadn't changed his shirt.
CHAPTER FIVE
LUANNE GRABBED the plastic tray and grinned. She'd scored the last two bags of donuts.
She strode triumphantly through the food court, carrying her spoils—two bags of cinnamon sugar mini donuts, two jalapeño-pretzel hot dogs, two bags of crab-flavored potato chips, two large lemonades, and two chocolate-covered key lime pie popsicles.
The piping hot smell of the donuts chased her worries away. This was the perfect start to a beach weekend. Hopefully, Sean would get here before the donuts got cold.
She scanned the room, searching for an empty table. The place was packed with people in various stages of beach readiness. Families in sun hats and sandals shared buckets of chicken nuggets, children pleaded for sand toys at the gift shop, and couples in surfing rash guards debated the merits of the fast-food crab cakes.
And then there were the fortune-tellers—lots and lots of them. They were easy to spot, as they were dressed either in colorful bohemian regalia or sensible business suits.
Luanne noticed the association's leader, Morgana Shaw, waving at her. Morgana was sitting at a table with the association's treasurer, Leslie LaReve, and secretary, Rachel Lee.
Leslie was tall and thin, with white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She wore a sensible black pantsuit and an impressive collection of blue beaded necklaces. Rachel was a Korean-American fortune-teller with straight black hair and green glasses that matched her satin kimono jacket. They flanked Morgana—a zaftig, middle-aged sensitive with dark skin, purple hair and dimples—like an honor guard.
The only empty seats were right next to them.
Luanne sighed and headed toward them. She'd been hoping for a little reprieve before dealing with the association crowd,
but a table was a table.
And Morgana was nice. Sure, she had a snarky sense of humor and a policy of zero-tolerance for sloppy astrology calculations, but she was a good administrator and popular with the group.
Her co-president, Walter Farsight, was a different story.
Walter was a marketing genius, no doubt about that, but his people skills left something to be desired. He was great with crowds, but he was also autocratic and arrogant, and thought the universe revolved around him. That was not an exaggeration. His bestselling book, You ARE The Center of the Universe, presented that thesis. Walter had built his career on egotism.
But he wasn't around right now, which was probably why the fortune-tellers were laughing and gossiping as they ate donuts and drank lemonade. Morgana had that effect on people.
"Hello, gorgeous," Morgana said as Luanne sat down. "Where's that handsome man of yours?"
"Parking," Luanne replied, reaching for a straw. "And if he's not done quickly, there'll be no donuts in his future."
Morgana laughed. "That's the spirit."
"This lemonade is delicious," Leslie said, rattling the ice in her cup. "I'm going to get a refill. Do you want anything?"
"No, thanks, but hurry up," Rachel said. "I'm heading out as soon as Walter arrives."
Leslie made a face. "He's coming here?"
Rachel nodded. "He was right behind us on the highway. Thankfully, that mega coach of his is very slow."
Luanne shrugged. "Then I don't feel so bad about snatching the last bag of donuts."
"We're so mean," Morgana said. "Karma is going to hit us hard."
"And it will be worth it," Rachel said. "On second thought, bring me a lemonade too, Les."
"Sure thing."
Leslie left to get the second round of drinks, and Rachel leaned forward.
"Okay, now that the mouse is away," she said. "The cats can play."
Luanne frowned. "I think it's the other way around."
"Not this time," Rachel said, waving her hand. "The point is, do you want to join the office pool? We're taking bets on the bad thing that's going to happen at the convention. I say it's food poisoning."
"The bad thing?" Luanne gasped, a new wave of anxiety washing over her. "What do you mean? I checked everything twi—"
"It's got nothing to do with you," Rachel replied, reaching over to give Luanne's hand a reassuring pat. "You did a great job."
"Then what's going on?" Luanne asked.
"We don't know," Morgana said. "But something is going to happen. We all did readings, and everyone got the same result. Something wicked this way comes." She turned to Rachel. "And food poisoning is a lame guess. You know everyone is going to be eating shellfish."
Rachel gave her a smug smile. "That's why I picked it. Leslie is worried about it too."
Luanne's muscles unknotted. It wasn't just her; everyone was getting the same ominous reading. On the one hand, she was relieved she hadn't made a horrible mess of her convention tasks. On the other, heavier hand, this sounded monumentally bad, even if her colleagues kept making fun of the impeding calamity.
Morgana shook her head. "I bet the Wi-Fi fails. That could lead to a riot."
Rachel looked shocked. "That's cheating, Morgana. You know it's Mercury retrograde."
Morgana laughed. "Okay, how about Walter knocks up his twenty-something assistant? Is that a good one?"
"The blonde girl?" Luanne asked. "Viola? Are they...?"
Her voice trailed off. Walter was a widower, so it wouldn't be necessarily wrong, but it would be juicy.
"That wouldn't qualify," Rachel said. "It wouldn't be a misfortune. It would just be an affair."
"It would be a disaster for his niece and her husband," Morgana countered. "They manage his business and feel they're partners with Walter."
"But it would not affect the convention," Rachel said, her voice firm. "And my scrying clearly had to do with the convention."
"How about if there's a baby?" Morgana said in a dreamy voice.
Luanne recalled all the swords cards that appeared in her own reading. Those cards meant conflict and choices, but no baby.
