Death in the Cards

by Sharon Short

  “You mean after you picked him up at the psychic fair,” Sally corrected.

  “I went to the psychic fair for some advice,” Cherry sniffed. “Max just happened to be the psychic I saw last before the fair ended.”

  “That was at what, 10:00 P.M.?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Why?”

  “Well, Owen and I stumbled across Ginny’s body at about 8:15 last night. She should have been at the psychic fair. Did you pick up any gossip about why she left?”

  Cherry looked virtuous. “I was there for advice. And I don’t gossip.” Sally snorted. I gave her a warning look.

  “Cherry,” I said, “Ginny was murdered. You do know that Max and Ginny were lovers not that long ago, right?”

  Cherry gasped. “You’re not saying that Maxy—”

  Sally chortled. “Maxy? You’ve nicknamed that cowboy Maxy?”

  “I’m just saying that Ginny was shot through the left side of her head.” I shuddered, remembering. “So it would be real helpful if you could remember, say, seeing Ginny leave and someone—”

  “—like Dru Purcell,” Sally interjected.

  “—like anyone,” I said, trying to be fair, and thinking of all the psychics who had reason to hate Ginny, “following out after her. Preferably mad. Knowing what happened at the psychic fair before Ginny left might help us figure out what happened to her after she left, maybe even give us a clue about her murder.”

  Cherry forked up some carrot-raisin salad and chewed, looking thoughtful. “Well, I got there right at five, when the psychic fair opened—”

  “You hung out at a psychic fair for five hours, just to pick up Max?” Sally groaned. “You’ve got it worse than I thought.”

  Cherry kept right on talking as if Sally hadn’t spoken. “—because I’m seeking life wisdom and advice. The place was pretty crowded. I saw a lot of people I didn’t know but also quite a few people I did know. A few of them surprised me.” Cherry looked thoughtful again. “You know, I think I could really go for some of those steamed pork dumplings. With the soy sauce.”

  I pushed back a sigh. Cherry was the center of attention and had the information I wanted. “Sally, could you please go get Cherry some of those steamed pork dumplings?”

  “With the soy sauce,” Cherry added, smiling beatifically.

  Sally grunted, but got up and headed for the buffet.

  “So who’d you see there that surprised you?”

  “Missy Purcell, for one. Oh, she was passing out Bible tracts, but I could tell she was real curious about what was going on. She kept staring at Ginny, too. She even had a Tarot reading at Skylar’s table, I think so she could glare at Ginny. I overheard her witnessing to Skylar, to try to make it look like that’s why she was really there, but I also saw from her facial expression that she was really taking in everything Skylar was saying.” Sally chuckled. “When she started witnessing loudly, so everyone could hear, Skylar pointed to the cross she wears, but Missy kept going on. Until Skylar’s mom appeared from out of nowhere and started giving Missy grief. Then Missy left, and Karen stayed behind the table with Skylar.

  “The other big surprise appearance—well, the mayor was there and several business owners who’d said it would be so awful if the LeFevers opened their bookshop, all trying to act like they were just there to, you know, observe. Anyway, I was surprised to see Maureen Crowley there. I thought she was spending all of her time down at Children’s Hospital in Cincinnati?”

  I frowned. “I thought so, too.”

  Sally came back with a heaping plate of steamed pork dumplings for Cherry, an egg roll for herself, and a bowl of banana pudding—the kind made with vanilla wafers—for me. I was full of crab Rangoons. So what. I picked up a spoon (Suzy Fu’s is strictly a BYOC—bring your own chopsticks—kind of place) and dug in.

  “What about Maureen Crowley?” Sally asked.

  “She was at the psychic fair last night,” Cherry said, around a mouthful of steamed pork dumpling. “And Josie and I thought she was spending most all of her time down at Children’s in Cinci.”

  “She didn’t want to come to the chili-spaghetti fundraiser last weekend,” I said. “But she did put in an appearance.”

