by Sherry Lewis
Enos rubbed his palm across his face. He looked worn out, and Fred wondered how long it had been since he’d had a good night’s sleep. “I hope you’re right, Fred. I truly do.”
Fred pulled his cup back in front of him. His stomach was churning, but he still needed coffee. “Have a cup with me,” he said to Enos. “You’ll feel better.”
Enos’s face relaxed slightly and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I hope that’s decaf.”
“That’s what I’m supposed to have, isn’t it?”
The smile grew. “Yeah. And we all know how you do what you’re supposed to do.”
Fred lifted his cup in a salute and let himself return the smile. He nearly had the cup to his lips when something across the street caught his eye. From the recessed doorway of the Cosmic Tradition, a figure emerged—a woman, but not Summer Dey, the store’s owner.
The woman looked up and down the boardwalk, as if checking to see if she’d been noticed. Apparently satisfied, she pulled the collar of a jacket up around her ears and hurried away in the opposite direction from the Bluebird. Even from a distance, Fred thought he’d recognized her. And when she stopped after a few feet to light a cigarette, his suspicions were confirmed. But what was Olivia Simms doing in the Cosmic Tradition? She didn’t seem the type to go for all that mystical, magical baloney.
She smoked for a minute or two, then crossed the street and disappeared from view. As he turned back to Enos, another person standing outside the Cosmic Tradition caught his eye. Summer Dey had come outside and now she stood on the boardwalk looking after Olivia. Her shoulders and posture were rigid, and she held that pose for a long moment, relaxing and turning away only after Olivia Simms had been out of sight for a while. Something about Olivia’s visit had disturbed her, but what?
Fred hated to do it, but maybe he should pay a visit to Summer’s store. She was a strange one, for sure and he avoided her whenever possible. But if there was even a remote possibility that she could help Douglas, Fred couldn’t ignore it. But he probably ought to wait until Enos left. No sense asking for trouble.
He turned back to his coffee and realized that Enos had followed his gaze. “What are you looking at over there?”
“Nothing.”
Enos looked suspicious. “Something going on I should know about?”
Summer had vacated her post and Olivia had already disappeared, so Fred shook his head. “Nothing at all. Look for yourself.”
Enos leaned up a bit and looked up and down the street. There was nothing to see, but he still looked skeptical. “You’re sure? You’re not hiding something from me?”
“Why would I do that?” Fred asked, and then changed the subject. “You going to join me for a cup or not?”
Settling his hat in place, Enos shook his head. “Can’t. Some other time.” He lightly slapped the palm of his hand on the table and slid out of the booth. He still looked tired.
“Try to get some rest,” Fred counseled.
Enos gave a sharp laugh. “Sure. That should be easy.” His smile faded and he pointed one finger at Fred. “Promise me you’ll stay out of trouble.”
Fred almost wished he could. “Are you going to find Garrett’s killer?”
“I’m doing what I can,” Enos assured him and then, turning on his heel, he worked his way across the room, waving at Lizzie, patting Bill Lacey on the shoulder, sparing a word or two for people at the counter. Once outside, he jogged across the road and climbed into the cab of his truck.
Fred tossed a dollar bill on the table and made his own way to the door. He checked first to make sure Enos had actually pulled away, then crossed the street as quickly as he could and stepped onto the boardwalk.
Remembering the last time he’d tried to question Summer, Fred almost changed his mind. She wasn’t old enough to have taken an active part in the sixties, but she looked like a flower child with long, straight hair and beads—and she had a convoluted philosophy of life Fred would never understand.
He hesitated for a moment at the door and had to remind himself again that she might have information he needed. Even with that in mind, he had to force himself to open the door and step inside.
She’d been lighting a candle at a low table across the room. When the bell over the door tinkled to announce him, she whipped her head up, almost as if she were afraid of something. When she saw Fred, the fear left her eyes.
