The 7th Tarot Card

by Valerie Clay

  “You okay there, fireball?” he asked, instantly snapping me out of my trance.

  “Yes, a little dizzy, but good. I’m so sorry. Not sure what happened,” I mumbled as I took an unsteady step backwards on wobbly knees and sat down on the couch, completely mortified.

  “You just stood up a little too quickly. All the blood rushed out of your head.”

  And there was a lot of it, believe me.

  “How did you get in here, if you don’t mind my asking?” I queried while I looked around, combing my hands through my hair. “Did you bring a locksmith? I didn’t hear you kick the door in.”

  “Jimmied your lock,” he said. “No big deal. A little skill I acquired a while back. Comes in handy in times like these. You really should get a deadbolt, by the way.”

  “Oh, great.” I blew out a sigh. “I can’t decide if I feel alarmed or oddly comforted by that.” I rubbed the swollen red welts around my ankles.

  “Don’t worry, I only use my powers for good.” He smiled and checked his watch. “So, are we done here? I really need to get going.”

  “Yes, definitely done—thank you again—I’m so sorry to have interrupted your evening.” I wanted to stand up, but I still felt unstable and woozy. He hesitated for a moment, suppressing a smile, and shook his head again. Then he reached out and rubbed the top of my head, like I was a golden retriever or a gerbil. And with that, he turned and walked out of my condo. Back to his date. Or maybe a bank heist.

  Life is funny when you think about it. You never know what’s going to happen next. Just two days ago, spring cleaning was my biggest plan for the week. Now I’m carrying a Taser, preparing to tail a cheating husband, and my neighbor, who is hot, but could be a hit man, may possibly protect me from a crazy stalker, or maybe he is the stalker.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan, and not quite enough time.” —Leonard Bernstein, conductor and composer

  *******

  The sky was overcast and threatening to rain as I pulled into the South East Eighth Park-and-Ride promptly at nine-fifteen A.M. as Julie had instructed. Dependable as sunrise, she was already there waiting for me. Colonel Julie is nothing if not punctual. When she saw me enter the lot, she climbed out of her dark green Jeep Cherokee and waved. I blinked when I saw her attire: camouflage head to toe. Camo pants, tight camo T-shirt, camo jacket, and a billed camo cap covered her short black hair. Army grade sunglasses and black boots topped off her military get-up. I personally think she overdid it a bit, but who am I to judge?

  I parked my car, grabbed my purse and breakfast cookies, and strode expectantly over to her Jeep. As I approached, she frowned, put her hands on her hips, and stared at me. “What in the heck are you wearing? You look like a freaking Blues Brother.” I looked down at my outfit, then back at her. I thought the black pantsuit went nicely with my white collared shirt, black tie, and my lucky sunglasses. And the black fedora my hair was tucked up under met her hat requirement.

  “Well, I’m sorry,” I huffed, “I don’t own a soldier costume. This is the only hat I have, and it just didn’t look right with jeans. Also—and I know you’ll appreciate this—my tie contains a hidden spy camera. I thought this would be kind of a hip, James Bond look.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We’re going on a camping trip for Pete’s sake!”

  “No, we are not going camping! No one said anything about actual camping. We’re just following Mark to see where he goes.”

  Julie shook her head and sighed. “Get in the Jeep, Elwood.”

  This is going to be fun.

  We climbed in and fastened our seatbelts. Julie fired up the Jeep and began backing out of the parking space. As always, she remembered my favorite, and I took a sip of the half-caf, one-pump vanilla, soy latte with cinnamon sprinkles waiting for me in the forward cup holder. I pride myself on being a simple, uncomplicated woman.

  We pulled out of the Park-and-Ride, turned left, and followed the signs to I-405. When we stopped at a traffic light she picked up her small black coffee, took a sip, then turned to me, obviously struggling to keep an even tone in her voice. “Why on earth did you buy a necktie camera? I thought you were going to buy pepper spray or something that could actually protect you.”

