Not in the Cards

by Amy Cissell

  “Still stormy out?” Sandy asked.

  “What?” he jumped a bit at her voice.

  “You look damp. Is it still pretty stormy?”

  He looked down and seemed to notice the puddle for the first time. “Oh, sorry about that. Yeah, it’s raining cats and dogs.”

  “I hope you didn’t step in a poodle!” She grinned at him and was met with a blank stare. She judged him immediately. Everyone should appreciate her terrible weather puns.

  Sandy led him to the table and had him sit down. She went through her spiel about the different types of readings and the prices. He opted for a simple three-card reading and paid in cash.

  “Shuffle the cards and think about the question you want answered. When you’re ready, hand the cards back to me. I will cut them and then lay out three cards. The first will represent the past influences that led to this point in your life. The second will represent where you’re at right now in regards to your question, and the third will be the most likely future outcome based on the path you’re currently on.”

  He grunted in acknowledgment and took the cards. He shuffled them clumsily, at one point almost losing half the deck on the floor. Sandy winced, then smiled more broadly, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  Once she had them back after what seemed an interminable time later, she cut them and laid out the three cards: the two of wands, reversed, the three of wands, reversed, and the ace of swords, reversed.

  “They’re all backwards. Is that bad?”

  “Not at all. Reversed cards have different meanings—often counter to what they mean if they’re not reversed—but it’s not bad. No card is good or bad, per se. It’s all about the interpretation, how it fits into your life, and what you do with the information.”

  “Okay.” He straightened his shoulders and stared at the cards. “Hit me.”

  Sandy tapped the first card. “This card is what brought you to where you are today. The two of wands reversed signifies that there was a strong difference of opinion that led to a deadlock or impasse. This difference of opinion was so strong that it became an insurmountable obstacle.”

  “Go on,” he said.

  Sandy bristled a bit at the impatience in his voice, but tamped it down and continued. “The three of wands, reversed, is where you’re at right now. It’s what drove you to seek my advice. Because of the impasse in which you find yourself, you are on the verge of losing out on a major opportunity. You are having to reassess your business associations and long-term plans and don’t know if you should seek reconciliation and thus bring the plans to fruition or abandon them and start over with something new.”

  “What the hell?” The guy was staring at her, suspicion in her eyes.

  Sandy sighed. For every three appreciative clients, there was always one who thought she was pulling some kind of con.

  “The last card is where you’ll find yourself if the current path stays the same. The ace of swords is cutting through the uncertainty and your questions. If you keep to the current course, you will find yourself frustrated and angry and unlikely to get what you want.”

  He threw two twenties on the table. “Do the next part, and keep the change.”

  Sandy bit her tongue, not wanting to chastise his rudeness; the extra money was nice even if his tone wasn’t. She picked up the deck and dealt out two more cards on top of the two of wands.

  “Framing your past are the king of cups and the nine of cups, reversed. You ignored the advice of a trustworthy man, someone you consider a mentor, and instead made goals that were unrealistic and too good to be true. You argued with your mentor, and they pulled their support for your project, leaving you at an impasse mostly in your own mind. Do you go forward with the unrealistic plan without the support and advice of the man you’d always trusted, or do you back down, bruising your ego in the process, and admit he was right.”

  “How are you doing this?” he demanded. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I’ve seen you in town before, but we haven’t met,” Sandy said. “I’m just very good at my job.”

  She laid two more cards on top of the three of wands. When she laid down the death card, the man blanched and looked around as though expected the grim reaper and his pale horse to be waiting in the shadows.

  “The Death card, reversed, and the seven of wands, reversed mean that the situation has deteriorated almost beyond repair. Your plans are on life support, and there is little possibility that you’ll be able to salvage them. You are tired of fighting this battle but are too stubborn to give in, even when you should.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but you’re spot on so far.”