She crossed to him, gauzy black material billowing around her ankles. She wore only a thin skirt and a sleeveless T-shirt with a scooped neck that would never keep her warm in the early spring weather. But on her feet she wore thick-soled, high-top boots, the likes of which Fred hadn’t seen since World War II.
Rumor had it that Summer couldn’t paint unless she was depressed. At least that’s what she believed. To that end, she surrounded herself with black to keep her spirits down and her creative genius in high gear. In over fifteen years, Fred had never seen her wear any other color.
“You finally came,” Summer said. “Are you seeking direction? Counsel? Are you looking for your spirit guides?” A wistful smile played on her lips and her eyes looked unfocused.
Fred didn’t want any of that. In fact, it was all he could do to ignore the sickly sweet smell that seemed to be coming from either the candle or a piece of something smoldering in a silver tray near the cash register. “I came to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions for me? That won’t help. Seek the answers within your own soul, Fred. Search for peace and you will find it.”
The bell over the door sounded again and Fred snapped his mouth shut on his next words. Heavy footsteps behind him combined with the sweet smell and made his stomach turn over a couple of times. He glanced behind him, and sure enough, Enos was walking toward them.
“Mornin’ Summer.” Enos pulled off his hat and nodded at the two of them. “Fred. Hope I’m not interrupting something.”
Annoyed at being followed, Fred moved down the aisle and picked up a book. “Nope. Not a thing. Just browsing.”
Enos leaned his arm on the counter by the smelly stuff and looked around with interest. “You don’t mind if I cut in front of you then?”
“Not a bit.” Fred opened a book and pretended to scan a few pages, but he kept his eyes on Enos and Summer and his ears tuned into their conversation.
Grinning as if he’d heard something funny, Enos turned his attention to Summer. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Summer shook her head, but her shoulders tightened again. And for some reason, she didn’t offer Enos the same piece of advice she’d given Fred.
“I happened to be sitting over at the Bluebird a few minutes ago,” Enos said. “I noticed Olivia Simms coming out of your store.”
So he’d seen Olivia after all. Fred didn’t like being lied to.
Summer nodded slowly. “Olivia is a client of mine.”
“She shops here often?”
“She shops here occasionally.”
“Is this the first time she’s been in here since Garrett was killed?”
Summer shook her head. “She comes in once or twice every week.”
“What’d she buy?”
“Nothing.”
Enos looked confused. “Weekly or occasionally? Which is it?”
“She shops occasionally,” Summer said, speaking slowly and clearly. “She comes in for a reading every week. Like the sign in the window says, I do tarot readings here and they’re very popular.”
“I’m sure they are,” Enos assured her. “So Olivia is a regular?”
“I’ve been giving her readings for several years,” Summer told him. “Ever since she and Garrett had all that trouble.”
Fred perked up at that and sidled a little closer so he wouldn’t miss anything.
Enos didn’t look surprised, which meant he’d heard about whatever it was before.
Summer flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder and glanced toward Fred. Almost too quietly for Fred to hear, sh
e said, “She wanted to find a way to forgive her brother.”
“And did she find it?” Enos asked.
“Of course. She came to understand Garrett’s obsession with her share of the family business and her need to lose it to him as karma. Because she robbed and cheated so many people in one of her past lives, she had to allow Garrett to cheat her in this life or she would have carried that karmic debt with her into her next life.”
Here she went again, spouting all that nonsense. Past lives. Next lives. Why couldn’t she just give a straight answer?
Enos accepted her response as if it were a perfectly acceptable answer. “I see. And after she came to terms with Garrett—?”
“There are many who seek direction and insight into their futures. Olivia is one.”
It sounded to Fred like Olivia used Summer as a fortune-teller. Suddenly, Celeste’s enthusiasm over her anticipated love interest and the plot for her next book made sense to him.
“Can you tell me about her last few readings?” Enos asked.
Summer’s face closed up just like that and she shook her head firmly. “Absolutely not.”