  “I bought the spy tie because they gave me a discount if I bought both the tie and a spy pen.” I dug into my purse, pulled out my new red spy camera pen and held it up for her to see. “I had a hard time deciding between ‘Caught Red-handed Crimson’ or ‘Peek-a-boo Blue.’ In the end something told me to go with red.”

  She stared at me. “Really? Something told you to go with a red spy pen? That’s really neat, Vic. Did you buy a Captain Midnight secret decoder ring while you were at it?”

  I gave her a tight smile. “Don’t worry, I bought a Taser too, and it’s very cute. I got it in pink. I’d show it to you, but it’s in my car, under the seat. Didn’t think I’d need protection while I was with you.” She shook her head, but said nothing.

  I unwrapped the breakfast cookies and handed one to her as we sped north towards Laini’s house in the Juanita area of Kirkland. Fifteen minutes later we arrived on the scene. Laini and Mark have a wonderful old Victorian style house they’ve spent years restoring. It was painted a sunny yellow color with white trim and black shutters. A charming four-foot-high picket fence framed the perfectly manicured lawn. Anchor posts with bright flowers added pops of color, and a climbing vine spilled over the top. It looked like the perfect happy home, the cottage of content, the American Dream.

  Julie reduced speed and parked the Jeep four houses down from Laini’s. Slouched low in our seats, we made small talk and sipped our coffees, waiting for Bob to arrive. A couple of raindrops splattered onto the windshield.

  “You know, Vic, I have to say I’m feeling pretty uncomfortable about this,” Julie confessed. “Mark is a good guy and an old friend. I’m sure he’s not cheating on Laini. I’d bet my last dollar on it, and yet here we are, spying on him.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I agreed, flicking a cookie crumb off my tie. “I feel weird about it too, but we’ll just follow him for a bit, report back to Laini that everything’s hunky dory, and then we’ll all feel a whole lot better.”

  “Remember that time Laini thought their house was haunted?” Julie turned to me and asked.

  “Yeah, how many husbands would sit up all night in the dark with a pot of coffee and a camcorder, waiting for a ghost to float by? Very few, I can assure you.”

  “What about the time she talked him into doing that cleansing ritual in the back yard?”

  “Oh yeah,” I recalled smiling, “that was the one where they built a funeral pyre for all their old student loans.”

  “Took the fire department three hours to put out the fire.”

  “At least she got a new kitchen and deck out of it. Did you know she has a worm garden under their bed?” I asked.

  “A what?”

  “A worm garden; got it online at Uncle Jim’s Worm Farm.”

  “What in the heck is a worm garden?”

  “Apparently it’s some kind of container people use for recycling food waste, like salad items. It has layers of dirt and worms, and you put the old, leftover food on top. The worms eat the food, excrete it, and then some kind of worm tea drips out of the bottom of the thing, and you can use that to fertilize plants.”

  Julie raised her eyebrows. “All that for plant fertilizer?”

  “Well, it recycles food too.”

  “Why is it under their bed?”

  “That, I don’t know.”

  We were silent for a bit, then I said, “Seems like it would violate the principles of Feng Shui.”

  “Not to mention every psychiatric journal ever written.”

  I checked my watch again and it was slightly after ten o’clock.

  “It’s show time,” Julie announced and slid down further in her seat. “Here he comes.”

  Butterflies fi
lled my stomach as we watched an old blue truck come rambling around the corner and pull into Laini and Mark’s driveway. I picked up the binoculars for a closer look, focused them, and waited. A couple of minutes later Mark emerged from the front door wearing a navy jacket, jeans, a black baseball hat, and carrying a dark blue duffle bag.

  “Well he looks like he’s dressed for camping,” I reported. He threw his duffel bag into the back of the truck, got in, and off they went. We waited a discreet amount of time, until they were about halfway down the block, then Julie cranked the ignition, adjusted her sunglasses, and we pulled out. Laini stood alone in the window, a worried look clouding her pretty face, as we slowly passed her house. I gave her a thumbs-up and we picked up speed.

  We covertly tailed Bob and Mark down the side streets with no trouble, then got back onto I-405 heading south. Fortunately, there was enough traffic that we were able to blend in and follow undetected, but we hung back behind several cars just in case.

