Ignoring everything – the rain, the hammering of my heart, the squishing of my shoes – I stopped and gave her a cold stare. "Okay." I squared my shoulders and called out, "He's mine!" I smiled. "There. Are we done now?"
Her gaze narrowed. "You said it wrong."
"No, you said it wrong." I plowed forward, and this time, when she reached out to shove me, I swung the book bag off my arm and walloped her in the shoulder, sending her sprawling into a soaked patch of muddy grass.
"You bitch!" she shrieked.
Clutching the bag, I claimed the dry spot under the awning. My breaths were coming in short bursts as I looked down to see her flopping around in the watery mud. With a guttural shriek, she pushed herself up and dove for me.
On instinct, I jumped to the side. Unable to stop the momentum, she slid face-first into the coffee shop door, spewing obscenities as she staggered backward.
A crack of thunder sounded above us, and I flung my book bag aside. Two hardcovers tumbled out, landing in the muddy grass. I dove for them, trying frantically to swoop them up before they were utterly destroyed.
I was just reaching for the second one when I saw Cat's feet in my peripheral vision. She sent a kick, aimed at my ribs. I rolled to the side and grabbed her foot. I gave it a good yank, pulling her down with me.
Desperately, I crawled to the side, scrambling to my feet.
She staggered upward and stood facing me. "You slut!" she screeched. "He's mine. You hear me? Mine!"
Even through the chaos, I was struck by the irony of it all. I hadn't seen Bishop in what seemed like forever. Was he still mine? Had he ever been mine? I had no idea.
But I did know one thing. If I backed down now, Cat would surely be back. Without thinking, I took a flying leap, landing on nearly on top of her as we toppled over into the same muddy patch of grass.
She grabbed my hair, yanking my head backward. I made a fist and punched her in the face. She gave my hair another yank. I pulled back my fist and hit her again.
She let go of my hair, and twisted onto her stomach. A split second later, she was using her knees and elbows, trying to crawl away. I grabbed her hair and launched myself on her back. I was winding up for another punch when I felt strong arms close around my waist and pull me backwards.
I whirled around and came face-to-face with – well, I didn't know who the guy was, but judging from his appearance, I'd have bet anything his last name was Bishop.
Chapter 33
The rain was still falling in torrents. I glanced back in time to see Cat push herself up from the mud and whirl to face me. "You fuckin' psycho!" she screamed.
"Me?" My jaw dropped. "I'm the psycho? Seriously?"
The guy behind me spoke. "Well, it did kind of look–"
I whirled to face him. "Shut up."
He grinned. "Yes ma'am."
I whirled back to Cat. Her clothes were muddy, her lip was swollen, and her makeup was a dark, runny mess. I couldn’t help but stare. She looked oddly familiar, and then it hit me. She looked like an extra from my brothers' favorite movie, Zombies Take Detroit.
For some reason, it made me laugh. "If you think I'm psycho now," I told her, "stop by again, because I've got a lot more crazy where that came from."
Behind me, the guy snickered. I whirled around. "What!"
He held up his hands, palms out. "Nothing."
With a huff, I returned my gaze to Cat. "Got it?" I said.
"Fuck you," she said. "I was leaving anyway." As I watched, she turned to slosh her way across the street, heading toward an older Chevy parked at the curb.
Stopping beside the driver's side door, she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled out, "Slut!"
I cupped my hand to my ear and called back, "Sorry, what was that?"
She yelled it again, loud enough to rattle the windows.
When I shook my head in mock confusion, her eyes narrowed to slits. She lifted both hands high over her head and flipped me the double-bird.
I gave her a cheery wave. "Thanks! You too!"
When she finally drove off, I turned back to the guy, and said, "So, who are you?"
"A friend of Bishop's."
I gave him a good, long look – taking in his thick dark hair, those dark eyes, and muscle-bound body. I saw a fading bruise just under his eye and a small bandage just under the right side of his jaw.
"Right," I said.