"That still wouldn't affect us," Rachel said. "Oh, darn it, Morgana. Now I can't get that Wi-Fi failure out of my mind. Maybe we should plan for a backup." She grabbed her purse. "I'm going to call the hotel."
Morgana chuckled as Rachel left to make her call. "There, now she has something concrete to do. That will calm her down."
Luanne leaned forward. "Do you think it's the Wi-Fi?"
Morgana shook her head. "No way. I don't think it will be food poisoning either. That's just Leslie being paranoid because of her allergies. Did you get swords?"
Luanne nodded.
Morgana's eyes narrowed. "I got swords too. That has nothing to do with salmonella or the Internet or babies. Swords mean discord and conflict and betrayal." She stirred her lemonade. "And we have plenty of those."
"Oh, it's not always that bad," Luanne said in a hopeful tone.
Morgana sighed, her shoulders slumping. "It certainly didn't used to be. When I first joined, this organization was all about expanding our knowledge of the craft and supporting our colleagues in their careers. We consulted. We shared techniques and strategies. We helped each other."
"It's still like that," Luanne said. "Kind of."
But she couldn't keep the uncertainty out of her voice. The association had helped her when she'd started her business. They'd been supportive and cooperative, but the competitiveness was there.
And the envy.
Morgana grimaced. "It's not like that anymore. Once some people started making real money, everything changed." She frowned. "Did you get any pentacles?"
Luanne was surprised by the rapid swerve in the conversation. "No, just swords."
"Same here," Morgana said. "That surprised me. I was expecting the four or five of pentacles, maybe even the ten."
Luanne raised a brow. Those cards had to do with the sudden advent of money. Why did Morgana expect—
"Greetings, fellow practitioners of the Art of Sight."
The ringing tenor voice, delivered loudly, interrupted Luanne's thought.
"Uh oh," Morgana sighed.
Luanne turned. Sure enough, a tall man in a sky-blue suit, matching turban, and white patent-leather shoes stood at the entrance of the food court.
Walter Farsight had arrived.
CHAPTER SIX
SEAN EXITED the men's restroom and hurried toward the food court, the Banshee Creek t-shirt safely stowed inside a gift shop bag. He'd already wasted too much time purchasing and changing into a new shirt, and he didn't need fortune-telling skills to know that if he didn't reach Luanne soon she'd eat all the donuts.
But he had to stop short. The security guard drama had moved inside the building, and Walter Farsight's entourage was now arguing with the rest stop's management.
A short woman with pink hair and wearing a flowing blue tunic stood in the middle of the commotion, shaking her finger in front of the manager's face. A portly man wearing a Walter Farsight Sees All, Knows All shirt over n all-black outfit stood behind her, glaring at the man. A heavily made-up young blonde woman in a long white sundress and sandals stood back, looking uncomfortable.
Sean sidestepped around the group. The last thing he wanted was to—
"Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?" The woman shouted. "This is Walter Farsight."
"The recreational vehicle parking lot is on the other side," the manager explained. "Those are the rules for everyone."
"We are not everyone," the man muttered, a vein throbbing in his temple.
Sean slowed down. The man had knotted his left hand into a fist, and looked like he could try to land a punch at any moment. Sean didn't want to interfere, but he would if things got violent.
The pink-haired woman drew herself up, her posture resembling that of a top-heavy flamingo. "It's not worth it, Lester. Let's move the coach."
She swept out
of the building, her nose in the air. The man followed her, still glaring at the manager.
Sean relaxed and headed for the food court. The blonde woman gave him an embarrassed smile as he walked by. Poor thing, she seemed mortified, and with her ethereal dress, pale skin, and loose hair, she resembled a woebegone Shakespearean heroine, a modern-day Ophelia.
And she wasn't the only one cringing. As Sean reached the food, he found Mr. Walter Farsight already holding court there, and the folks around him wore the same pained expression as the young woman.
"Fear shall not guide us." Walter's unctuous voice rang out.
Sean scanned the crowd, searching for Luanne. The blue-suited fortune-teller seemed to be enjoying his own impromptu motivational speech. His audience, however, was not as appreciative. The small group in front of him stared with wide eyes, like trapped animals, and the people around him just stared in annoyance. Sitting nearby, an old woman in a silver caftan puffed an exasperated sigh.
"You, my friends," Walter intoned, "cannot understand the challenge facing us. You see but a glimmer of the future, but I see it all."
His voice was so loud the whole food court could hear him. The old woman next to him rolled her eyes, and Sean fought to hide a smile. With his plummy voice and sparkly blue turban, Walter Farsight looked more like a professional actor than a fortune-teller.
Walter raised his right hand, palm facing forward. "There is darkness, but, as always, there is hope."
The words rang out dramatically.
"Oh, please, this isn't a Vegas show," a man at the table next to Sean shouted. "We're just trying to get to the beach." He grabbed his food tray and headed to the manager's office.
Walter seemed undeterred. He lowered his voice but continued his speech. The group in front of him stared at him with wide eyes, like trapped animals. The old woman in the silver caftan ignored him and turned to her food.
Sean finally spied Luanne. She was sitting with a group of women, and, miracle of miracles, she hadn't eaten all the donuts.
Sean wove his way through the tables. Luanne caught sight of him, waved, then grimaced when she caught sight of his new shirt.
