The Fatal Fortune

by Castle, Jayne

  The door was opened on the second knock, and Guinevere found herself facing a bosomy woman in her late fifties. Her face was serenely austere, almost aristocratic. Piercing blue eyes regarded Guinevere with cool inquiry. The woman was dressed in a black caftan trimmed at hem and sleeve with a white, embroidered design. Her hair was silvered and worn very long. It fell down her back in soft waves. Several silver bracelets and necklaces jangled lightly when she moved. A cigarette dangled carelessly from her right hand. The room behind her was quite dark, due to the drawn curtains, and smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and Guinevere could see very little in the darkness.

  “Madame Zoltana?”

  The woman inclined her head regally. “I am she. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Guinevere Jones. I have an appointment with you.” Guinevere was still fighting a strange sense of nervousness. Planning the big exposé of Madame Zoltana’s shady business practices was one thing; carrying out those plans was clearly going to be another. For some reason, Madame Zoltana wasn’t quite what she had expected. There was too much shrewd intelligence in those blue eyes and an unnerving degree of quiet arrogance in Madame Zoltana’s posture. It occurred to Guinevere that she might have bitten off more than she could chew. Instantly she pushed aside the notion and summoned up one of her famous, charming smiles—the kind of smile Zac claimed made people want to instantly confide their most secret thoughts. Madame Zoltana did not respond to the smile.

  “Come in,” the woman said coolly, standing aside.

  Guinevere took a few steps into the darkened room, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, she glanced around at the simple, old-fashioned overstuffed furniture, which appeared to date from the forties, as did the house itself. Several overflowing ashtrays were scattered around. On one side of the room an arched opening revealed a small dining alcove, and on the other side a doorway opened onto a dark hall that apparently led to the bedrooms.

  “My contemplation room is through here,” Madame Zoltana said quietly, moving past Guinevere soundlessly.

  Guinevere followed her into the dim hall and through a doorway that opened onto a small carpeted and heavily draped chamber. The only furniture here was a round table and two chairs. The walls were painted a dark gray, giving the whole room a cloudy appearance. In the center of the table was a thick crystal dish in the shape of a large salad bowl. Not the traditional crystal ball, Guinevere thought disparagingly.

  “Please sit down.” Madame Zoltana lowered herself into one of the chairs and waited until Guinevere was seated. She looked at her client over the top of the crystal bowl. “You are not a believer.”

  “No,” Guinevere said, opting for honesty. “But I am interested and curious. I’m also open-minded. I’ve never met a psychic. My friends at work tell me you’re quite genuine. I wanted to see for myself.”

  Madame Zoltana continued to stare, her blue eyes riveting in their intensity. “I accept that your interest is genuine. You must understand that I do not normally like to waste my time trying to convince skeptics. I have too many other important things to do. I can only see a limited number of clients. The sessions are very tiring for me, and it takes several hours to renew my energies after a client has left.”

  “I understand.”

  “My fees have been explained to you?”

  That’s right, Guinevere thought grimly, get the money settled first. “Of course.” She reached into her purse and removed a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet. “Will this cover the session?”

  “Yes.” Madame Zoltana took the money. It vanished into a caftan pocket. She leaned forward, cradling the heavy crystal bowl between her hands. There was a long silence, and then Zoltana said, “You are here only to explore the matter of psychic powers. Therefore, I will not attempt to read the future for you. It requires much effort, and in this case it does not seem to be worth it. You probably wouldn’t believe what I had to tell you anyway. But perhaps I can satisfy your intellectual interest with some observations about you and your past.”

  “Why do you use a bowl?”

  “Instead of a crystal ball, you mean?” Madame Zoltana smiled thinly. “It doesn’t matter what shape the crystal takes, so long as it is of the best quality. Crystal has curious properties. It enables one to focus more easily. It is possible to work without the aid of crystal, but much more difficult. What really makes the difference is having the Gift. Without it, it wouldn’t matter how much crystal one used. Seeing through the veils of the past and the future would be impossible.”

  “And you have the Gift?” Guinevere was careful to keep the question sincere.

  Madame Zoltana inclined her head. “It is both a blessing and a curse.” She stubbed out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

  Just like running any small business, Guinevere thought wryly. A blessing and a curse. She wondered how Zoltana listed her occupation with the IRS.

  Guinevere waited as Madame Zoltana composed herself and stared into the crystal bowl. There was another long period of silence, during which Guinevere felt her palms grow moist again. Zac would laugh at her if he knew how anxious she felt at the moment. Surreptitiously she dried her palms on her skirt and waited.

  At first Guinevere thought the room was growing marginally darker, then she realized that the bowl in the center of the table seemed to be glowing very faintly. Probably her imagination, she told herself. Either that or some lighting trick. No telling what gadgets were concealed under or in the table.

  Finally Madame Zoltana began to speak. The words came out faintly, with what sounded like a great deal of effort. Guinevere leaned forward to hear clearly.