With a sigh, I knelt down to retrieve the fallen books. He crouched beside me and reached for the book bag. He tucked it under his arm as I unlocked the coffee shop and sloshed inside, locking the door behind us.
I flicked my head toward the espresso machine. "Coffee?" I said.
He shook his head. "No thanks."
"Mocha? Latte? Americana?"
"Sorry, I'm not big into caffeine."
"So," I said, "where is your brother?"
He glanced away. "Who do you mean?"
Bishop had four brothers. I'd seen only one, Jake. The other three, I still hadn't met. The way Bishop talked, that was probably a good thing. Still, this guy looked friendly enough.
I rattled off their names quick succession. "Jax? Jaden? Joel?"
The guy shook his head.
I gave him an exasperated look. "Jughead?"
Grinning, he held out his hand. "Lawton."
I glanced down at my hand. It was covered in mud and dripping wet. I lowered my chin to give the rest of me a quick once-over. Compared to everything else, my hand was looking pretty good. I reached out, giving his hand a soggy shake.
"So," I said, "how is Bishop, anyway?"
The guy's smile faded. "He'll be okay."
"He'll be okay?"
"I mean, he is okay."
"What's wrong?" I said.
"Nothing."
"Is he sick?"
"No. Nothing like that."
"Hurt?"
Lawton glanced toward the door.
I narrowed my gaze. "Run, and you're a dead man."
He blew out a breath. "I'm not supposed to worry you."
I felt the color drain from my face. "You're not supposed to worry me? So there's something to worry about?"
He pushed a free hand through his hair. "That's not what I said."
"What's wrong?" I said. "Was he in some sort of accident?"
"No, not that."
"Then what happened?" I put my hands on my hips. "I'm gonna find out eventually, you know."
"No you won't," he said.
As soon as the words left his lips, he looked like he wanted to take them back.
"So he's hiding something?" I said.
"I never said that."
"Yes you did," I said. "Just now."
Lawton looked to the ceiling. "Shit."
"So what happened?" I said. "Was he arrested?"
"No."
"Beat up?"
"No."
"Stabbed?"
"No."
I threw up my hands. "Was he with another girl?"
"God no."
Through my panic, I almost felt like smiling.
And then, Lawton blew out a breath and said, "He was shot."
My world stopped spinning, and I struggled for breath. "What?"
"Don't worry," Lawton said. "He's okay. Or at least, he will be okay in a few days. The doc says he needs to take it easy. But he'll be able to travel again by Thursday, so–"
"So he's in the hospital?"
"No."
"But he was in the hospital?"
"No."
"Why not? Because he doesn't have insurance?"
"No."
I glared at him. "Is that the only word you know?"
He offered up a weak smile. "Uh, no?"
"Wherever he is," I said, "are you going back there now?"
"Yeah. Right after I leave here."
"Good," I said, "because you're taking me with you."
"Like hell I am."
I reached for his wrist. "I'm not letting you leave without me."
>
He looked down and shook his head. "I can't take you," he said. "It's not safe."
"I don't care."
"Yeah, well he'd care enough for all of us." With a look of dread, he glanced toward the door. "Shit, he's gonna kill me already."
"Why?"
He turned to give me a good, long look. "Because, he wanted to keep you away from all this, and you already know a lot more than you should."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is a bad thing." His voice lost all trace of humor. "And I wanna tell you something. What happened down there was my fault, not his."
"Why yours?"
"Because he was doing me a favor. So if you decide you're gonna be pissed off at anyone, be pissed off at me, not him. Alright?"
Again, he turned away, heading toward the door.
"Wait," I said.
He turned around.
"He is okay, right? I mean, you wouldn’t lie about that would you?"
"Shit," he said, "I don’t think I could lie to you if I tried." At this, he offered up a strained smile. "I can see why he likes you so much."
In spite of everything, I felt myself smile back. "He does?"
"If you don't know that already," Lawton said, "you're not half as smart as he says you are."
I was still standing in the coffee shop ten minutes later when Crystal wandered down from the upstairs. She took one look at me and said, "You know who you look like?"
