Not in the Cards

by Amy Cissell

  He smiled, but the grin didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not insulting you, babe. I know you have better taste than that.” He pointed at her purse. “Purple is the favorite color of octogenarians with something to prove. Not young women.”

  “Octogenarians and you?” she asked. “You’re the one with the custom purple Aston Martin.” She was enjoying herself way too much, and soon he’d feel insulted and storm out. She’d walked this path before, and while ordinarily she’d have a good time using her newfound awareness to invoke a temper tantrum, right now she needed information.

  “Your favorite color is navy blue,” she said. “I’m teasing you. I’ll bet the purple is lovely on a car.”

  “It is. The lime green was on the stock model, but purple was the most expensive custom color.”

  His obsession with the ‘most expensive’ things wasn’t new, but it was certainly more obnoxious than it’d been when he’d merely been wishing for those things instead of bragging about them.

  “If you don’t mind my asking…” she hesitated and looked at him through her eyelashes, at the same time pressing the ‘record’ button on her phone.

  “You can ask me anything,” he assured her. “I am an open book to you.”

  “How did you manage to afford two brand new cars? Three months ago, we had a healthy bank account, but nothing that would allow for something like this. I’m not questioning you,” she hastened to add. “Just curious as to what windfall fell into your lap.”

  He smirked and winked at her. “I got lucky at work,” he said. “That douchebag boss of mine—the one you went out with—finally got fired for something big and bad. I got a bonus for helping blow the whistle on him, and with it, a sizable payout, free and clear.”

  Sandy’s stomach clenched around the dinner she’d been eating. Gnocchi was not the right meal for confronting your ex about his malfeasance. “The company gave you a payout in addition to the bonus?” she asked. “You mentioned the market earlier, too, right?”

  “They were so grateful that I’d helped unmask the criminal in their midst that they just threw money at me, and I invested it and made a little extra.” He was talking too fast, blinking rapidly, and staring at a point over her left shoulder.

  “Our taxes are going to be a mess next year,” she said.

  “Our taxes?” he said. “Does that mean you’re coming back to me?”

  “Well, if our divorce doesn’t finalize this year, we’ll still be married in the eyes of the IRS for this tax year,” she pointed out.

  “Don’t worry about the taxes. I paid those up front, so I won’t need to report the cash payout as income, and the shares of stock I sold already had the taxes taken out as part of the sale.”

  Sandy tilted her head and looked at him. She may not have worked outside the home in a while, and she may consider photography her first love, but she’d gotten her bachelor’s degree in Accounting at Aaron’s insistence, switching from art because ‘accounting was actually useful.’ That wasn’t how money worked. He knew it, too. He’d been working as an accountant for ten years.

  It wasn’t a confession, but it was the next best thing. He wasn’t going to report it on his taxes because it wasn’t a gift from the company. The payout was his share of the embezzled funds. Now, she just had to prove it.

  “Speaking of my big, bad ex-boss,” Aaron said, “there he is. Funny that he chose this place out of all the choices.”

  Sandy whipped around, her heart plummeting into her gut. Was he on a date? But they were supposed to go out tomorrow night!

  Vincent was two tables away staring right at her. His dining companion was a smarmy looking man who, from the back, looked like he’d be more at home on a used car lot than in a nice, Italian restaurant. The relief was immediate. He wasn’t on a date. She smiled at him, but he didn’t return the smile. Instead, he stood, ignored the protests of the smarmy man, folded his napkin, and very deliberately turned his back on her and walked out.

  Her heart resumed its rollercoaster journey and ended up back in her stomach. He might not be on a date, but it sure looked like she was, and with the man who’d caused his downfall.

  Damnit.

  “Wait! Vincent!” she called out across the parking lot. She’d made an excuse about the bathroom, speed-walked towards the restrooms, and as soon as she was out of sight, ran towards the parking lot. “Wait!”

  Vincent stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “I can explain,” she said.