  “Yeah. For about half an hour,” Sally said. But all the sadness in her voice was for Maureen. I knew she was thinking about how awful she’d feel if Harry, Barry, or Larry became ill. And I knew all too well how I felt, knowing Guy might be ill. “Word that night was that Ricky’s treatment isn’t going nearly as well as the Crowleys had hoped.”

  “So why would she, a week later, take time away from her son to go to the psychic fair?” I mused. It seemed beside the point of trying to figure out clues about Ginny Proffitt’s murder, but I was still curious.

  “She wanted to see Ginny Proffitt,” Cherry said. “In fact, she cut into the front of the line. Several women at the front—not folks from around Paradise—were pretty unhappy about it. Maureen shouted at them to shut up, that she had a bigger need than them.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Maureen. Not the psychic fair or the shouting,” Sally said.

  “Well, Ginny must have said something, because they settled down. Then Ginny and Maureen went off for a few minutes behind the curtained area. When they came back out, Maureen was a lot calmer, but by then Hugh Crowley was there wanting her to come home with him. I didn’t hear what was said, but it’s a good bet she wanted to stay and he wanted her to go, because when he took her by the arm, she pulled away from him. He looked unhappy, and kept looking nervously at Ginny. Finally, Ginny leaned forward and whispered something to Maureen, and Maureen left quietly with Hugh, but neither of them looked very happy.”

  “You saw all this, just standing around at the psychic fair?” Sally said.

  “I wasn’t just standing around,” Cherry said, sounding a bit miffed. “I was in line to see Ginny Proffitt.”

  “She had a line?” I said.

  “And you were waiting in it?” Sally said.

  Cherry is notoriously impatient about line waiting. She’s been known to go through the quickie checkout twice with eight items instead of going through the regular checkout with sixteen items just to save five minutes.

  “Ginny Proffitt has—well, had—quite a great reputation as a seer,” said Cherry, sounding even more miffed. Or at least, a little defensive. “I talked to one lady who lives in Pennsylvania and goes to see Ginny any chance she gets. Went all the way to Oregon once at a psychic fair there to see her. And I met some other folks from Michigan and Indiana and Tennessee. Ginny is a big draw because she’s quite insightful. The lady from Pennsylvania said Ginny kind of goes into a half-trance as she stares into the crystal ball and then she gives the most amazing advice and predictions.”

  “So stuff appears in the crystal ball? Like flying monkeys?” Sally snorted with laughter, until I kicked her under the table.

  Cherry rolled her eyes. “Gazing into the crystal ball’s purity helped her clear her mind of distractions, then focus on the energy of the person she was reading.”

  “You get that out of some crystal ball 101 textbook?” Sally said. I kicked Sally again. This time Sally kicked back. Hard. I winced, and then ate the last bite of my banana pudding. It’s comfort food, true, but my shin still throbbed.

  “The lady from Pennsylvania told me,” Cherry said.

  “Please tell me you asked Ginny what the conference between her and Maureen was all about.”

  “That would be confidential. Just like between a doctor and patient. Or pastor and parishioner,” Cherry said.

  “C’mon, Cherry, Ginny has been murdered.”

  Sally’s eyes widened. “You think Maureen killed Ginny over something she said?”

  “Besides, I thought your theory was that Ginny’s meeting with Dru Purcell had something to do with her death.”

  It was my turn to eye roll, but, virtuously, I resisted. “No. I think anything Ginny said or did”—like leave an ancient suitcase of dirty ol
d overalls at my laundromat with a cryptic message on a handkerchief, but I hadn’t shared that tidbit of info with them just yet—“might give us some clue about why she was killed.”

  “Us?” Cherry asked.

  “We’re investigating this death now?” Sally asked.

  “Let’s not call it investigating. I think, as concerned citizens, we could do a bit of poking around,” I said. I could use the distraction until the coming Monday, when I’d take Guy to the doctor. Otherwise, I’d spend my time fretting about him. “If we turn up anything that might be useful, we can let Chief Worthy know. Unless you’re not interested?”