  “I see many things,” Madame Zoltana whispered. “Some are insignificant. You are not married. You live alone, although there is a man who shares more and more of your life these days. You have a younger sister, a very beautiful sister, who has at times been a trial to you. You work in an office, using a typing machine of some sort, but you aren’t a secretary or clerk.” Madame Zoltana frowned. “I don’t understand. . . . Ah, yes, it becomes clear. You own your own business, one that involves secretaries and clerks and various other kinds of office personnel. At times, you, too, do such work.”

  Guinevere was startled, by the references both to Carla and to the fact that she herself wasn’t just an employee of Camelot Services. This woman had definitely done some research. Guinevere kept her mouth shut, waiting for Madame Zoltana to continue.

  “You are thirty years old. This man with whom you are presently involved is somewhat older, perhaps in his mid-thirties.” Zoltana’s brow wrinkled slightly. “But even though he is only a few years older than you, in some ways he is much older. He has perhaps seen too much of some things in life. Perhaps this is why he needs you. He is very strong in many ways.” Zoltana hesitated and her brow relaxed. “Ah, yes, he is a good lover.”

  Guinevere flushed in spite of herself. She would have to remember to mention that last observation to Zac.

  Madame Zoltana fell silent for a few minutes, and Guinevere began to wonder if the session was already over. But the psychic did not look up from the faintly glowing bowl. She appeared to be contemplating something she saw in the crystal depths. “There is something more that has to do with this man, but it is not clear. I told you that I would not put myself to the effort of reading the future for you, but I am getting hints of it. I cannot ignore them. Do you wish me to look forward?” Madame Zoltana did not raise her head.

  “How much?” Guinevere asked dryly.

  “Another twenty dollars.”

  She would consider it as expenses having to do with the investigation, Guinevere decided. Zac always kept a precise expense account when he was working. She reached into her wallet and withdrew another twenty. “All right. Tell me what you see.”

  “It has to do with this man in your life. There are indications of danger.” Zo
ltana hesitated again. “I cannot tell if the danger is aimed at him or emanates from him. Perhaps both.” Another tense pause. “I see fear in you. Fear of this man you love. There is a threat, and you do not know how to deal with it. You, too, are in danger. You must be very, very careful, because when the moment of truth arrives, you will not be certain you can trust this man.”

  Guinevere realized she was holding her breath. The nervousness she had been experiencing was now tinged with dread. She forced herself to take a calming breath, reminding herself that creating this kind of vague fear was Madame Zoltana’s stock in trade. Guinevere had to admit the woman was surprisingly good at it. Angry at her own unexpected gullibility, Guinevere tried to shake off the uneasy sensation that was enveloping her. She waited tensely for Madame Zoltana to continue. The psychic continued to stare into the crystal bowl, her forehead lined again with concentration, but eventually she sighed and sat back, breaking the spell. Her blue eyes were fixed on Guinevere’s face.

  “I can tell you no more today. I am at the limit of my abilities. If you wish to know more, you must return at another time. Please go now. I must rest.”

  Madame Zoltana got to her feet, steadying herself with a hand on the back of her chair. Reaching for a cigarette, she waited for Guinevere to precede her out of the room.

  With a last glance at the crystal bowl, Guinevere obeyed the woman’s instructions to leave. At the doorway, she looked back once more, trying to decide if the bowl had really glowed for a few moments. She still couldn’t be certain.

  As soon as she stepped outside into the warm summer day, Guinevere managed to forget much of the odd sensation that had gripped her during those tense moments inside the house. The power of suggestion really was quite amazing, she marveled as she hurried toward her compact, parked at the curb. She couldn’t wait to tell Zac.

  ***

  Zac was aware of a comfortable, homey feeling as he heard Guinevere’s key in the lock. He put down the knife he was using to slice tomatoes, picked up his glass of tequila and the glass of wine he had poured for Guinevere, and went to meet her. She came through the door looking mildly disheveled and more concerned than he had expected. He bent his head to give her a short, forceful kiss and handed her the wine.

  “Hey, what happened? Madame Zoltana get to you after all? The woman must be a real pro.”

  Guinevere took a grateful swallow of wine and held up the glass. “Thanks, I needed that. Madame Zoltana was a strange experience, Zac. Not quite what I was expecting.” She sniffed appreciatively. “What’s cooking?”

  “I’m glad to see the experience didn’t manage to spoil your appetite. I’m making tacos.” He turned back toward the kitchen, and Guinevere followed, tossing her purse into a hall closet en route. He set his tequila back down on the counter and picked up the knife. “So tell me all about it. How’s the big-time psychic investigation going?”

  Guinevere sat on a kitchen stool, one leg swinging idly over the other as she sipped her wine and watched Zac prepare the taco fillings. “Well, for openers, she told me right away I didn’t just work as a temporary secretary. She knew I owned Camelot Services, Zac.”

  “Is that so?” He was amused, but he kept a serious expression on his face as he grated cheese. “Anything else?”

  “She knew about Carla. Knew she was beautiful and that she’s occasionally been a pain in the ass.”

  “Uh-huh. What else?”

  He thought Guinevere hesitated a long time before she continued. It was obvious she had been slightly disconcerted by her experience. “She mentioned a man in my life,” Guinevere said slowly. “I’m sure it was you. She seemed to know something about you.”