Finally, something got a response from Enos. “Look, Summer, I’m investigating a murder here—the murder of her brother. Any information you can give me—”
“I don’t mean I won’t,” Summer interrupted. “I mean I can’t. I don’t remember. When I give a reading, it’s like I’m in a trance. The information is strictly between the client and my guide. I can’t remember much of anything afterward.”
Enos shot a look in Fred’s direction and scratched his head. “Nothing?”
“Bits and pieces,” Summer said. “Nothing concrete. And even if I could remember, I couldn’t share specifics with you unless my client agreed. It’s the same way lawyers and priests can’t talk about what somebody tells them.”
Fred bit back a smile at the look that crossed Enos’s face. He doubted there was such a thing as psychic-client privilege, but he could have been wrong.
Enos raked his fingers through his hair and replaced his hat. “If you think of anything you can tell me, let me know.” He took a step away, seemed to regain his equilibrium, and grinned at Fred. “Did I ask her everything you wanted to know?”
Very funny. Fred held up the book he was holding and walked toward the front of the store. “I told you, I came in to browse.”
Enos chuckled.
Which just made Fred more determined to set him straight. “How much for the book, Summer?”
She glanced at the back and slid her eyes to his face. “Twenty-three ninety-five. You want it?”
“You betcha. Ring it up.”
Enos pulled open the door. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s any good.” Laughing to himself, he stepped outside and let the door close behind him.
Summer added tax and quoted Fred the total. He fished in his pocket for his wallet and almost told her he’d changed his mind, but he didn’t want to give Enos the satisfaction. He handed over the money and glanced at his latest acquisition, noticing the title for the first time—Past Loves, A Study of Karma and Human Sexuality.
NINETEEN
Fred tucked his book under his arm and turned his face into the sun as he started for home. Summer’s words replayed endlessly through his head. He didn’t believe in her psychic mumbo jumbo, but there might be something to her ideas about Olivia’s relationship with Garrett.
He wanted to talk to Olivia again, and this time he’d find out the truth. He scanned the street looking for her blue Toyota, but he didn’t have any luck. It hadn’t been more than half an hour since he’d seen her coming out of the Cosmic Tradition, but even if he couldn’t find her in Cutler he had plenty of time to drive back to Granby before dinner.
Crossing Main Street, he tried not to notice his son-in-law’s trucked parked near the door of the Copper Penny. Fred never said much to Margaret about Webb—she’d make up her own mind anyway—but he had his opinions.
Two women at the back of the parking lot caught his eye—one petite and dark, the other medium height and coloring. He slowed his step, studying them as he passed. Suzanne and Olivia. Now what were they doing together?
Olivia gestured with one hand, leaving a trail of smoke from the cigarette between her fingers. Suzanne shook her head fiercely, but Olivia didn’t seem fazed by it. She jabbed one finger toward Suzanne’s chest, as if she was using the finger to punctuate her words.
Suzanne brushed away Olivia’s hand and turned to leave, but Olivia grabbed her arm and pulled her back around.
Fred stopped near the corner of the building where he’d be harder to spot. He wished he could hear them, but if he moved any closer they’d probably catch sight of him and stop talking entirely.
Jerking her arm out of Olivia’s grasp, Suzanne backed away. Olivia tossed her cigarette to the ground and mashed it underfoot, waving both hands around to emphasize whatever she was saying. Suzanne shook her head once more and yanked open the door to her car. She slid into the seat and slammed the door, pressing on the lock when Olivia reached for the handle.
The engine roared to life and Fred ducked into the doorway of the Bureau of Land Management’s satellite office just as Suzanne shot past. He hurried back to the parking lot to find Olivia, but she’d disappeared again. She hadn’t passed him, and he recognized her car in the lot, so he decided she must have gone inside the bar.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he allowed himself a little smile. He knew he was onto the scent of a secret, and he wouldn’t rest until he learned it.
He stepped inside the Copper Penny and immediately felt as if he’d gone from day into the dead of night. Albán kept the place clean, but to Fred the atmosphere left much to be desired.
