by Ani Gonzalez
Carl seemed taken aback by the question. "I wouldn't know. I only handled the luggage and helped set the tables."
It was clear the young man did not want to discuss Walter's prediction. He must have known of it, though. As Mary-Louise said, the guests must have all been talking about it.
"So, you help set up the exhibition tables in the conference area?" Sean asked. "They were set up yesterday?"
"Most of them, yes," Carl replied. "I kept going back and forth from the parking lot, bringing in banners and boxes. Some people brought a lot of stuff." He shook his head. "And I even had to get up early to help this morning because the treasurer lady hadn't set up her table yet."
"Leslie?"
"Yes," Carl's face darkened. "I tried to help her yesterday when I did my last trip, but she waved me away. The turban lady said she called me a rude name. I guess that's because she was in a bad mood."
Turban lady? He'd been with Samira at the time?
"Was that right before you helped me with my stuff?" he asked.
"Yes, the treasurer lady's car is over there." He pointed to an old Acura hatchback parked nearby. "It looked like she was arguing with someone, but I couldn't tell who it was."
Sean and Mary-Louise exchanged glances. It may not be a useful clue, but Walter Farsight must have been in or near his coach when Leslie was arguing with her mysterious companion.
And Leslie's car was parked right next to the coach.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"I RAN out of candles," Fiona said, looking down at her mostly empty table. "I should have made more, but I didn't think they would be this popular."
Luanne hid a smile. She wasn't a bit surprised that Fiona's merchandise had sold so quickly. After all, she'd spent weeks telling all her friends that Fi's candles were amazing. Word of mouth was a wonderful thing.
"I told you the tea lights would sell like hotcakes," Luanne said. "They're perfect for adding ambiance to a reading, and the mugwort and wormwood you added are great aids to divination."
"I also put some rose and jasmine," Fiona said. "I wanted them to have a pleasant scent that would transport the customer to another consciousness."
"And you succeeded."
Fiona's candles were genius. They helped the customer relax, and thus promoted the use of psychic powers. You couldn't ask for more than that.
Despite Walter's misadventure, the conference was off to a decent start and the seller's had made good business. Luanne's green-and-gold Madame Esmeralda bag was proof of that. She'd snagged a whooping three new decks of cards, two books on marking fortune-telling businesses, and a copy of Leslie's Spreadsheets for the Supernatural accounting guide.
"How are you holding up, Kat?" Fiona asked, turning to the table next to her.
"My supply of cowrie shell divination kits is almost depleted," Kat replied, gesturing toward a few suede bags and matching straw mats. "But I have more in the car." She frowned at a tall pile of books that seemed untouched. "However, the instruction manual that comes with it hasn't sold that well."
Luanne could see why. The Obi Divination Techniques book had an unattractive brown cover bearing an un-enticing title. Cowrie-shell reading consisted of throwing shells at a sacred cloth, and then interpreting which shells were looking up and which were looking down. It sounded deceptively simple, but there were countless variations and possibilities. It was a layered fortune-telling method, but the book made it seem about as deep as a game of pick-up sticks.
"It's not a good book," Luanne said. "Which is disappointing because it's a great method. Very user-friendly and effective."
"I know," Kat replied. "But it's the only book out there on cowrie-shell reading."
"Maybe you should write one, Kat," Fiona said.
Luanne's eyes went wide. That was a great idea. You could never have too many fortune-telling books, particularly where non-Western methods were concerned. Those were few and far between. Kat was both knowledgeable and amusing. She would write an entertaining and informative book.
"Me?" Kat replied, raising her hand to her chest. "No way. I'm not a fortune-teller."
"But you're very knowledgeable, and I could help you," Luanne said. "I think it's a wonderful idea. You know all about the history and the culture of the Yoruba. You absolutely should write this book."
"Yes," Fiona said. "Weren't you the one pushing Walter Farsight's advice on us? This is your chance to break out of your comfort zone and take your career to a new level, just as he wrote in Reach for the Stars. I bet Yolanda would help too."
Yolanda was the original owner and founder of the Banshee Creek Botánica. Luanne didn't know her very well, but Yolanda was a Santería practitioner, and she really knew her stuff. Working on a book with her would be a real privilege. It would also be a lot of fun. By all accounts, Yolanda, now in her seventies, knew how to party.
Kat, however, looked a little overwhelmed. "I don't know ..."
Fiona gave her a mischievous smile and reached for a cowrie shell bag. "Let's see what the stars, err, shells have to say." She threw the bag at Luanne, who caught it handily.
"Yes, let's," Luanne said, opening the bag and turning it over with a smile.
She had a strong feeling the oracle would make her point for her.
The cool, glossy shells fell into the palm of her hand. They were tidy little ovals with brown and white spots on one side and a long opening on the other. Fiona unrolled one of the straw mats and placed it on the table.
The mat was plain, but one could use markings to do more complicated divinations. Luanne was particularly fond of the four-quadrant pattern, which divided the mat into spirit, body, past, and future sections, but for a question this simple, the four-shell method would serve.
She concentrated on the potential book project, took a deep breath, and threw the shells onto the mat.
