by Ani Gonzalez
And he wasn't the only fan. The car next to him, a black Saab hatchback that had seen better days, seemed to belong to an enthusiastic resident. It had a Maryland license and a plate holder that read Keep Mystic Bay Weird.
Unfortunately, an insistent vibration from his phone interrupted his reverie.
We're in room 504, Luanne texted. The lock code is 73489. I'll be at the beachfront bar with the girls. Did you know that Kat has a friend who owns a hotel chain?
Sean groaned. Luanne would not give this idea a rest, would she? By the end of the weekend, they would have Banshee Creek's new hotel completely figured out.
But it likely wouldn't be as impressive as this.
He scanned the area. The hotel sat on a little peninsula, and the parking lot sat behind the hotel. A path circled the building, presumably leading to the beach.
He'd love to explore that, but it was getting dark, so the walk would have to wait until the morning. Resigned, he started taking out the bags. Thanks to Luanne's minimalistic approach to packing, he would be able to make it in one trip.
He closed the trunk, grabbed the surprisingly lightweight bags and started walking—only to stop short as a white golf cart with the Aquarius Cove Resort logo appeared right in front of him, almost hitting him.
"Sorry, sir," said the driver, a uniformed young man with brown hair and a small goatee. "I'm new and just getting the hang of this thing. I'm helping this lady with her bags."
A beatific old lady in a shimmering silver caftan with a matching headband accompanied him. Sean remembered her from the rest stop. Her hair was silver, her jewelry was silver, even her eye shadow was silver. Her eyes were gray and her nametag read Sultana Samira the Great.
"Thank you so much," she said to the porter, handing him her keys. "The bags are in the trunk."
The young man took her keys and turned to Sean. "I can take your bags too, sir, if you give me your room number."
"He's a good boy," Samira said, eyes twinkling at the porter. "Even if it did take him a while to pick me up in front and made me late for happy hour."
The boy blushed. "Sorry, ma'am. This is my first golf cart excursion. They can be temperamental."
Samira smirked. "Timing is everything, honey. Remember that."
Sean had the sneaking suspicion he was missing something, but he still gave the kid his car keys and room number.
Samira's brows went up when she heard the digits. "You're Luanne's sweetheart, the policeman."
Was it his imagination, or did the porter grow pale when he heard that? Sean couldn't quite tell because the kid quickly ducked, circled the Saab, and popped open the trunk.
Samira smiled, her still-young gray eyes missing nothing.
"Don't worry," she whispered. "Our rooms are on the same floor. Your girl is expecting me for cocktails, but I'll make sure your bags get to your room safely."
"Thank you," he replied. "I'm thinking of going for a walk."
Her smile grew wider. "Good idea, if you head down to the beach, you'll be able to catch the sunset." She paused and her face went suddenly slack. "And you will find something...something you don't know you are looking for."
Sean sighed. Oh, boy. She was one of those. Was Luanne the only fortune-teller above the melodrama and exaggeration?
He considered taking the bags in himself, but it would have appeared rude at that point. He reluctantly put them in the cart just as the porter arrived with Samira's gleaming silver suitcases. The kid tossed them in the cart and hurried to the driver's seat.
"Thank you," Sean said.
Samira raised her arm to wave goodbye, and almost fell out of the cart as the porter sped away.
Someone was in a tearing hurry. It could be nothing. Some people just got really nervous around the police. He ignored it and kept on walking.
The setting sun cast long shadows on the ground, and the cool evening breeze made the grasses dance. The crickets—
Oh, heck, this place was making him downright poetic. Luanne would deny knowing him if she knew.
The biggest shadow was from the Farsight coach, which was blocking the beach path. Walter had picked the most inconvenient spot in the lot. The man really did have a talent for being a pain in butt. No wonder everyone in the organization seemed to dislike him.
Sean chuckled as he noticed a tiny subcompact with a Diviners' Association sticker parked right behind the coach, impeding its exit. Someone had been annoyed enough to give Walter a taste of his own medicine.