  “I’m in,” Cherry said quickly.

  “Me, too,” said Sally. Then she laughed. Cherry and I gave her a look. “Sorry,” she said. “Ginny’s murder isn’t funny, but I just remembered something about Josie.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “Back in our junior high Sunday School class. Remember, we had Mrs. Trimbach. We had to draw each other’s names and say what spiritual gift we thought the person had. So we said things about each other like, the gift of prayer, or the gift of witnessing, you know, stuff that sounded like what Mrs. Trimbach would want to hear,” Sally said. “But we had an odd number of kids, so Mrs. Trimbach had to participate. She pulled Josie’s name. She looked stumped, then finally stuttered out—‘Josie has the gift of questioning!’ “

  Cherry laughed.

  I considered for a moment. “Yeah, I remember now. At the time, I felt horrible. The gift of questioning? That’s not in the Bible, I recollect thinking. Now that sounds pretty good.” I turned the idea over in my mind, then turned the phrase over again on my tongue, “The gift of questioning. Hmm. I like that.”

  Cherry looked at me. “You sure that’s a spiritual gift?”

  I shrugged. “One spirit, many gifts. Why not?” Plus, the gift of questioning sounded better than Nosey Josie.

  “All right,” I said, in the assured manner befitting my gift. “We know what we have to do. I’ll get Winnie and Owen to help, too.”

  “Speaking of Owen—” Sally started.

  “We weren’t,” I cut her off. “We were seeing if Cherry had asked Ginny about her conversation with Maureen.”

  Cherry shook her head, and her high-piled puff of blond swayed a little. “Right in the middle of her consultation with the lady from Pennsylvania, Ginny stood up abruptly and left.”

  “Just—left?”

  “The Pennsylvania lady was sitting at Ginny’s table. I was standing several feet back—my turn would have been next—so I couldn’t hear what Ginny was saying. Damon LeFever had come by Ginny’s table several times to make sure the line stayed back so Ginny and the current client would have privacy. But I could see Ginny’s face. She had a serene expression as she stared into the ball, like a trance. Then all of a sudden, her face scrunched up something awful, as if she’d seen something just horrifying.”

  “But I thought you said she didn’t see images in the ball?” Sally protested.

  “Well, all I can tell you is that her face scrunched up, she went pale, and she screamed, ‘Oh my God—no! No!’ The poor Pennsylvania lady just about fell out of her chair.”

  Sally laughed. I bit my lip. Cherry frowned. “It’s not funny. The poor lady was really scared. But then Ginny said—loudly enough that several of us could hear her—‘no, dear, you’ll be fine and so will Henry—’”

  “Who’s Henry?” Sally asked.

  “Just someone the Pennsylvania lady was concerned about, I guess. Anyway, Ginny said ’no, dear, you’ll be fine and so will Henry, but I’ve flashed on something I must stop right away.’ Then she grabbed Skylar’s arm, taking her away from her client, too. They disappeared for about fifteen minutes in the curtained area. Then they came back out. Skylar went to her table—her client had left by then—and waited for someone else to come along. No lines for her table. And Karen looked plenty mad.”

  Mad enough to kill? I wondered.

  “Then Ginny looked into her ball, gasped again, grabbed it, and walked out with it, still wearing her gold lamé robe. Several people in her line started calling to her, but she didn’t respond—just walked out.”

  “She ignored their calls?” I asked.

  “She didn’t even hear them. She seemed upset.”

  “Like she’d seen her own death, maybe,” Sally said in a low, thoughtful voice. We both stared at her for a moment. She shrugged, and then picked up a dumpling from Cherry’s plate and popped it in her mouth.

  We were all silent for a moment.

  Then Cherry said, “Now what?”

  I finally told them about the suitcase. “I’ll take that to Chief Worthy when we’re back in town,” I said. “Then I’ll ask Winnie to see what she can dig up about Ginny’s background. She could use the distraction from her bookmobile woes.” Just like I needed distraction.

