Murder at the Fortune Teller's Table

by Janet Finsilver

  Lady Luck was not with me. Ken, in a maroon velvet robe with gold trim, was not what I wanted to see first thing in the morning. He was on the landing as I started up the stairs. Ken had pulled the basket’s cloth back and was examining its contents. He unwrapped a muffin and sniffed it as I approached.

  “Smells pretty good. Where did you buy them?” he asked.

  “Everything is baked fresh on site. We have an excellent baker.”

  “Hmmm . . . and the coffee? What about it?”

  “Regular, as you requested on your form.” I figured it wouldn’t hurt to remind him of what he asked for. “It’s organic and comes from a local distributor. There’s also the cream and sugar you requested.”

  “The sweets are for Sue Ellen. I like mine strong.”

  He winked at me like I was supposed to think a reference to strong coffee had anything to do with him.

  Please let this weekend be over soon.

  He took the basket into the room, and I dropped off the other two. I went down the stairs with flying feet, lest Ken appear again.

  Helen and I made short work of the remaining breakfast containers and settled in for our own meal.

  “The usual?” she asked.

  “You bet,” I replied. How could I go wrong with homemade wheat bread, chunky organic peanut butter, and locally produced berry jam?

  A mound of cubed potatoes sat next to plates of chopped onions and herbs. Bacon sizzled on the stove, and a bowl of eggs was on the counter. I was surprised because Helen usually had something simple like cereal, along with Tommy.

  I gestured toward the food on the counter. “It looks like you’re having something different today.”

  She was busy putting an egg carton back in the refrigerator. “No. That’s for Bill.”

  “Bill? I don’t remember you mentioning him before. Is he someone new you’ve met?”

  Helen’s face turned crimson. “No, it’s Deputy Sheriff . . . William . . . Stanton. He’s one of the sponsors of Tommy’s science club, and he’s been working with Tommy.”

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  I was at a loss for words, and that was the best I could come up with. I hadn’t seen this one coming. My interactions with the sometimes-gruff officer made it hard for me to see him in this light. Now here he was, helping Tommy, and he seemed to be building a relationship with Helen.

  “Daniel isn’t here quite as much anymore, so it’s been wonderful for Tommy to have another man in his life.”

  Tommy’s father had passed away from cancer not long ago. Helen had taken the job at the inn to support herself and her son. She had limited marketable skills, and the opportunity to bake and help with basic chores was a good fit.

  Tommy flung the back door open, Fred right on his heels.

  He jumped onto a stool at the counter. “Bill’s coming today to help me with the rocket I’m building, right?”

  “That’s correct.” Helen placed his sundae-like breakfast in front of him. Layers of granola, raspberries, and yogurt made a healthy parfait.

  A silver Chevrolet pickup pulled into the parking area, and Deputy Sheriff Stanton, in blue jeans and a short-sleeved tan shirt, emerged. He knocked on the back door, and Helen waved him in. He had on a black Stetson hat and brown cowboy boots. He removed his hat as he entered.

  “Hi, Helen.” He nodded at me, “And Ms. Jackson.”

  Fred planted his oversize basset hound feet on the deputy’s boots, a sure way to get noticed.

  “Fred.” He ruffled his ears. “Thanks for the weighty welcome.”

  The deputy sat next to Tommy. “Do you have all the parts we need for your project?”

  Tommy’s head bobbed up and down. “You bet,” he said around a mouthful of granola.

  Helen put a plate of fried potatoes, bacon, and an omelet in front of the officer and followed it with a cup of coffee.

  “This looks delicious,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll taste that way, too.”

  He took a couple of bites and turned to me. “What are the Silver Sentinels working on?”

  “The usual,” I replied, sidestepping the question.

  He was sharp, and my fancy verbal footstep didn’t work. “Do you care to tell me what that means?” He put his fork down. “It sounds like trouble.”

  Now what? I didn’t want to discuss our activities until we had something concrete to back up what we thought.

  “We’re meeting this afternoon. I’ll bring you up to date after that.”

  He frowned but went back to eating his breakfast.

  I gathered my purse and put on my navy company fleece. It didn’t take long to walk to the Silver Cup. Diane was entering as I arrived. She wore camel-colored wool slacks and a matching cardigan over a white blouse. The delicate notes of her perfume tickled my senses, instead of assaulting them.

  “Good timing,” I said.

  Diane held the door for me. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

  “Happy to.”

  The fragrant smell of fresh-brewed coffee permeated the Silver Cup. I inhaled deeply several times.

  We scanned the choices of exotic coffees. The names created a unique language, the intricacies known only to coffee aficionados. I ordered my usual cappuccino. Diane ordered the house blend with no cream or sugar. We spied an empty table over by the window and seated ourselves.

  “You’re doing a lot for me and my son. I wanted you to know my story,” she began.

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  She nodded. “I know. However, if you’re comfortable listening, it would make me feel better. It’s been a while since I’ve shared it . . . a long while. My husband was the only one who knew what happened. He died three years ago.”

  The waitress brought our coffee. “Would you like some water?”

  We both said we would, and she left to get it.