  “Do you think we should get a little closer to them?” I asked. “I’m afraid we might lose him.”

  “No, don’t worry. We don’t want to spook the subject,” Julie replied. “I know exactly where he’s going. The next exit is for I-90. They’ll take that and head east to North Bend.”

  I decided she was right and I was probably overthinking this. Might as well relax into the situation. Make it a Zen thing. Just a simple car ride to a simple camp ground following a subject. Nothing more. I took a deep cleansing breath, picked up my purse and rummaged through it, looking for my lip gloss. This was where things kind of started to fall apart.

  “Holy crap!” Julie yelled.

  “What? What is it?” I dropped my makeup bag.

  “They didn’t take the exit! They aren’t going to North Bend.”

  “Maybe they’re going a different way.”

  “No, I-90 is the only logical way to go. They’re going somewhere else. That bastard! I don’t know what he’s up to, but he lied to Laini.”

  Julie gunned it and we caught up to the truck. Now we were two cars behind them and still heading south on 1-405. We drove on for another twenty minutes and passed Renton, Tukwila, and the South Center Mall.

  “Where in the heck are they going?” Julie asked in exasperation.

  “I don’t know, but I hope you have enough gas in this Jeep. We could be following him to Portland for all we know.”

  She checked the fuel gauge but said nothing. I was about to ask how bad the gas situation was, when the truck’s right turn signal came on and they took a last-minute turn onto the exit for SeaTac Airport. We looked at each other, mystified. “The airport?” I said. “This is getting weirder and weirder.”

  Since we were moving at a pretty fast clip, Julie had to hit the brakes hard in order the make the exit. Our tires squealed and the Jeep rocked precariously back and forth, but we made the turn. As he passed, the driver behind us in a vintage, black El Camino laid on his horn and flipped us off. I white-knuckled the door safety bar, held my breath, and glanced sideways at Julie. Leaning forward, she had a firm grip on the steering wheel with both hands and a determined set to her jaw. Probably not the best time for some constructive feedback on her driving skills.

  In a few short moments we caught up to the truck and trailed them until they pulled into an open slot in front of the Alaska Airlines departure area. Stopping a few cars back, we watched in stunned silence as Mark got out of the vehicle, grabbed his duffle bag from the back, said a few parting words to Bob, then waved goodbye. The old blue truck slowly pulled away from the curb and drove off as Mark entered the terminal. We looked at each other in utter confusion. “Now what do we do?” I asked.

  Out of nowhere, a sharp knock on Julie’s side window made us both jump. She rolled down her window to a beefy, blonde policewoman with a bad perm, who leaned in, gave us each a hasty appraisal and frowned. “This is not a parking area. Please move your vehicle immediately.” Her tone was not friendly.

  “Sorry, officer, we were just chatting for a moment,” Julie explained.

  “Well chat somewhere else, sergeant, and move your vehicle now.”

  “Actually,” Julie said, “it’s Colonel.”

  The policewoman narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care if you’re the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Move your vehicle now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Julie responded and closed her window. The officer glared at us for a beat, then moved on to spread cheer to the next car.

  “Wow, she was mean,” I said. “Whatever happened to sisterhood and women supporting women?”

  “Gee, I don’t know, Victoria, why don’t you go ask her?”

  I looked out of the window as Ms. Sunny Delight turned back toward us.

  “Uh, oh, Julie, she’s giving us the death stare.”

  Julie cranked the ignition. “Go follow Mark and I’ll park the car. I’ll catch up with you in the terminal.”

  I hopped out of the Jeep, pulled my hat down low over my eyes and rushed into the bustling terminal. The interior was loud and hectic, overflowing with travelers pulling and pushing their bags. A large tour group with a petite female leader in a power suit, holding a sign and shouting instructions in what sounded like German blocked my path. After some jostling and sidestepping I managed to circumnavigate the group, and frantically scanned the crowd until I found Mark standing in a long, winding line for the check-in kiosks. He’d removed his jacket, and underneath wore a grey WSU Cougar sweatshirt. Pulling out my cell phone, I dialed Laini, wondering how on earth I was going to tell her about this.

