A Scrying Shame

by Donna White Glaser

  Flash.

  Church bells clamor, wildly ringing. Arie slaps her hands over her ears, but the violent cacophony peels on.

  Someone wants to hurt me. Arie’s throat closes. Hand . . . the hand grips my throat.

  Someone grabbed her shoulder, and Arie yelped as if . . . well . . . as if she’d seen a ghost. She found herself staring into Chandra’s frightened face.

  “You’re okay, Arie. It’s all right.”

  “Well, what did you see?” Riann asked with all the sensitivity of a rhino in heat.

  Arie shuddered again. It had been far worse this time, and she didn’t know why. Maybe the proximity to somebody who had known Marissa so well made it more intense. Arie didn’t know, but she tried to shake it off. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. She studied Riann. Was that tiny dot on her lip from a decades-old piercing? Her ear hadn’t healed nearly as well.

  “You changed your name.” Arie’s throat was dry, and it made her voice raspy.

  Riann blanched. “How did . . . I did not.”

  “You did, too. It used to be Annie. And you used to live in a trailer park, didn’t you? So did Marissa. You two grew up together.”

  “Yes, we did,” Riann said.

  A closed expression had slipped over her face during Arie’s revelation, and her green eyes glittered like a cat’s. “I was her best friend, the only one she ever trusted.”

  “What about her fiancé?” Chandra said. “Or her sister. Kelli, wasn’t it?”

  Riann faked a laugh. “Kelli? Not a chance. For one thing, they were only half-sisters. Kelli was always going back and forth between her dad and her bio-mom’s house. She was there every other weekend and maybe a week in the summer. Besides, Marissa left home as soon as she could. They barely knew each other.

  “As for Chad,” Riann continued, “they were in love, but of course that’s not the same thing as a girlfriend. We told each other everything. I can’t believe she’s really gone. Even at the funeral . . .”

  The sadness that had flickered in Riann’s eyes slipped away, replaced by a gleam of suspicion as she stared at Arie.

  “Hey, didn’t I see you at the funeral? How did you know Marissa?”

  Arie felt her stomach lurch. “I, uh . . . I felt I needed to be there.”

  “You mean, like, Marissa’s spirit called you to her?”

  “Kind of, I guess.” Arie had to think fast. She hovered over the crystal ball and slowly moved her hand just above the surface. “I see a man from the past.”

  “From my past?” Instantly diverted, Riann leaned in, too, staring into the red orb as if hoping to catch sight of the guy.

  “Marissa’s past. He’s blond. About five-ten.”

  Riann shook her head doubtfully. “She dated a lot.”

  “I think she was in college. He’s handsome, but kind of . . . boring, maybe?”

  “Oh! You mean Brant?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Arie saw Chandra squelching a laugh.

  “That’s him. Marissa is showing him to me. Why would she do that?”

  Riann’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Because he’s the asshole who—”

  A slight, elderly man in soft gray pants and a white button-down shirt ambled in. He held a blue-and-white conductor’s cap in his hand.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to intrude on your visit.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you can join us.” Riann’s voice reanimated with apparent pleasure, although an ever-so-slight falseness tinged the edges. She’d taken care to raise her voice to a level suitable for someone who might be hard of hearing. She waited until the man had settled in next to her before turning to Arie and Chandra.

  “Girls, I want you to meet my darling—”

  “Dick.” He stuck his hand out to shake.

  “Richard.” Riann’s smile stayed plastered on her face as she pretended he hadn’t spoken. “Richard Boyette, I’m sure you’ve heard of him. The financier?” Without waiting for their response, she turned back to Dick/Richard. “I’ve told them all about you. They’ve been just dying to meet you. Haven’t you, girls?”

  Arie and Chandra both smiled and verbally stumbled over themselves agreeing.

  “Guess what, darling?” Riann spoke over them both. “Arie is a medium. She’s talking to Marissa for me.”

  “A what?” Dick looked puzzled.

  “A medium.” Riann laughed. When he still looked confused, she said in a louder voice, “A fortune-teller. Like a gypsy. She even has a crystal ball.” She pointed to it on the table.