As the door creaked shut behind him, Fred paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Neon beer signs glowed from the walls, and candles flickered at each of the tables that were placed around what appeared to be a dance floor. Smoke rose from ashtrays on some of the tables and formed a heavy cloud at ceiling level. But a clear light behind the bar dispelled some of the gloom and drew Fred like a moth to a flame.
Albán leaned against the counter, talking with a customer. A burst of laughter Fred recognized as Webb’s erupted from the back corner near the pool table. He pushed aside his irritation and scanned the room for Olivia. The lunch crowd had thinned out and it was too early for those who stopped in after work, so the bar wasn’t crowded, but he still couldn’t see her. He crossed the room and hoisted himself onto a stool. She must have come in here. Where else could she have gone?
Fred hadn’t been inside the Copper Penny in years, but some things never changed. Someone, perhaps the building’s original owner way back when, had covered the bar with pennies and shellacked them in place. Must have been thousands of them stuck there. He traced his finger in a figure-8 over those closest to him and waited for Albán to finish his conversation.
He didn’t have to wait long. Albán tossed a towel over his shoulder and worked his way down the bar toward him. “We don’t usually see you in here Fred. What’s up?”
It had been a long day and now that he was sitting down, Fred realized he was getting tired. He got right to the point. “Did Olivia Simms just come in here?”
Albán nodded toward an empty seat at the other end of the bar. “A few minutes ago. I guess she went to the ladies’ room or something.”
Fred couldn’t follow her in there, so he bit back his disappointment and said, “I’ll wait.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
Fred shook his head. “Nothing, thanks.”
“I didn’t think so.” Albán half-turned away, then stopped and pointed at Fred. “Hey, you’ve never had my lecsó, have you? You’ve got to try some.” He busied himself with a large pot and returned with a steaming bowl of chunky red-colored soup with something floating at the surface. He placed the bowl in front of Fred and hurried away again, returning with a thick slice of crusty bread and a glass of ic
e water.
He leaned against the counter behind him and folded his arms across his chest. “There. Tell me what you think.”
Fred wasn’t too sure about the soup, but it smelled pretty good, if a bit spicy. He stirred the mixture and took another whiff.
“It’s my mother’s recipe,” Albán said proudly. “One of my biggest sellers.”
If Albán hadn’t been watching so closely, Fred would have pushed it away. But the eagerness in Albán’s eyes forced Fred to lift the spoon to his lips.
Fire erupted in his mouth the second the soup touched his tongue. Tears flooded his eyes, his nose began to run, and he could feel heartburn already. He swallowed quickly and shoved the bread into his mouth. “What the hell’s in that?” he finally managed to ask.
Albán shrugged. “Onions, tomatoes, and yellow peppers. The hot ones. Hungarian paprika. My mother always used the hot variety, not the sweet. And kolbász—Hungarian sausage. It’s great, isn’t it?”
There was a time when Fred might have appreciated the concoction, but his stomach rebelled against anything too spicy these days. He gulped water and prayed for Olivia to come back quickly so he could avoid eating much more. He fished around for a piece of sausage, poured all the broth off the spoon, and took a tentative taste. Still hot, but not terrible.
Albán pulled the towel from his shoulder and wiped the counter. “How’s Doug doing?”
“He’s all right.” Fred filled his mouth with water again and waited for it to cool his tongue. It didn’t help.
“Are the rest of you doing all right? Do you need anything?”
Fred swallowed quickly. “No, we’re doing okay. But thanks.”
“If you do need anything, give me a call.”
Fred thanked him and Albán moved away just as Olivia came around the corner.
When she saw him sitting there, her eyes narrowed and her footsteps faltered. But she recovered nicely. “Well. How ya doin’, Fred?” She patted his shoulder, but didn’t stop to chat as she passed. “Can I get a bowl of that lay-cho Albán? And a beer?” She perched on her stool and dug a cigarette out of her purse.