  She picked up on the first ring, “Vic, what’s happening? Have you found out anything yet?” Her anxious tone was fraught with fear, and I swallowed hard, hating what I was going to have to say next.

  “I have some weird news, Lain,” I began. “You’re not going to believe this, but we, uh, we followed Mark to the, uh, airport.”

  “The airport!? What do you mean the airport? What airport?”

  “He didn’t exactly go camping. We’re at SeaTac at the Alaska Airlines check-in area. I’m so sorry to have to tell you that.” The silence on the line was palpable. I continued as gently as I could, “I’m wondering—do you think you could go online and find out where he’s going? Do you know Mark’s passwords?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe . . . He always uses the same password. I can’t believe this. This is crazy!” Her velvety voice trembled with distress.

  “Okay honey, hurry, go find out and call me right back!” I flipped the phone shut and continued my surveillance of Mark from afar.

  The queue for check-in grew longer by the minute, so I decided to get in line with the rest of the passengers and wait for Julie. As the line slowly progressed, I pulled out my cell phone again, this time speed-dialing Amanda. I reached her voicemail and left a message. “Amanda, it’s Vic. Just wanted you to know that Mark didn’t go camping. We tailed him to SeaTac Airport. Laini’s trying to find out where he’s going. We’ll let you know.”

  Julie came up next to me.

  “Oh good, there you are,” I said, feeling relief as I punched the button, ending the call. “I was afraid you might have a hard time finding me.”

  “Please—in that hat? Where’s Mark?” she asked, scanning the crowd on tiptoes.

  “He’s near the front of the line. It doesn’t look like he’s with anyone, but maybe they’re planning to meet at the gate. I called Laini and she’s going to try and find out where he’s headed.”

  Moments later my phone rang, and it was Laini with some vital information. “I don’t believe this. This can’t be happening,” she sniffled. “He’s actually booked on a flight to Las Vegas. Alaska Flight 606, seat 25-C. It leaves at noon.”

  “Good job—thanks, Lain. We’ll do some checking and call you back soon. Don’t worry, there could still be a perfectly good explanation for this,” I lied. “Hang in there. We’ll call you the minute we know anything.” I flipped the phone shut and told Julie what she’d s
aid.

  Julie looked at her watch. “We need to go to the gate. If he’s meeting someone, we’ll see who it is, and you can shoot some photos with your tie.”

  “I hate to be a downer, Julie, but you do realize we can’t get to the gate without a ticket.”

  “Right, well . . . we can buy tickets, go to the gate, get incriminating pictures for Laini, then cancel our tickets. I think we can get a refund if we cancel before the flight departs.”

  “Umm, in that case, I guess that would work. I can’t afford a trip to Vegas right now.”

  The line inched along painfully slowly until we finally made our way to the ticket counter. Mark was long gone at that point. “Two tickets on Flight 606 to Vegas please,” Julie said smiling.

  The agent, whose nametag said ‘Lupe,’ was a serious young Hispanic woman wearing gold, wire-rimmed eyeglasses, John Lennon style. Her long dark hair, brushed back from her face, was held in place by a black fabric headband. As she regarded us coolly, I got the feeling she’d seen more than her share of unique passengers. “Coach is sold out,” she said, still eyeing us unsmiling, “but first class has seats available.”

  “That’ll be fine,” Julie replied as she handed the agent her credit card.

  First class to Vegas—I gulped.

  “And when do you plan on returning?” Lupe asked, viewing us over the top of her glasses.

  “Tomorrow early evening,” Julie responded. “What flights do you have around that time?”

  “We have a non-stop leaving at six fifty-five P.M., arriving Seattle at nine thirty-five. Would you like that one?”

  Julie turned to me for a nod of approval. I stared at her blankly, so she answered, “That would be perfect; first class again please.”

  I jabbed Julie in the ribs with my elbow.

  “What?” she said under her breath. “If we’re going to take an imaginary trip to Vegas, we might as well take it in style.”

  You can’t argue with that.

  Lupe scrutinized us for a long moment, then asked, “Do you ladies have any luggage to check?”