  “I was only eighteen. I didn’t know what to do when I had my baby. I certainly didn’t feel ready to be a mother. I rationalized that my son would be better off with Amy Winter.” She sipped her coffee. “The Summer of Love. You think flowers, rainbows, dancing. There was a dark side. For me, it became the summer of regret.”

  I sipped my cappuccino. The smoky taste of dark-roasted coffee pleased my palate and lingered on my tongue.

  “I only had access to a small part of my trust and found myself without any money. Marijuana softens the hard edges of reality. When it wore off, I found myself dirty and hungry and sharing a can of beans with two others. Their sadness seeped into my soul. Later that afternoon, their stoned smiles hid the truth, but I had seen the reality.”

  The waitress brought our water. A slice of lemon had been added to each of the tall glasses.

  “I took off my rose-colored spectacles, so to speak, and began to see what was going on around me clearly for the first time . . . all the addiction. I knew it was time to leave.”

  I had more of my coffee. The smooth taste of the warm, nutty-flavored liquid provided a pleasant respite during the telling of an unhappy story.

  “When my money ran out, so did Ken.” She arched one of her well-shaped eyebrows. “He’s a true-love kind of guy,” she said drily.

  Her right hand moved to the single strand of pearls around her neck. She stroked the necklace.

  “I called my parents, and they came and got me. There was no yelling or shouting. They loved me. My parents understood what had happened better than I did. Teens often have a rebellious stage, and I had lived mine. It just happened to be during the sixties with its free love, drugs, and communal settings.” She picked up her coffee. “My defiance was over with. Gone.”

  “It’s wonderful your parents were so understanding.”

  She nodded. “The years passed, but I never forgot my son. I went to college, eventually met my wonderful husband, and had two more boys. I loved being with them, watching them grow up, playing with them. That brought the hurt home even more where Mark, my first baby, was concerned.”

  Her voice brok
e, and she took another sip of coffee.

  She stopped and gazed at her drink. “After I told my husband everything, I decided it was time to do something. We bought a second home here. He helped me figure out a way to help Mark without letting him know it was from me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I remembered Amy saying she was alone out here and something about Auntie being her only family now. We did some research and gathered information about Amy’s family. I’m guessing she was estranged from them. I sent Mark an inheritance from a fictitious aunt with no return address or phone number.”

  “Did you ever think about contacting him?”

  “Many times. I dreamed of how the meeting would go. I’d share what had happened, how much I regretted leaving him, how I’d continued to think of him. He’d say he understood, and we’d get to know each other.”

  “Why didn’t you get in touch with him?”

  “I could also see a nightmare. He’d reject me and hate me for what I’d done. I also thought it was unfair to him and Amy to show up in their lives.”

  “It must have been very difficult for you.”

  “It was. Do you . . . do you know if he’s willing to see me?”

  “Mary Rutledge is with him now. They’re going to talk about what he wants to do.”

  “At least my wondering whether or not I should contact him will be behind me. I’ll have that answer.”

  “Do your other two sons know about Mark?”

  “No, they don’t, but if he wants to be part of our family, he’ll be welcomed with open arms. My boys are two of the nicest individuals I know.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “In our places in the Bay Area. We have two homes, one in San Francisco and the other one in Woodside. My son, his wife, and his two young children live in the Woodside home. They’re all on vacation in Europe right now.”

  I hadn’t felt her sons would be involved in what happened to Amy and Summer, but it was nice to know they weren’t in the area, according to their mother. If they ever became suspects, it would be easy to check.

  “Between my family money and the businesses my husband created, we’re in good shape financially. I’m prepared to help Mark with whatever he needs.” Diane finished her coffee and picked up her purse. “I work with a team of first-class attorneys. I contacted them after the meeting yesterday. They’ll be calling you to get more information.”

  I nodded. “I’m happy to help.”

  “Thank you for listening. I’ll be waiting to hear what Mark decides.” She smiled, then walked away.

  She’d had her first son in her life for many years, albeit at a distance. A major turn was about to take place in her life’s path. Would she be walking it alone or with Mark?

  Chapter 17

  I looked out the window as I finished my cappuccino, enjoying the last sip of its foamy milk. People strolled by, occasionally glancing in. Many had the relaxed looks and contented smiles of vacationers. Across the street, I saw Tank in a black leather jacket leaning against a massive maroon motorcycle with black leather, metal-studded bags hanging over the sides. Daisy stood next to him, her head hardly reaching his shoulder. The sun reflected off the chrome parts of the bike. I thought it looked like a Harley.

  I remembered when my brother Vincent had bought one. Every paycheck he put a certain amount aside to buy another piece for the bike. First, he bought chrome handlebars. The exhaust pipe followed, and then the turn signals. When he was low on funds, he bought decals for his helmet. I didn’t know flames came in so many colors.

  He brought each new item home and raved about it in excited detail. I tried my best to be interested and enthusiastic to share his joy. But . . . chrome turn signals? I couldn’t quite manage it. I uttered the appropriate oohs and ahhs and smiled a lot.

  On the other hand, if someone wanted to talk about a silver-plated headstall or a new quarter horse mare, that was another matter. I’d be absorbed in an instant. To each their own, as they say.