  Sandy laid out the last two cards on the reversed ace of swords. “The six of pentacles reversed and the seven of pentacles upright mean that your frustrations aren’t over, but your financial loss won’t be all-encompassing. There is someone in your life who is generous to a fault who will help you out as long as you back away from this venture before it’s too late.”

  He cradled his head in his hands. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  “It’s not too late to rectify it,” Sandy soothed. She was exhausted. This last reading had pulled more out of her than any of the previous ones that day, although they’d all been uncannily accurate.

  “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

  “It’s not my place to judge you.”

  “I sunk my life savings into a business venture to buy this town and now I think the seller is backing out.”

  Sandy froze for a moment. “You’re a developer?”

  “Yeah. I was a junior partner in a firm in Seattle. We were known for our ethics in business. We paid our employees well, were careful about what we developed and how, and ensured that we did as little damage to neighborhoods, people, and the environment as possible.

  “About a year ago, this guy from Portland approached the firm saying he could guarantee this town would go up for sale within a year, and there’d be a fortune to be made. My boss and I argued—it was such a good opportunity. Oracle Bay does a lot of business, but all the buildings are so old-fashioned and quaint. We could make it a coastal destination. Oregon gets so much more coastal traffic from weekend crowds than Washington. We could’ve balanced the scales.”

  He paused so long, Sandy wasn’t sure if he was going to continue. “Your boss is the mentor with whom you argued?”

  “Yeah. Eventually, I left to start my own firm. I poured everything I had into it, worked with the guy who promised me the town, and when it went up for sale, I was here. I’d done a couple smaller developments. Similar things on a smaller scale and managed to build my business enough that I had a real chance of pulling off this first big score. I’ve been pushing him to sign the paperwork for weeks, and he kept brushing me off…hey! Wait a minute. I know where I’ve seen you before. You were in the hotel bar with the mark.”

  “The mark? That’s an interesting word.”

  He groaned. “That’s not what I meant. We weren’t trying to cheat him or anything. Just take advantage of his situation for our gain.”

  “As I said before, I’m not here to judge you. All I can do is tell you what the cards recommend. Because I have a vested interest in both this town and Vincent Bryson, I understand if you won’t take my advice. But the cards were clear—you can salvage this by walking away. From your description of your old mentor, I’m guessing he might be someone who is often generous to a fault?”

  The man nodded. “That’s why it was so shocking when he wouldn’t support my first big development plan.”

  “Why do you think he wouldn’t support it?”

  He hung his head a bit. “The plan me and the Portland guy cooked up involved razing most of Main Street and getting rid of all the lame businesses. Greg—that’s my boss, or ex-boss, I guess—said that making that decision without talking to the business owners and tenants was irresponsible and that the coast didn’t need another cookie-cutter to
wn. But how’re we gonna compete with Oregon if this is all there is?” He waved his hand around her shop.

  “You’re here, aren’t you?” Sandy asked drily. “I haven’t had a break in almost seven hours at this point. I know for a fact that every psychic in town is as busy as they want to be. We have a great festival season, including our world-famous Autumn Bazaar later this month. The local brewery has won awards at the Great American Beer Festival. We have a lot to draw people in. I’ve lived here for six weeks and know all this. How much of it did you find out?”

  He didn’t answer, which was response enough.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Darwin Sibel.”

  “Darwin, you don’t have to keep fighting just to stroke your own ego. It’s much harder to admit you’ve made a mistake. Your old boss would probably take you back into the firm if you apologized. There’s more to a town than its potential value.”

  His chin shook, and Sandy was worried she was going to have to let him cry on her shoulder. That was definitely not in the job description. He took a deep breath, pulled himself together, and asked, rather plaintively, “What am I going to tell Aaron?”

  “Aaron?” she asked. Her stomach clenched with sudden nerves.

  “Yeah—the guy from Portland who told me this place would be on the market.”

  “When, exactly, did he tell you?”