"You cheated," Kat exclaimed, examining the shells.
Luanne laughed. All the shells had their openings facing upwards. That was alafia, the most affirmative answer one could get.
She'd been right. Kat should write the book.
"Do it again," Kat said. "It's not final the first time."
Luanne nodded and grabbed the shells again. That was the magic of the Obi oracle. Everything had to be confirmed, and the confirmation injected shades of meaning into the original pronouncement.
She threw the shells again.
"Oh, no," Kat moaned.
Three shells faced up and one was down. That was ejife, and it was also affirmative, but with a caution. Going forward would be difficult but rewarding.
"It's decided," Luanne said. "We are doing the book."
Kat sighed. "It's going to be a pain."
"But it will be worth it," Luanne said, excited to make a real contribution to her field.
Morgana then joined their group, seemingly fascinated by the shells.
"You're doing Obi oracles?" she asked with a curious glance at the shells. "I've heard of them, but I've never used them."
"They're tricky," Luanne said. "But great for yes-no answers."
"I don't know," Kat said. "I'm not sure about the book idea."
"What book idea?" Morgana said.
"The oracle told us to write a book," Luanne said.
"About Obi shells?" Morgana asked, tilting her head. "I'd definitely buy a copy. I'd love to know more about this." Then she examined the shells. "Maybe I should give it a try. How does it work?"
Luanne explained the process and handed over the shells.
Morgana ran her fingers or them, like she would with a pack of cards.
"Are there any special rules concerning financial matters?" she asked.
Luanne glanced at Kat, raising a questioning brow.
Kat shrugged. She also had no idea what Morgana was thinking of.
"Oshún is the patron goddess of money," Kat said. "Her sacred number is five, so you could give the shells five shakes."
Morgana frowned. "Isn't she the goddess of love? T
hat isn't what I'm looking for. I mean, what about money mismanagement? Fraud involving money?"
Luanne brows went up. She should have known that the president of the Diviners' Association wasn't wondering whether she would meet a tall, dark stranger or receive a big inheritance.
Morgana was looking for real information.
"Eleggua is the god of trickery and thieves," Kat answered. "His sacred number is seven."
"That's seven shakes," Morgana said, laughing. "Quite the arm workout."
But she closed her eyes and executed the requisite shakes. The shells rolled onto the mat, disclosing their answer.
Three shells up and one down.
"Yes," Luanne said.
Morgana's mouth thinned with displeasure.
"What does the shell down mean?" she asked.
"It means there's more to come," Luanne said. "Like a consequence or a caveat. It can be negative or positive."
"You need to throw again," Kat advised. "The next throw will enlighten you."
Morgana grabbed the shells and shook them again. Somehow, it seemed as if she had aged ten years during that reading. Her face was now drawn and pale.
The shells fell on the mat. All four were down.
"What does that mean?" Morgana asked.
"It's a strong negative answer," Luanne explained. "In conjunction with the first casting, it would mean that there is a strong negative consequence arising out of the first answer."
A bitter smile crossed Morgana's face. "That actually makes a lot of sense. Thank you for letting me use these. It has been very...enlightening."
And with that, she walked off.
Luanne stared down at the shell pattern, feeling slightly guilty.
"Should we have told her?" Kat asked.
"Told her what?" Fiona asked.
"There's another meaning to that pattern," Luanne said with a sigh. "But it's very rare and seldom applies."
"But when it does..." Kat's voice trailed off.
"I know," Luanne replied.
"And she was looking over your shoulder while she was throwing the shells," Kat said. "Do you know who was there?"
"No," Luanne replied, dreading the answer.
"Leslie," Kat said.
"I see." Luanne chewed her lip.
"See what?" Fiona interjected. "I don't see anything at all. What do those shells mean?"
Kat grabbed one of the shells and turned it over. "See that opening there? It's meant to be a channel for the energy of the universe. When a shell is up, energy flows through you, helping you achieve your goals and find happiness and peace. It means you are at harmony with the universe. You are progressing toward the future you are intended to have."
She turned the shell down. "Now there is no energy flow. The universe is not helping you. There is nothingness. The more upside-down shells you have, the less energy the universe is sending your way. If all shells are down, there is no energy."
Fiona frowned. "I don't understand."
"No energy means no life, Fi," Luanne said. "It means death."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"I SEE the crab cakes made it back," Sean said, glancing through the lunch menu. "Are we risking our lives here?"
"I suspect the hotel was not able to accommodate Leslie's last-minute food substitutions," Luanne, sitting next to him at the round table, said. "But we had crab cake Eggs Benedict for breakfast and lived, so take a chance."
They were in a conference room, getting ready for lunch and speeches. This was a particularly nice room, surrounded by windows overlooking the ocean. It was decorated in the hotel's yellow and white combination, with aqua accents. Luanne had snagged a window table, and they had a gorgeous view.
The windows overlooked the spot where he had found Walter's body, but he was going to try not to think about that.
He would think about food instead. The Eggs Benedict sounded tasty. He couldn't believe he'd missed that breakfast treat. Helping Mary-Louise with her investigation had its price.