Sean was still smiling as he walked around the coach, the beach path now right in front of him. The cliff was to his right and the coach to his left.
He walked down, enjoying the fading sunlight. The hotel grounds were beautiful, but the way down to the beach was tricky. It was so steep that the hotel had had to build a staircase.
A firefly twinkled, and the gray rocks cast shadows on the rickety steps. He had to watch his step, but the weathered gray wood, the rocks, and the gray-green grasses that surrounded the staircase were a striking combination. He stopped when he was two-thirds through and enjoyed the view.
He could see the ocean, the rocks, and—
A flash of red, crawling ominously over the sand.
His heart stopped and his training kicked in. The color was familiar and it made a shiver run down his spine.
He climbed over the stair rail and stepped over a couple of rocks, hoping this wasn't what he thought it was. The air seemed to have grown colder in the last few minutes and he shivered under his thin shirt.
The trail of red liquid led to a clump of brush, and, there, half-hidden by the tall grass plants, lay a wrinkled blue turban.
And a sprawled, blue-suited body.
CHAPTER NINE
"I TOLD you it wouldn't be me," Samira said loudly as she sipped her bright blue cocktail.
The self-described "Sultana Supreme" sat on a throne-like wicker chair, savoring her second drink of the night, surrounded by Morgana, Leslie and Rachel.
The quartet sat in a corner of the porch, apart from the rest of the Diviners' Association members. The evening had turned chilly, and before receiving the news Leslie had ordered the hotel's Fortune Favors the Tea service, which included cucumber sandwiches, little cakes, and loose tea served in a vintage tasseography teacup set.
But no one was drinking it now. They were all just whispering to each other, and Luanne, who sat several feet away with Kat and Fiona, couldn't overhear a word.
The senior members wanted to plan in private. Well, as private as you could get with Samira shouting everything out.
Luanne stared at her own glass. The Mermaid Margarita had seemed a fabulous idea a few minutes ago, but it was less appetizing now that she knew of Walter Farsight's death.
She'd known something had happened as soon as Sean came in, his Feeling Crabby t-shirt a sharp contrast to his stern cop face. Mary-Louise Reynard, the Mystic Bay sheriff, accompanied him, looking equally stiff.
"They found him near his coach?" Kat whispered. "Was there blood?"
"I don't know," Luanne said. "There must have been. Apparently, he fell down the cliff."
The thought made Luanne shudder, and she drew her shawl around her, trying to get warm. Weird how it had grown dark and cold as soon as they'd heard the news. The overhead lamps cast a dim light over the porch, adding to the overcast feel.
She glanced at an empty grouping of white wicker chairs on the other end of the porch. That's where Walter's assistant and his niece and nephew had been sitting when Sean had broken the news. They had looked shocked.
They were now in an adjacent room, talking to the police.
"No blood," Samira all but shouted again. "Walter hated blood."
The old woman must have amazing hearing, Luanne thought. They couldn't hear the senior members' conversation, but Samira could definitely hear theirs.
"He wouldn't have had much of a choice about it," Kat muttered, taking a big sip from her drink.
"Did he really for
etell his own death?" Fiona asked.
"He foretold a death," Luanne corrected. "He didn't say it was his own."
Kat raised a brow. "Well, that was a pretty vital piece of information, no?"
"We can't read our own futures," Luanne replied. "It never comes out right when we try."
A fact that seemed particularly poignant right now. They had about a hundred fortune-tellers in their organization and none had predicted Walter's death. Oh, they'd all seen something, but no one had seen this.
Not even Walter.
"You seem to be a million miles away, Luanne," Fiona said. "What are you thinking?"
Luanne shook her head. "I'm sorry. You were not with us when he said there would be a murder. He sounded excited, almost gleeful."
"Because he'd seen a death?" Kat asked.
"No," Luanne replied. "Because he'd seen something we hadn't. He liked being superior—having the best foresight, the best money instincts, best everything."