"Who?"
"You know that zombie movie your brothers like so much?"
I tried to laugh, but somehow, it came out as a sob. Everything – the fight with Cat, learning that Bishop was hurt, the strain of wondering what he was into – it was all too much. One sob led to another, and before I knew it, I was crying so hard, I could barely catch my breath.
Soon, I felt Crystal's arms encircle my shoulders. "Awwww, it's okay," she said, "Zombies aren't so bad, are they? I mean, your brothers really like 'em."
Summoning up something like a laugh, I pushed away. "I need a shower," I said.
"Again?" she said.
"Add it to my tab," I sighed, turning to trudge upstairs.
"Nah, that's alright," she called. "This one's on me. Zombie girl."
Chapter 34
Our fortune-telling problems showed no sign of ending. The picketers were still picketing, Edgar was still missing, and the snow was still falling. On the upside, I was leaving for Alabama at midnight, planning to drive through the night.
I'd be gone only a few days, but it was better than nothing.
By Saturday afternoon, the Mustang was packed and ready. I locked the car and headed upstairs to my apartment. Although it was still daylight, I crawled into bed and set my alarm for eleven o'clock that evening.
I was just drifting off when a loud pounding sounded at the hallway door. Grumbling, I climbed out of bed. I pulled on sweat pants and a ratty sweatshirt. I shuffled to the door and opened it.
Crystal's face was flushed. "You’ve got to come downstairs!" She swooped down to retrieve my loafers. "Here, you'll need these." She flung the shoes in my direction and disappeared down the hall. "See ya outside!" she called over her shoulder.
I leapt into my loafers and dashed after her. Outside, a satellite news truck was parked at the curb. Near the truck, an attractive female reporter was interviewing Scruffy. Behind him, the picketers were chanting something I couldn't make out. Was it, "Witchipoo?"
I listened more intently and groaned. I'd been right. The rough-looking bunch paraded in a circle, poking their signs at the low-hanging sky, chanting that stupid phrase over and over.
They stressed the word "pooh" by dragging out the vowels as long as humanly possible.
Pooh? As in poop? What a load of crap.
I'd need to catch the reporter. At the very least, I'd want to tell our side of the story. I caught my reflection in the store window and cringed. Before talking to anyone, I'd need to dash upstairs for a quick makeover.
I never had the chance. Crystal hustled over with the reporter and cameraman. When I tried to run, she grabbed my arm. "This is Selena, our spokeswoman," she told the reporter.
The reporter was all smiles in a long wool coat, black high heels, and shoulder-length black hair that seemed immune to the icy wind.
"I'm Lucy Larimar," she announced in a tone that suggested I might want her autograph. "From Channel Thirteen. Mind if we ask you a few questions?"
"She doesn’t mind," Crystal said.
"Care if I dash upstairs for a second?" I said. "I need to grab a coat." And a hairbrush. A breath mint wouldn't hurt either.
"It won't take but a minute," Lucy chirped. She turned to her cameraman. "Are we on?"
"Rolling," he said.
Oh crap.
Lucy turned to me with an earnest expression. "Your fortune telling is upsetting a lot of folks here in Riverside," she announced. "How do you feel about the demonstrations?"
I put on my own earnest expression. "That's what makes this country so great, free speech." I tried to look earnest. "Sure, I don't agree with their sentiments, but they have every right to express their opinions."
Lucy gave a small frown. "Is it true that you're witches?"
I gave her what I hoped was a patronizing smile. "Actually," I said, "the term 'witch' is a bit un-PC these days. We're a long way from Salem, don't you think?"
She tried again. "Is it true you sell books on witchcraft?"
"We also sell books on Christianity and Buddhism," I said, "along with lighter subjects like belly-dancing and handwriting analysis. Actually, we're not that different from your average book store."
"A book store?" she repeated with a stagy raise of her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "Do you deny telling fortunes for money?"
"No," I answered.