"Don't look so woebegone," Luanne said. "I think you're going to eat your fill of seafood by the time the weekend is over."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
But she was likely correct. The lunch menu advertised crab and corn chowder with Old Bay seasoning, crab cakes, and something called a "crabby beignet" for dessert.
"That's a New Orleans doughnut shaped like a crab," Luanne said. "I asked."
Sean chuckled. Sometimes he felt as if Luanne could read his mind.
"Thanks for checking," he said. "Does this mean you're no longer mad at me for not sharing information about the investigation?"
Not that he had much to share. So far, he'd learned that Wanda snooped; Walter hid and locked up his things, but somehow his medicines had disappeared; Leslie had possibly been arguing with someone; and the golf cart boy was both nervous and observant.
Oh, and that Luanne had been gathering information on her own, of that he was sure. He considered reminding her that police matters, especially suicide-versus-murder investigations, should be left to the professionals, that it could be dangerous. But she would just ignore him; she'd done that before. Besides, she could be helpful; that had happened before as well. She was an insider and spoke their language. She had probably found out more than he had, but would she agree to a one-sided information exchange?
Luanne grabbed her napping and placed it on her lap. "Of course I'm still mad at you."
Sean smiled. Apparently, Luanne would not be giving up the goods, at least not without reciprocity.
Not that he could blame her. Being the spouse of a cop wasn't easy, and secrets were the least—
Whoa, spouse? Where had that come from?
"Are you okay?" Luanne asked. "You looked spooked there for a moment."
"I'm fine," Sean said.
"Good," Luanne said. "Because I'm not excusing you from listening to Morgana's speech."
"Is this your latest attempt at getting information out of me?" he asked with a smile. "Making me sit through speeches? That's mean."
"No, but you're right. That would not be a half-bad interrogation method. You've never heard one of these speeches before, so believe me when I say coherence will not be a priority."
"I believe you," Sean said, having been present during the association members' police statements.
"And it doesn't help that Morgana just had a shock."
"She did?" Sean asked, scanning the room, looking for the Association's president. "What about?"
Luanne raised a brow. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Oh, c'mon."
Luanne sighed. "Fine, I'll give you one for free. She had a very bad reading."
Sean scratched his head. Readings were, of course, not evidence, but he knew this group took them very seriously. They could at least point toward something interesting.
"What was the reading about?" he asked.
"I don't know," Luanne confessed. "She didn't tell me the question, but it had to do with money and some kind of fraud. Oh, and she was thinking about Leslie, the group treasurer, while she executed her throw."
"That may be worth looking into," Sean said, recalling the odd entries in Walter's notebook. That did seem to indicate that money was being moved around. That may be felonious behavior, but it didn't necessarily lead to murder.
Luanne toyed with her napkin. "I also know part of the answer was death."
Now that put a different spin on it.
"As in rebirth and new beginnings?" Sean asked, knowing fortune-telling symbols often had metaphorical meanings.
Luanne's mouth thinned. "Not per this oracle. In this case, dead means needing a burial."
Sean was about to ask further when a waiter dropped by with his bowl of crab chowder. The lunch was starting.
Rachel Lee stood up and headed for the podium, carrying a sheaf of notes. The association's secretary was dressed in another colorful kimono jacket, and her expression was determined. Her speech, however, was delayed
due to a faulty microphone.
He looked around, identifying the other association leaders. Morgana sat in front, her face expressionless. Leslie was at a nearby table, stirring her chowder with a nervous motion.
They all looked anxious. Not surprising, given they had just had a suspicious death in their group. The only person who didn't look nervous was Sultana Samira, who had already finished her soup and was gesturing to a waiter for a drink refill.
"At least someone is having fun," Luanne muttered.
Sean nodded. "She seems to have taken Walter's death in stride."
"You can say that again," Luanne said. "She admitted to hating Walter and being happy about his, err, demise."
"Held a grudge, did she?"
"Well, everyone in the association had an issue with Walter. But in her case, it was personal. He stole her turban."
Luanne's tone was that of a Puritan pastor condemning a cardinal sin.
Sean chuckled. "You say that like it's a crime."
"For us, it is. Business trademarks like that are sacred around here. I wouldn't like it if someone stole Madame Esmeralda from me. I build my practice fair and square."
He started to say something, but was interrupted by a high-pitched mechanical shriek. Rachel had figured out how to use the microphone.
"Welcome to the twenty-eighth annual meeting of the Diviners' Association," she said. "I am happy and grateful to see you all here..."
The greetings went on and on. Rachel thanked Morgana, the board, and the hotel. Everyone except the Chesapeake Bay monster seemed to deserve a mention. A waiter replaced Sean's soup plate with the crab cake entree, and Sean's mind started to wander.
He scanned the room again. Leslie was stirring her soup. Morgana still sat in front, listening intently to Rachel's speech. Samira finished another drink. Wanda and her husband were not around, but Viola was.
She was standing near the doorway talking to someone, almost intimately. Sean couldn't hear their words, but her demeanor was one of urgency. She reached out and grabbed her companion's arm, caressing it in a comforting manner.