  “Unless your explanation involves needing to have a nice dinner to get him to sign the divorce papers, I don’t think there’s anything you can say.”

  She racked her brains for an excuse that would work, sound plausible, and not give away the end game. “I was trying to clear up some financial loose ends,” she said. “He offered me the car—” she pointed at the lime-green Aston Martin in the parking lot, conveniently parked right next to her beat-up Subaru. “It’s nicer than my car, but I don’t want to pay the insurance and registration fees.”

  Vincent turned around. “Are you going to take it? Sounds like he’s trying to buy you back.”

  She leaned forward and whispered as loudly as possible, “There is nothing in this universe that he could use to buy me back. And look at it. The color is not attractive in this light.”

  Vincent studied the purportedly lime green car and grinned. “It really isn’t. He must not have seen it in the dark before buying it.”

  “Or it was the only shade of green available, and since he thinks green is my favorite color, assumed that I wouldn’t care about the shade.”

  “Isn’t your favorite color purple? All of your accessories, including the tablecloth on your tarot table, are purple.”

  She beamed at him. “You’ve known me less than a week, and you already know my favorite color? I think I like you.”

  Vincent smiled at her. “You really weren’t here on a date?” he asked, heat and hope blazing in his eyes.

  “He thinks it was one,” she admitted. “I was just digging for information.”

  “I’m a little embarrassed by how I reacted,” he admitted. “Seeing you with him was devastating.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve told you that I’d be out with him tonight.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. Even if it was a date, that’d be your business. We’ve gone out, but neither of us has a claim on the other. We haven’t even begun to define what’s happening between us, and in a couple of weeks, it might be moot anyway.”

  “How do you mean?” Sandy asked.

  “If I can’t figure out how to find the money to pay back my company, they’ll press charges. If I want to avoid that, I’ll need to sell this town to the developer who wants to tear it down. That’s who I was having dinner with. I’ve been putting him off for too long, and he wanted an update. Could you forgive me if I sold your main street off to be torn down and homogenized?”

  “I think I could forgive you a lot of things, Vincent,” she said, taking a step closer to him and tilting her head up to look him in the eyes. “I can’t speak for the rest of us, but you’re more to me than my landlord.” She stood up on tiptoe, and he leaned in, but before their lips could meet, they were interrupted.

  “What are you doing?” Aaron roared. “You’re supposed to be here with me, and instead you’re still chasing this…this criminal!”

  Sandy stumbled back a step, and Vincent grabbed her arm to steady her.

  “Get your hands off her,” Aaron shouted. “She’s mine.”

  Vincent kept his steadying hand on her elbow. “She belongs to no one but herself. If she asks me to take my hands off her, I will. But until then, I’ll make sure she doesn’t fall down.”

  Aaron switched his tone. “You know, she was here with me. I don’t know what she’s told you, but we were definitely on a date. You might want to watch out for her…she’s not as innocent as she seems.”

  Vincent turned away from Aaron and looked
down at Sandy. “Are you okay?” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Sandy swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for not letting me fall.”

  “I’ll always catch you,” he said right before a fist caught him square in the jaw.

  Vincent stumbled back a few steps before catching his balance.

  “What the hell, Aaron?” Sandy yelled, pulling her phone out of her purse. “You are acting like an idiot!” She dialed nine-one-one as Aaron took a second swing at Vincent. He missed this time, and Sandy noticed that Vincent wasn’t returning any jabs, just staying out of the way. He led him far enough away from Sandy that she wouldn’t be an accidental target, but not so far away that she was alone.

  “Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” a nasal voice said on the other end of the phone.

  “My ex-husband, well almost ex-husband, just started a fist fight with a man in the parking lot of Galletti’s.”

  “Do you know the other man?”

  “Yes, he’s a friend of mine. Vincent Bryson. My ex’s name is Aaron Bell.”