  I put my cup down, picked up my purse, and walked out of the coffee shop. I stopped at a stand with tourist magazines. I noticed one I wasn’t familiar with and started leafing through it. Sue Ellen and Ken occupied a table on the deck right outside the door. She had opted for a multilayered look and was wearing several overlapping pieces of lavender material and a chunky, gold-bead necklace.

  Ken was scowling, his gaze trained across the street. I looked where he was staring and saw he was watching Daisy. Tank turned away for an instant, and I saw an emblem on the back of his jacket. I couldn’t quite make it out. Maybe a lightning bolt. He loomed over petite Daisy in her pink outfit and matching high heels.

  Ken looked around and noticed me. “Hey there, Ms. Jackson. If you see any deals or coupons in that magazine, let me know.”

  “Shall do. Did you go anywhere special last night?”

  “They had a two-for-one at Lenny’s Diner a ways out of town. They make a pretty darn good burger.”

  As Ken went on about the meal and how much money he had saved, the crunchy fries, and the waitresses in their cute retro outfits, I watched the pair across the street. Tank took a turquoise helmet with bright yellow flames out of the top box on the back of his motorcycle and handed it to Daisy. A jacket followed. As she zipped up the too-large garment, he adjusted the helmet strap.

  Tank pulled out a pair of boots. Daisy shot a quick glance in her father’s direction, yanked off her heels, and quickly passed them to Tank. She rammed her sockless feet into the oversized boots and pulled the attached straps over to secure them. For Daisy to be willing to be seen in those clothes must mean Tank had quite an influence on her. He put on his minimal black headgear and started the motorcycle. The roar rumbled through me, confirming it to be a Harley.

  Ken glanced across the street and yelled, “Daisy. Don’t you dare!”

  He jumped up, knocking his chair over.

  The motorcycle’s engine obliterated any other sounds. There was no way either Tank or Daisy could’ve heard his shout. Ken was halfway across the street by the time Daisy had climbed on the back of the Harley. She grabbed Tank around the middle, and off they went. A backward glance, which didn’t happen, would’ve revealed a purple-faced Ken.

  Ken stormed back to the table, picked up his chair, and sat. “Wait until I have a chance to give her a piece of my mind.”

  “Ken, she’s over twenty-one. Daisy can do what she wants,” Sue Ellen said.

  “Not as long as she’s living under my roof.”

  The car king. The ruler of his kingdom. His way or no way.

  They didn’t look in my direction, and I was quite content to walk away without more conversation.

  I had a little time before meeting Mary and took a walk around the block on my way to the museum. The sun had recently burned off the early-morning fog. The crisp air had the flowers standing at attention, their bright colors drawn out by the sun’s rays. No brand-name stores lined the boardwalk; each business was unique to Redwood Cove.

  The yellow house with the white gingerbread trim that was used as a museum came into view. A woman who looked like Mary stood on the porch wearing blue jeans, a floppy straw hat, and sunglasses. I’d never seen Mary in jeans. Or was it Martha?

  I walked up the steps to the front of the building. “Mary, is that you?”

  “Oh, good, my disguise is working.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her the only other person she looked like was her twin sister.

  “I didn’t want Katrina to recognize me.”

  “Where’s Princess?”

  “With Martha. Having her with me wouldn’t work for being incognito. Besides, she likes ordering Sergeant around.”

  We started down the steps. “How did the meeting with Mark go?”

  “Fine. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  We’d reached the door to Treasures of the Ocean. A variety of pins, necklaces, and earrings made of iridescent abalone shell sparkled in the window
. Pendants put together with small pieces of driftwood shaped by the endless motion of the sea hung on a rack. A colorful display of shells on a blue-velvet background added to the display.

  We entered the store. A slim brunette woman stood behind a counter, deep in conversation with a man wearing a black sports jacket. He reached out and put his hand over hers. They gazed intently at each other, the look speaking of their love more than a string of words could ever do. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered when my ex and I had shared those looks. Would I ever feel that way again?

  Suddenly, realizing we were there, the woman quickly pulled her hand free and hurried toward us. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re just admiring the jewelry,” I replied.

  Mary had turned away and was examining a case with her undivided attention.

  The woman glanced in her direction and frowned slightly. “My name is Katrina. Please let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  The saleswoman went back behind the counter. “Is there something you’d like to see?” she asked Mary.

  Mary shook her head, didn’t look up, and mumbled, “No.”

  We spent a few more minutes checking out the items. I found some abalone-inlaid hair clips I thought my mom would like. She had long hair but almost always wore it up because of all the cooking she did for the family and employees and the work she did with the animals.

  Mary nudged my side. I took it as a “secret” signal it was time to leave.

  Katrina had returned to her male friend. When I glanced over, their hands were intertwined.

  I started to tell her thank you, but it was clear they were in a world of their own. Mary and I departed.

  Mary moved at a fast pace away from the shop. “That was her. She’s the one who threatened Auntie, Summer, and me.”

  “What did you say Auntie’s prediction was?”

  “Walk the path of deception and there will be a price to pay.”

  The boardwalk we were walking on changed to a dirt path. This was a common occurrence in Redwood Cove.