She waited for me to elaborate. When no soundbite cometh, Lucy continued. "Some say it's tempting fate to predict the future. The picketers say you should be jailed. What's your response?" She thrust her microphone in my face. I stepped back, barely avoiding a bop to the chin.
"Jail people for predicting the future?" I said. "Bad idea. Think of the poor weather forecasters."
Lucy looked confused. "Weather forecasters?"
"That's their jobs, isn't it? They're paid to predict the future, just like stock-brokers and political analysts. That's a lot of people behind bars."
With a little huff, she whirled on her heels. "C'mon Ritchie," she told her cameraman. "We're done here."
Crystal walked me back into the store. "Man, she grilled you like a burger," she said.
"Did she interview you too?" I asked.
"No way," Crystal said. "You're the media expert, not me."
"Only behind-the-scenes," I said. "Normally, I watch other people get grilled like burgers." We entered the store, and I sank into a chair by the window. With the news van out of sight, the picketers were silent once again. "Besides, you've been in the newspaper lots of times," I reminded Crystal.
"Yeah, but not like that," she said. "That hoochie was out for blood."
"She sucked me dry," I said. "That's for sure."
"Nah," Crystal said. "You did better than she expected. It pissed her off. I could tell." Crystal sank into the seat across from me. "Of course, I didn't tell her you do media stuff for a living in Alabama."
"What'd you tell her I do?"
"Oh this and that," Crystal said with a vague wave of her hand. "So what's your next step?"
"First, I've gotta catch a few more hours of sleep," I said. "I'm driving through the night tonight."
"What about the news story?" Crystal asked.
"What about it?"
"Don't you want to see how it turned out?"
I glanced at the clock. The six o’clock news was two hours off. "Yeah, I guess my nap can wait."
"I'll make you a nice mocha," she said.
"Before napping?" I asked.
"You look grumpy," she said. "It'll cheer you up."
&nbs
p; Chapter 35
I was on my second mocha when Darren popped into the store. "Hey there," he said, taking a seat across from me. "How's it goin'?"
"Good as can be expected." I looked outside. "Where'd Scruffy go?"
"That lazy cuss?" Darren said. "Cleared out the minute that news lady left." Darren shook his head. "That's the Scruffmeister for ya. Comes in to grab the glory, then he's off."
"Nice guy," I said.
"You think so?" Darren said. "Strikes me as kind of an asshole. No offense."
"And what's with the ‘witchipoo’ business?" I asked.
"You liked that?" Darren grinned. "That was my idea, you know."
I set down my drink. "Your idea?"
"Yep!" He sat a little straighter. "Some of the guys wanted to do the ‘burn witches’ thing, but that's kinda rude if ya ask me."
"You think?"
He furrowed his thick eyebrows. "Don't you?"
I didn't answer.
Darren perked up. "So, what'd you think of the pooh part? Pretty funny, huh?"
Crystal emerged from the stock room. "Hey pumpkin," Darren called to her. "I'm ready for that mocha when you get a sec."
"How many have you had today?" I asked him.
"This'll be my third."
He stood and ambled to the coffee counter. When Crystal finished making his drink, he paid in her cash and said, "Remember, Charlie'll be ready for his latte in about fifteen."
"Gotcha," Crystal said.
"Add a shot of almond, will ya? He said the raspberry was okay, but he's ready for somethin' new." Drink in hand, Darren picked up his sign and headed back outside.
At six o'clock, Crystal and I went upstairs to her apartment and turned on the news. The segment began with a close-up of Lucy Larimar in front of our store. With an expression of earnest concern, she gave a brief overview of the legal debate.
The segment cut to the interview with Scruffy. "I'm here with Harold Scrufton," Lucy said into the camera, "head of the Concerned Citizens Brigade." She turned to Scruffy. "Mr. Scrufton," she said. "You want to keep fortune tellers out of the city. Can you tell us why?"
"It's a bad element," Scruffy said. "Next thing you know, the streets will be lined with massage parlors and houses of ill repute."
Illegal Fortunes Page 13