  Darwin cocked his head to one side and considered. “Must be almost a year ago. I don’t think it was Thanksgiving yet, but it was close.”

  “Darwin, I need you to listen to me very carefully…”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sandy and Misty sat in an out-of-the-way corner of the Sleeping Inn bar. Sandy had her back to the room and was sipping a French 75 while Misty was sucking down a Long Island Iced Tea with great enthusiasm and keeping up a running commentary of the goings on in the hotel bar.

  “Your man on the inside looks like he’s going to sweat out of his skin before your ex-douchebag even shows up.”

  “I’m not sure Darwin was the best guy for the job,” Sandy admitted. “I don’t know what Aaron saw in him in the first place. He’s…” she trailed off.

  “Easily manipulated?” Misty suggested.

  Sandy knew she didn’t mean anything more by it, but it still felt like a punch in the gut. She’d stayed with her ex-douchebag for way too long to come across as anything but gullible and easily manipulated.

  Some of her feelings must have shown in her face because Misty reached across the table and patted her arm with one gloved hand. “Darwin is also morally ambiguous, greedy, and a little slimy, although probably not so bad at heart. You are none of those things. You were young and naive when you met your ex, and he spent years gaslighting you into believing that you were the crazy one. I’m not a psychologist, nor do I play one on television, but your almost-ex is a narcissistic dirtbag who delights in controlling and manipulating others. Anyone who makes someone feel bad about enjoying simple pleasures like tea or champagne or romance novels is a jackass of the highest degree.”

  Sandy beamed at her. “I second guess everything all the time,” she admitted. “I feel like I’m being shallow and frivolous for wanting to drink bubbly when it’s not a special occasion.”

  “Cassandra Franklin, every day we’re alive is a special occasion. It doesn’t matter if you’re celebrating a major milestone, a favorite movie, or having mind-blowing sex. Every time is the right time for bubbles.” She waved at the bartender. “Russell!”

  Russell came over and grinned at the pair. “Another Long Island, Misty?”

  “Nope. We want a bottle of the best champagne you’ve got.”

  “Are you sure? That’s not gonna be cheap.”

  Misty narrowed her eyes at him and started pulling off her glove. “Don’t make me give you the hand, Russell Sterling.”

  He backed up. “No need to get touchy with me, Misty. I was only trying to warn you that we have a couple bottles of Bollinger back there that’ll run you close to a hundred and fifty dollars.”

  She crooked her finger at him. “Bring it, bar boy.”

  “Only if you ask nicely.”

  She flashed him a brilliant grin, pulled her glove all the way back on, and leaned back in her seat. “Russell, please bring a bottle of Bollinger for the table along with two glasses.”

  “I’d be delighted to oblige. By the way, the guy you’re waiting to spy on is walking in right now.”

  “How’d you know?” Sandy asked. “How obvious are we?”

  “I have my ways. I’ll be right back with your champagne.”

  Once he was out of earshot, Sandy leaned forward and whispered, “Is he…” she waved her fingers in what can only be described as jerky jazz hands.

  “Into musical theater?” Misty posited, confusion clear on her face.

  Sandy hissed a frustrated sigh. “I meant psychic; like us.”

  “You may not have a career in charades. The short answer is maybe, but we’ve never been able to get him to admit to anything—or prove it in other ways. It’s possible he has a touch of the gift, but not enough to do more than give him glimpses. Or he could be downplaying what he does have to both irritate me and keep me guessing. It’s hard to tell. Here he comes.”

  Russell set down the two champagne flutes and a champagne bucket filled with ice and asked, “How big a production do you want me to make of this?”

  “As small as possible,” Misty replied. “The less attention drawn to us, the better.”

  “It goes against my instincts to open a bottle of expensive champagne with no fanfare, but I’ll try to keep it quiet.”

  There was a small pop, barely any fizzy wine escaping the bottle neck, and then Russell poured two glasses of champagne. “Cheers, ladies. I’ll leave you to it.”