  Arie did a mini-Vanna White move over the crystal and immediately felt stupid. Chandra’s snort didn’t help.

  “Oh.” Dick’s gentle smile showed slightly crooked, never-been-whitened teeth. He twisted the conductor’s cap in his hands. “Like Jeane Dixon.”

  “Who?” It was Riann’s turn to look confused.

  “Never mind, dear. I can’t say I’ve ever put a lot of stock in such things, but if you’re enjoying yourself, I guess it’s okay. Just be careful. I don’t want you getting yourself all worked up.” Dick patted Riann’s arm with a frail, liver-spotted hand.

  Arie couldn’t help noticing that his nails, though clean, were twice as long as many women’s. She would’ve thought Riann would have insisted on his having a manicure, but perhaps her influence—fiancée or not—was limited.

  “I told you, Richard spoils me,” Riann said.

  “It’s not spoiling to be concerned, dear. You’ve been doing far too much lately, and I know you’re still upset about your friend’s death. You should rest this afternoon. Maybe take a nap.”

  Riann either had a twitch, or she was struggling against the urge to roll her eyes.

  “You’re right,” she managed. “I do have far too much going on, but a nap would only put me further behind. I have so many things to get ready and set up. Maybe you could help me this afternoon, darling?”

  “Not today, dear. I’m meeting Clark about an American Flyer engine he’s thinking about selling.”

  Riann’s face transitioned from pouty to sullen to verging on tears in a matter of seconds.

  “You could hire a personal assistant,” Arie said brightly. “I’ve heard they even have virtual ones.”

  “You don’t need a crystal ball to see that,” Dick said.

  Riann brightened. “You know, I’ve been thinking about doing just that. Honestly. I bet that came to you from Marissa. That’s exactly the sort of thing she would’ve suggested.”

  “That’s probably why I thought of it,” Arie said.

  Dick harrumphed and shot a warning look to his girlfriend.

  A slight glint crept into Riann’s eyes. “Oh. I get it. You’re looking for a job. That’s why you—”

  “Me? No, I’ve got a job.”

  Arie might have been considering looking for a part-time job, but she certainly hadn’t been angling for the position of Riann’s personal assistant. Slave, more like it.

  “I’m not sure that would work. My hours at my job are a little unpredictable. You’d probably want someone more flexible.”

  The suspicious look in Riann’s eyes had turned to an appraising one that made Arie nervous. It seemed the more she protested, the more determined Riann was to offer her the position.

  “Of course, you’ll want to interview people, punkin. You need to be careful about—”

  “But, Richard! I don’t want to bother with all that. Arie would be perfect.”

  Uh boy. “I really don’t think—”

  “After all,” Riann gushed, “I don’t want to spend my time interviewing people. That’s, like, exactly the opposite of taking it easy. And think! You would be right here if Marissa needed to talk to me. It would be like texting, but with, you know, a human.” She giggled.

  “I’m sorry.” Arie used a firm voice, the one she practiced in case she ever decided to have kids. “But—”

  “Only part-time, of course,” Riann said. “Maybe ten hours a week?
I don’t know . . . Does three hundred sound all right? In cash, of course.”

  “A week?” Arie gasped.

  “Okay, three-fifty. But all of my readings are free.”

  “When do I start?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Arie presented herself at the front door of the lake house two days later. She had the usual first-day-on-the-job butterflies, especially since she was there under false pretenses. After all, her cover would be blown if Kelli showed up. Riann was over a decade older than Marissa’s younger half-sister, so they might not be close, but still . . . it was a risk.

  Riann seemed as uncertain about her new employee’s duties as Arie was. She greeted Arie at the door wearing a silky, pale yellow blouse and gray slacks, an outfit Arie could tell cost more than she’d earned all of last year. Since she’d only been working part-time at the bar that probably wasn’t saying a lot.

  “Want some water?” Riann handed Arie a blue-tinted bottle and watched her closely. Arie could tell her new boss was waiting for some kind of response.