"At least as to the foresight," Fiona said. "He called it. He was dead on." She paused, and a look of horror crossed her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."
"It's okay," Luanne said. "I know what you mean."
A young man in a police uniform approached their table.
"Kat Ramos and Fiona Hart?" he asked.
"Yes," Kat and Fiona replied simultaneously.
"We can take your statements now," he said. "Follow me. We're in the Mermaid Conference Room."
Kat frowned. "But I ordered a tea service."
Fiona sighed. "Oh, let's just get it over with. I want to go to bed."
Kat nodded. "Okay. You can have my tea, Luanne. I hear the sandwiches are great."
Kat and Fiona left, leaving Luanne with her drink and the prospect of the world's loneliest tea party.
The porch was emptying out as more and more people gave their statements. There wasn't much to say, really. Folks had arrived, checked-in, and then gathered for a welcome reception on the porch.
But maybe there was some detail she was missing?
A waiter arrived with Kat's tea service. It was identical to the one Leslie had ordered, down to the yellow teacups. The teacups, it turned out, had little white seashells along the rim, the sandwiches were fish-shaped, and the cookies were seashell madeleines. Branding at its best.
"Thank you," she said to the waiter.
"You're welcome, Miss," the waiter said. "We hope you enjoy your stay, despite the unpleasantness."
He then turned to clean up a nearby table.
Luanne stared at the tea service. It looked like a run-of-the-mill tea set, but it had several important differences. First, the tea was loose, the leaves floating unhindered in the water. Second, the inside of the teacups had tasseography marks. One had zodiac symbols, one had Tarot suits, another had traditional tasseography symbols like the boat and the acorn, and the last one had a plain timeline drawn as a spiral around the cup. You read the tea leaves by interpreting what symbol they landed on inside the cup. A cluster of leaves over the boat symbol meant a voyage, leaves landing on the acorn symbol meant a new venture or a child, and so on. The timeline was a tad more complicated as you had to figure out if the leaves had a shape—such as an acorn or a boat.
Your choice of cup depended on what you wanted to know. The Tarot cup was good for introspection, the zodiac cup was good for making decisions, the timeline was good for open readings, and the tasseography symbols were good for...well, not for much, really. They were mostly for fun.
Luanne then looked guiltily at Rachel, as she would not like that conclusion. She specialized in tea-leaf reading and she got really good results.
However, it wasn't a technique you could use to figure out a murder.
Or was it? She wasn't a cop like Sean, but she had her own, admittedly esoteric methods. Maybe she could shed some light on Walter's demise.
Luanne picked the teacup with the etched timeline. When in doubt, opt for simplicity. The empty cup felt cool and light in her hand. She ran her fingers over the smooth porcelain as she concentrated.
She had to start with what little she already knew. Walter had barely arrived at the hotel when he'd died. It wasn't even clear if he'd had time to check in. He certainly hadn't come to the reception.
Viola, however, had arrived at the porch. The blonde assistant had sat in a corner, downing Magical Mystery Martinis. Walter's niece and her husband—what were their names again? Wanda and Lester?— had dropped by and headed straight for Viola's table. Luanne had been chatting with Morgana, so she hadn't paid it much attention, but it seemed they had been arguing.
That hadn't seemed significant at the time because Walter's entourage was always arguing, but maybe this was different.
Luanne pushed the thought away. She had to concentrate on Walter. Walter, who had been left alone. Walter who had died.
She poured the tea into the cup and warmth spread through her fingers. She concentrated and breathed in, the herbal scent waking her senses.
Then she drank the tea. Oolong tea wasn't her favorite, but she drank every single drop. When she'd finished, she picked up the plate and poured the last remaining drops out onto it.
Then she lifted her empty cup and examined the remains, which looked like...random leaf fragments.
She leaned back in the wicker chair and sighed. This is why she hated the uncertainty of tasseography. You had to interpret the shape of the leaves and their placement in the cup, but you may as well find shapes in the clouds. It was totally subjective.