  “The police are on their way. Is anyone hurt? Should I send an ambulance?”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Vincent took a hit to the face, but I don’t think he’s injured.”

  “Stay on the line with me, ma’am. What’s your name?”

  “Sandy Bell—I mean Franklin. Cassandra Franklin.”

  “Still getting used to the new name?” the dispatcher asked.

  “It’s been a while since I was Sandy Franklin,” she said. “It’ll take some getting used to again.” Sirens wailed in the background, and her stomach clenched. Her eyes shifted back to the fray. Aaron was losing control; his swings were wilder and more erratic. Vincent didn’t even have to move to evade him. She wondered how much he’d had to drink before showing up and downing three whiskeys in less than an hour. He always prided himself on his ability to hold his liquor, but he’d always overestimated his ability to do so. “The cops are here,” she told the dispatcher. “Thanks for your help.”

  “I hope the rest of your evening goes better,” the nasal voice said before hanging up.

  The police had moved in to separate Aaron from Vincent when Misty and Paska showed up beside her. “Your ex is not well,” Paska said, shaking his head. “Why’s he holding on to you so hard?”

  “He doesn’t like to lose,” Sandy said. “That’s my only guess. I left him, and not the other way around, and that messed with his worldview.”

  “You’re probably right,” Misty agreed. “If you did agree to get back together, he’d manufacture something within a year so he could end the relationship, come out ahead, and prove to everyone that he’s the winner.”

  “Ugh,” Sandy said.

  An officer approached her. “Are you the one who called nine one one? I have a couple questions.”

  Sandy nodded and prepared for the interrogation. After confirming the details of everything she’d told the dispatcher plus a couple additional items about her relationships to the fisticuff participants, and she was free to go. She found Misty and Paska waiting for her, but Aaron and Vincent were nowhere to be seen.

  “Aaron was arrested for assault, although Vincent won’t press charges,” Misty said. “Vincent went to the station to be questioned further. You, however, are free to go, I assume?”

  “I am. That was the worst dinner ever. How did I let myself get talked into that?”

  “Evidence gathering,” Misty reminded her. “Do you have any?”

  “I’ll share what I have if you’ll buy me a beer at The Pour House.”

  “Deal,” Misty said. “Andy won’t make me a Long Island Iced Tea, but other than that, the place is pretty good.”

  “No one should make you Long Islands,” Sandy said. “Those are atrocious drinks.”

  Misty stuck out her tongue. “I like them. They remind me of college and bad decisions.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” Sandy asked.

  “Oh, yes. I made some excellent bad decisions in college.” She winked.

  Sandy was firmly ensconced in the back booth at The Pour House after dropping her car off at home and halfway through her first beer when Misty arrived.

  “I gathered reinforcements!” she announced. “Everyone wants to know what happened.”

  Drew and Ceri slid into the booth, and Sandy noted who was absent.

  “Where’d Paska go? And what about Morgana and Jezebel?”

  “Paska and Morgana seldom come here. They avoid Andy as much as possible, although I don’t know why. Jezebel wasn’t around. We think she has a secret lover, but all the taunting in the world hasn’t convinced her to share,” Misty said.

  “I think the key word is ‘taunting,’” Ceri said. “She’s private enough anyway, without you going on with your wild and wildly inappropriate speculation about her love life. Of course, she’s not told you anything.”

  Misty pouted for a moment, then brightened. “I’ll get it out of her somehow,” she said. “I’m crafty like that.”

  “She’s not going to fall for your ‘let’s shake hands real quick’ trick,” Drew said. “Nor will she offer to help you up off the floor if you fall. None of us will.”

  “You guys are mean,” Misty said.

  “You’re a weird palm reader,” Sandy said.

  “Palms are just my excuse,” she said. “I’ve learned all the right words, but really, I can see a person’s future at a touch of my palm. Sometimes, I get glimpses of their past, particularly if they’re very emotional or very open. That’s how I know Vincent is innocent.”