  She uncapped the water and took a little sip. “Mmm. Thank you.”

  “It’s good, right? Richard has it shipped in. You simply can’t get it around here.”

  Arie studied the bottle. Volvic? It sounded like something gynecological. She took another sip. Water.

  As Riann turned to lead Arie inside, she fake-whispered, “Fifty dollars a pack.”

  “Fifty dollars for twenty-four bottles?” Arie squeaked.

  “No, silly. Fifty for a pack of twelve. Not counting shipping, of course. But it’s so worth it, isn’t it?”

  Arie took another drink. Still only water. She sighed and followed Riann down the hall.

  They started in Riann’s office—a guest room just off the kitchen that had been repurposed for Riann’s use. Although the bed had been removed, there were still divots in the carpet where it had been. Riann sat at her desk, which looked more like a table than any desk Arie had seen. There weren’t even any drawers. She guessed Riann didn’t do a lot of work there. It held a MacBook, a pencil holder with two pens, and a vase filled with what Arie thought at first were fresh flowers. A closer inspection showed a thin layer of dust on the expensive silk blossoms.

  Dick poked his head in. When he saw Arie, he scowled, but merely asked Riann where she’d put his glue gun.

  “Oh, Richard, I don’t know. It’s in there somewhere. But listen. As long as you’re here, maybe we should talk about the wedding venue. I know you’re a member at the Lake Club here, but I was thinking the Van Dusen Mansion in Minneapolis. It’s historic and elegant and—”

  “Well, let’s talk about this later, punkin. I’m trying to set up a new area for a logging camp.” Dick smiled vaguely, then beat a hasty retreat to the living room to fiddle with his train.

  Riann frowned.

  “Uh, maybe we should talk about my job duties?” Arie asked.

  “I guess so.” Riann opened the Mac and started it up. “I can’t imagine how I’ve gone so long without the appropriate help. You’re going to have to really hustle to keep up with me.”

  “Sounds good,” Arie said nervously. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  Arie thought so, too. That was why she’d asked it. After a long pause, Arie said, “How about your calendar? Maybe we could start there.”

  Riann perked up at the suggestion and clicked a button on the laptop. A Google calendar appeared on the screen. An empty Google calendar.

  Riann faked a chuckle and waved an elegant hand at the computer screen. “See why I need an assistant? I don’t even have time to write my schedule down.”

  “I see that.” Arie pretended to believe Riann’s line of crap. “Maybe you could start by telling me about any appointments you have this week.”

  “Well, for one thing, Chad is stopping by with a friend later this morning so you can do a reading with him. It’s a surprise. The police have practically glued themselves to his back, which is ridiculous. Not only was he out of town, but what reason would he have? They weren’t even married yet. Anyway, he’s been so down since Marissa died. I thought this might give him some closure. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Oh! Well—”

  “That’s not ’til later, though. After we’re done here.”

  “But Chad doesn’t know—”

  “I’m not sure exactly when he’ll get here, so I’ll put him down for an hour somewhere today. That’s good enough.”

  Riann carefully typed “Chad” into an hour slot after lunch, leaving around a hundred or so empty hours to fill in.

  “I guess that’s a start to getting organized, isn’t it?” Arie used a chipper voice.

  “I don’t need any help with organizing.” A peevish tone crept into Riann’s voice.

  Sensitive much?

  “Right. I misspoke. But if we enter things into the calendar, it will help you decide what duties you want me to do.”

  “I guess that’ll work.” Still frowning, Riann studied her perfect manicure.

  “Maybe I should do the typing.”

  “Of course. After all, you’re the assistant.” She rose and did her slow runway walk to a cream-colored armchair near the window. After arranging herself as though for a magazine spread, she looked expectantly at her latest acquisition.

  Arie took her place and, with fingers poised over the keyboard, said, “Let’s get started now, shall we?”

  Apparently, at some point in the exchange, she had transformed into a British nanny.

  “How about . . . uh . . .” What did rich women do all day? “How about exercise? Do you have a regular—”

  “Yoga! I do yoga three times a week.”