  “What, exactly?” Zac asked sardonically as he picked up his glass of tequila.

  “She mentioned danger around you, for one thing.”

  “Must have guessed I was going to be slicing tomatoes tonight. I’ve been known to cut myself with a sharp knife while slicing tomatoes. Anything else?”

  Again Guinevere paused. “No, not really.”

  “How much did this little investigation set you back?”

  “Forty bucks,” Guinevere said, grimacing.

  “And, of course, if you want to know the good stuff, you’ll have to go back.”

  “Precisely. Madame Zoltana exhausts herself easily.”

  Zac leaned back against the counter, taking pity on her, she seemed so serious. “What’s the problem, Gwen? You knew she was a con artist.”

  “Well, yes. But she did seem to know things, Zac. I was very careful about what I said around Gage and Watson. I don’t see how some of that information could have gotten back to her.”

  “Sounds to me as if she just had someone take a look inside your purse.”

  Guinevere’s eyes opened wide. “My purse!”

  Zac’s mouth curved faintly. “Follow me.” He sauntered back into the hall, opened the closet, and removed Guinevere’s shoulder bag. He unzipped it and turned it upside down, emptying the contents onto a small table. Tossing aside the leather purse, he pushed his fingers idly through the motley collection.

  “Here we go, a business card with Camelot Services stamped on it in nice big letters, and you listed as president. Your driver’s license, identifying you as Guinevere Jones, the same name as the president of Camelot Services. It also tells us several other things about you, including the fact that you are thirty years old.” He flicked through a few other items. “A note to call Carla. A photo of Carla standing outside her new art gallery, and an announcement of the opening of the gallery. Carla’s last name is the same as your last name. It wouldn’t take much guesswork to figure out she’s your sister, and everyone knows younger sisters are occasionally pains in the ass, especially when they’re good-looking. It’s all here, Gwen. Everything Madame Zoltana revealed to you was revealed to her first by someone who went through your purse.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Guinevere breathed. “That explains everything. It also fits with my theory of her having an inside person at Gage and Watson. I left my purse in my desk drawer several times yesterday and again today. It would have been very easy for someone to have a look through it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But what about you, Zac? She knew about you, too.”

  He grinned. “What did she know about me? Use your head, Gwen. Whoever works for her at G and W probably saw you meet me for lunch yesterday. It wouldn’t have taken any great psychic power to figure out that you and I are seeing each other for some nonplatonic reasons.” Especially not after the way you kissed me in front of that turkey who was trying to make a pass at you as you got off the elevator, Zac added to himself.

  “What about the danger she hinted at?”

  “That was the hook, the bait to make you return for a few more visits. Vague references to danger are probably standard operating procedure for her. By the next time she would have learned even more about you.”

  Guinevere’s mood lightened several degrees as she assimilated his logic. “Yes, it all makes sense. What a racket. The thing is, Zac, she’s really very good. She creates this odd atmosphere that is very convincing.”

  “Good con artists are all very convincing. They have to be in order to make a living. Ready to eat?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Guinevere followed him back through the kitchen door, wondering why she hadn’t told him everything Madame Zoltana had said. For some reason she didn’t want to examine too closely, Guinevere didn’t want to bring up the fact that Zoltana had warned her she would soon feel fear around Zac. And Guinevere didn’t want to think about the other warning, the one that implied she might not be able to trust Zac when the chips were down. The problem was, she had let Zoltana get to her, allowed the woman to prey on her imagination. Gullible Guinevere.

  “You know, Zac,” she said as she set the table, “you look c
ute in an apron.”

  Chapter Four

  It was touching, Zac decided the next day as he interviewed Evelyn Pemberton, really touching. When he thought of how hard Guinevere must have worked to avoid sending him a bright-eyed, sexy little ex-cheerleader, he got a nice, warm feeling deep inside. Somewhere in the vicinity below his belt to be precise. The notion of Guinevere going out of her way to make certain he wouldn’t be put in any danger of being seduced by a sweet young thing amused him no end. After all her hard work, he almost hated to have to tell her that Evelyn Pemberton was exactly what he’d had in mind from the beginning.

  Already he was beginning to relax around Mrs. Pemberton. No doubt about it, the woman inspired confidence. He could envision her already seated at the desk in the outer office of the new suite upstairs, organizing the daily business and calming clients. The fact that she could type was simply an added bonus, as far as Zac was concerned. He couldn’t wait to put everything in her hands.

  “Mrs. Pemberton, I think this is going to work out beautifully,” he announced with satisfaction after only fifteen minutes of interviewing. “Free Enterprise Security will be moving upstairs to its new offices on the twentieth. I’d like you to start on that date. Now, Gwen tells me there are some tax forms we have to fill out.” He scrabbled around in a desk drawer trying to find them as he spoke. “And I think we have to file something with Social Security, too. I’m not exactly sure what, but Gwen will know.” He looked up hopefully. “Or perhaps you know the routine?”

  She smiled benignly at his blatant relief and enthusiasm. “I know the routine, Mr. Justis,” she said gently, “but I don’t think we’re quite ready for it yet.”

  He stared at her blankly. “Not ready?”