  “That must be disconcerting.”

  “It is. Hence the gloves!” She held up her arms which were encased in black, fingerless gloves. “Plus, they add a bit of dramatic flair to my wardrobe. It’s a unique accessory that few people can pull off.”

  “Anyone can pull off a pair of gloves after they’ve put them on,” Drew said.

  “Ha ha, funny guy. You’re just jealous of my sweet, sweet hand warmers.”

  Andy interrupted the banter. “Four psychics at once? I’m almost afraid to ask what’s going on. Please tell me it’s just an emergency Autumn Bazaar meeting.”

  Ceri smiled at him. “Just friends out for a beer,” she said. “Nothing suspicious here.”

  “I might’ve believed you if you hadn’t told me your activities weren’t suspicious,” Andy said. “What can I get you to drink tonight?”

  “Any seasonal specials?” Drew asked.

  “I have a Brimstone Smoked Porter, a Four Horsemen Imperial Stout, and Eve’s Bite hard cider.”

  “I’ll have the porter,” Drew said.

  “Cider for me,” Ceri ordered.

  “Long Island Iced Tea,” Misty said. Andy fixed her with a hard stare. She sighed. “Fine, I’ll have the St. Peter’s Pilsner.”

  “Another for you?” he asked Sandy.

  “I’ll have another Inferno,” she said. “This is really good IPA.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Devilishly good brews is my tagline.”

  “Is it really a city ordinance that everything has to be in pun form?” she asked after he walked away.

  “Not officially,” Misty admitted. “But new businesses get a visit if their names aren’t suitably amusing. It’s part of our charm.”

  “Do I need to rebrand?”

  “Considering you didn’t even brand, but just took over someone else’s, you’re probably fine,” Drew said.

  “The Oracles get a pass because we are the town’s brand,” Ceri said. “Some of us—me included—don’t even have official storefronts. There’s surprisingly little traffic in scrying.”

  “Only because people don’t know how awesome it is,” Misty said, patting Ceri’s hand.

  “It’s okay. I have a website, and when people do need me, they are willing to pay a lot. It doesn’t take a lot of work to make what I need for the year. The government is my biggest client, actually. I do have a right of refus
al clause, though, that I instituted in my last contract. Sometimes the government wants me to look for some shady stuff.”

  “This is all so fascinating,” Sandy said, chin in her hand. “There’s been so much going on that I haven’t had a chance to ask questions.”

  “You’re a believer, then?” Drew asked.

  “Of course she is,” Andy boomed, returning with their beers. “She has the power, the same as the rest of you. How could she not believe? I felt her the minute she crossed into Oracle Bay.”

  “What are you?” Sandy asked.

  “Just a guy,” Andy said.

  “A guy who has an uncanny knack for identifying magic users,” Misty corrected. “That and his ability to brew the best beer I’ve ever had are his two gifts.”

  Andy winked at the table. “I also excel at shenanigans, should you ever have need of such a fellow.”

  The minute he was back behind the bar, Misty turned to Sandy and said, “Spill it.”

  “It’s not enough,” she replied, pulling her phone out of her purse. “I could’ve maybe gotten more if I hadn’t chased Vincent down.” She hit play on the recording, and they listened to Aaron’s assertion that all his newfound funds were courtesy a company whistle-blower payout and a lucky day with the stock market, and that he wouldn’t have to declare it as income.

  “Nice touch with the tax conversation,” Ceri said.

  “I did our taxes every year, so he knows I’d have questions if we were going to be filing together. I really hope the divorce is final soon. I do not want to deal with whatever mess he’s creating.”

  “How do taxes work if one spouse is accused of financial crimes?” Drew asked.

  “What now?” Sandy asked, ignoring Drew’s likely rhetorical question. “That’s not enough to give to the police until he actually does commit tax fraud. That could trigger an audit if I turned this recording over, maybe. But that doesn’t help Vincent or Oracle Bay.”