  “Great,” Arie said. “Which days?”

  Riann frowned again. “Which days?”

  “Do you go on regular days? Like Monday, Wednesday, Friday?”

  “No, I go when I feel like it. Do you do yoga? It’s just fabulous, isn’t it? So meditative. I can feel peace flooding my soul every time I go. And believe me, with my hectic lifestyle, I need peace.”

  Arie could relate.

  “Okay, but for the calendar—”

  Riann airily waved her hand. “Never mind that. I’ll just tell you when I’m going to go. Richard calls me his free spirit because I don’t like to be pinned down.” She giggled. “Except maybe in bed. Sometimes Richard gets a little kinky.”

  Arie closed her eyes, her mind, and her very soul to the image of Riann and Dick getting freaky in bed.

  “I suppose one of the things I’ll have you do is research honeymoon spots. It has to be romantic, but I don’t want it to be all touristy, either. So somewhere remote. But not too remote. I need to be able to get to the shops, and Dick needs to be by a really great golf course.

  “Oh, and definitely a beach resort. Somewhere tropical, but make sure it’s not too humid because my hair gets all frizzy. And also, I don’t like when the sand gets in my suit. I hate that, don’t you?”

  Arie let Riann chatter on and on. She had a feeling that was going to be her primary duty, and as such, Riann was paying for someone to listen to her blather on about her wedding plans. Though, as nearly as Arie could tell, Dick hadn’t actually proposed. Riann seemed to be operating under the belief that if she acted as if he had, he would start to believe it, too.

  Arie didn’t think it was working.

  She tuned back in when Riann brought up June Shaw, Marissa’s wedding coordinator.

  “I know Marissa thought she was wonderful,” Riann said. “But she always had an attraction to maternal figures. She wanted one, I mean. A mother. Hers was . . .” Riann stopped picking at her cuticles long enough to waggle her finger in circles by her temple—the universal she-was-nuts sign.

  “Is that the only reason Marissa liked June?”

  “Well, June seemed to know what she was doing, but there’s no way I could stand all her fluttering around. And she’s always smiling. She get
s on my nerves. Nobody can be that happy. And then there was that thing with the cake decorator . . .”

  “What happened?” Arie didn’t really care, but she was running a Google search for a remote, nonhumid, sandless tropical beach resort with lots of shops and a “really great” golf course.

  “It was ridiculous,” Riann blathered on. “I don’t really know the details, but the cake decorator totally flaked out. There was this whole scene. Like I said, I don’t really know, but of course I’ll never use her. Anyway, June recommended the decorator in the first place, so what does that tell you?”

  Since the story was completely devoid of details, it hadn’t really told Arie anything. But it did give her an idea. Unfortunately, Riann seemed intent on getting her money’s worth out of Arie, and she didn’t have time to pursue it.

  More to the point, Arie still wasn’t clear about what her actual duties entailed. She would have to pin Riann down—and immediately regretted that particular thought as a very unwelcome image of “Master” Dick wearing assless black chaps and holding a leather whip arose in her mind.

  “Okay, then,” Arie said quickly. “What other appointments do you have? Lunch dates? A standing salon appointment, maybe? Do you have, like, a personal trainer or something?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes. We’re finally on the same page. I see Evan, he’s my trainer, at the gym four times a week.”

  “Four times a week?” Arie’s voice had squeaked with incredulity.

  Riann laughed. “If I don’t take care of my body, nobody else will. After all, I’m . . . twenty-nine, if you can believe that.”

  Arie didn’t.

  “My body isn’t merely my temple,” Riann continued. “It’s my savings account and retirement plan. Have you read Marissa’s book? We called it Rich Bitch for a reason. It was my idea, you know. All of it. In fact, I practically wrote the whole thing. But anyway, you should really get it.”

  Riann’s eyes narrowed to green slits, and one of her feet jiggled back and forth, churning the air in tight little arcs.

  Mood swing.

  The nanny responded. “It sounds really awesome. I bet the retirement thing was from you, right? You came up with that?”