The tea leaves in the corner looked like a wave, which meant water and probably emotions. The waves were surrounded by sprinkles of tea, which made them look frothy and tumultuous. Strong emotions maybe?
There was an X on top, which was traditionally a warning. She thought she saw two arrows, which usually indicated choices. The blurry shapes at the bottom could be knots, meaning anxiety and stress.
The timelines started with the handle of the cup and moved counterclockwise around it. That meant the strong emotions were last. Did that make sense? Anxiety first, then a warning, followed by a choice, and then strong emotions.
But what did it all mean?
She didn't have time to figure it out. Sean, looking tired in his Feeling Crabby shirt, was approaching.
"Sorry, love," he said. "But do you mind giving us a statement before going to bed?"
CHAPTER TEN
"IF THIS turns out to be an accident," Mary-Louise Reynard said as she signed the autopsy request, "I'll look like an idiot."
"You can claim public reassurance," Sean said as he examined the hotel map.
They were sitting in the Mermaid conference room wrapping up the witness statements. Actually, he acknowledged with a smile, they were more like non-witness statements. Everyone had gathered on the porch for the welcome reception, and no one had seen anything. Even Luanne, whom they had just interviewed, had not been able to help much. She had noticed one late arrival and that was it.
The conference room was not big, but neither was the Mystic Bay Sheriff's Department, and Mary-Louise's meager staff occupied only a small corner of the room. He'd thought his Banshee Creek team was small, but Mary-Louise had even less help.
That unfortunately meant the statements took longer than they should. It was almost midnight and they were still not done. The witnesses were growing restless and the hotel staff was fighting off yawns.
But the pint-sized, freckled brunette was still smiling after they finished the interviews. "Sounds like you have some experience with that."
"I've had several incidents where the locals suspected paranormal activity had taken place." Sean said. "I find it's worthwhile to invest the time and effort to investigate them even if they sound unlikely. It helps keep the peace."
Mary-Louise chewed her lip, clearly still uncertain. Sean couldn't help but sympathize with the Mystic Bay sheriff. They were going out on a limb here. Walter's death wasn't necessarily due to foul play, but they were treatin
g it that way.
And based on what? Solely on Walter's own histrionic statements. Yes, Sean investigated weird things in Banshee Creek, but this one really took the cake.
"I'm not sure this qualifies as a paranormal incident," Mary-Louise said. "Even if it looks fishy, it's not a ghost going on a rampage or a Bigfoot attack that may be replicated. It's just one death."
"That's a good point," Sean said.
Mary-Louise drummed her fingers on the table. "Of course, I'm still going to look into it. Walter was a pain the butt, but he didn't deserve to die."
Her expression was resolute. Sean felt a surge of respect for his colleague. She could easily declare this an accident, sweep it under the rug, and go to bed, but she wouldn't. She was going to find out what really happened, even if all she had to go on was a dramatic statement from a born showman and a hefty dose of police instinct.
But maybe it was more than that.
"You knew him?" Sean asked.
The Mystic Bay sheriff nodded. "He was a regular around here. He came four or five times a year to stage some kind of publicity event." She counted on her fingers. "New Year's Divination Extravaganza, Valentine's Day Romance Forecast, A Midsummer's Night Star Chart, and an All Hallow's Eve Scrying Day. He always brought cameras and fans, and never got the right permits or reservations." A wry smile crossed her face. "That's why I prepared that permits and regulations presentation. I was hoping it would encourage Walter to follow the rules."
Sean recalled Walter's recurring parking violations. "He seemed to have a somewhat casual attitude toward regulatory frameworks."
Mary-Louise gave a delicate snort. "You can say that again. That bus of his has the town record for parking tickets. Wanda even took us to court for harassment."
Sean's brows shot up. "The niece?"
"Yes, she's the one to watch out for. Walter's bark was worse than his bite. Wanda, on the other hand, is a vicious biter, and she likes to get her way. Lester, her husband, had to take the Farsight name, and that says it all. She can be nasty if thwarted."