  “A toast,” Misty said, holding up her glass. “To doing what makes us happy.”

  Sandy held out her own glass. “To new friends and champagne.” After clinking her glass against Misty’s, Sandy took a slow sip. “Ohhh…this is really good.”

  Misty’s sip was more cautious. “Not bad. I’m not much of a bubbly person, but this is drinkable.”

  “You ordered the best bottle of champagne in the bar, and you didn’t think you’d like it?”

  “I knew you’d never do it for yourself, and I wanted to make a point.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The point is you are worth a splurge. You might not be able to buy an expensive bottle of bubbly every day, but you are always worth it. So order a glass of prosecco when the mood strikes you. Get the fancy teas if that’s what you prefer. There’s nothing wrong with spending an evening in a bubble bath with a romance novel and a glass of sparkling wine. Live your best life, Sandy. You won’t find anyone here who’ll tell you you’re being foolish because you’re doing things that make you feel good.

  “Your former marriage does not define who you are forever. You can decide who you’ve always been and go in that direction now. It won’t be without a stumble or two—it’s hard to shake off years of being one way for a specific person in just a few months—but the farther away you get from your divorce, the more authentically ‘you’ you can become, if you work at it.”

  Sandy felt tears sting the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back. “Thank you. You’ve no idea how much it means to me.”

  “I’ve been in a similar situation. I know where you’re coming from, and I know that it’s possible to find yourself and come out strong on the other side.” Misty tensed, her glass pausing halfway to her mouth. “Something’s happening. Ugh. I wish we were closer.”

  Sandy tilted her head, trying to get a clear enough reflection in the window to see behind her. “What’s going on?” she hissed.

  “Aaron’s back is to us. You can scoot around a little and watch if you’re careful.”

  Sandy moved her chair halfway around the table and surveyed the other table through a curtain of hair. Darwin looked
more upset than he had in her shop earlier. His face was flushed and splotchy, and he was leaning forward, gesticulating wildly. She couldn’t see Aaron’s face, but he was also leaning forward, and his shoulders were set.

  “You lied to me,” Darwin said, his voice loud enough to penetrate the barroom background noise. Sandy raised an eyebrow. “You told me this was a sure thing. You guaranteed this was a sure thing.”

  Aaron leaned even further forward, but he didn’t raise his voice to match Darwin’s. No matter how hard Sandy strained, she couldn’t hear his half of the conversation.

  “I poured my life savings into starting my own firm and spending weeks down here. You owe me my investment back.”

  Aaron threw his head back, and no one needed to hear him to know he was laughing at the developer. He stopped laughing, leaned back in his chair, and from the look on Darwin’s face, eviscerated him with words.

  “What do you mean you created the perfect conditions for the sale and it’s not your fault? How did you create this mess? You were supposed to get a percentage of the profit; don’t you care?”

  “We need to get closer,” Sandy hissed to Misty.

  “Patience. Darwin is getting what we need. We’re only here to make sure he does his part and doesn’t cave. He’s getting the verbal confirmation from Aaron that he can take to…whoever needs to know. Either Crystal Corp or the DA. Or the cops. I’m not sure. I need to watch more crime dramas.”

  Sandy took a gulp of champagne and tried to relax. “Sorry. You’re right. I just want to nail that bastard.”

  “We will. I’ve no doubt about that.”

  “Do you know it or know it?”

  “I can’t give away all my secrets now, can I?” Misty winked, and Sandy rolled her eyes.

  She tried to relax, but the tension in her shoulders was giving her a headache no matter how many times she rolled them.

  “What are you doing?” Misty asked. “You look like you’re having some kind of really weird muscle spasm.”

  “Too much tension,” Sandy answered, rolling her head.

  Misty refilled Sandy’s champagne flute. “Drink this. You can get a massage tomorrow. Right now, you’re drawing attention to yourself.”