  “We can see what more we can learn from the other psychics,” Cherry said. “I’ll talk to Max.”

  “Like that’s going to be tough duty for you,” Sally said.

  “It seems lots of the psychics didn’t like Ginny,” I added. “We need to find out if any of them left to take a break near the time Ginny left.”

  “I’ll ask Max,” Cherry repeated. Her voice had a dreamy quality to it.

  “You ought to be more careful with your heart,” I said.

  “How’s Owen?” Sally asked pointedly. “I’m surprised he wasn’t at the hospital—”

  “I called him. He wasn’t home. I left a message. I’m sure he’ll call me as soon as he hears it,” I said tightly.

  Sally opened her mouth to speak, but thank goodness Suzy Fu herself came over before she could. Yes, I’ve been to Suzy Fu’s often enough that she knows me. I filled her in on Guy.

  “Oh, my sweetie, I’m so sorry!” Suzy said. She gazed sadly at my plate of crab Rangoons. “I get you box. You need those. Comfort food.” Suzy hurried off to get the box.

  It’s nice to know even rule makers sometimes break the rules for a friend. Suzy came back quickly with a box and three fortune cookies.

  “Aren’t these great?” Cherry said, plucking up a cookie. “I love reading them. I read my horoscope every day, you know.”

  “Me, too,” Sally said, grabbing her own cookie. “And sometimes, when I’m really worried, I get out my old Magic 8 ball. Remember when those were the rage?”

  “You still have yours?” Cherry asked, awe in her voice.

  “Yeah,” Sally said. “I love the simple answers. No. Yes.”

  “Reply hazy, try again later,” I interjected, stunned by my friends. They didn’t really think they were getting guidance from horoscopes and Magic 8-Balls, did they? I wondered, even as I snagged the last fortune cookie.

  I grinned at myself as I pulled off the wrapper and cracked open the cookie. Sucker, I called myself. But I still felt a thrill of anticipation as I pulled out the white slip of paper.

  “‘Do not confuse blessings for chaos,’” Sally read. “Wow. Whoever wrote this must have been by my trailer,” she said, but with a smile. I knew she was thinking of her own little blessings, Harry, Barry, and Larry.

  “Ooh, ooh,” squealed Cherry. “Listen to mine—‘Love will find you when you least expect it.’”

  “But you always expect it,” Sally said, “And what Max expects from you ain’t exactly love . . .”

  While Sally and Cherry bickered, I read my fortune. “Where you look determines what you find.”

  I laughed and tossed the fortune down on the table, along with a generous tip for Suzy to more than cover my rule-breaking take-out box of Rangoons.

  How was I to know that my fortune cookie would prove to be truly prophetic?

  11

  A traffic jam in Paradise usually means two drivers have stopped their cars or trucks in the middle of a street and rolled down their windows to have a chat, maybe to double check the Moose Lodge’s bingo time. Or the deadline for entering baked goods at the county
fair. Such traffic jams are easily cleared up with a tap of the horn and last at most three minutes. Even when all three of Paradise’s traffic lights go out, traffic might slow, but it doesn’t jam.

  Today, traffic was stopped on the way into Paradise. But on the two-lane road, there was no traffic coming out of town.

  “You reckon this is all from people going to the psychic fair?” Cherry asked, her tone incredulous. She’d ridden back with me because her salon is right next door to my laundromat, and the Bar-None was on the north outskirts of town. It was a quarter to three o’clock as we sat in the traffic jam. The Red Horse Motel was on the south outskirt of town, so anyone coming down from Columbus would pass through town to get to the motel and the psychic fair.

  “How crowded was it last night?”

  “Not crowded enough to support a traffic jam,” Cherry said.

  “Maybe psychic fairs draw their biggest crowds on Saturday afternoons?”

  “But no one’s coming up the road away from Paradise,” Cherry said. “That’s definitely unusual.”

  True. Most Saturdays, while folks from the big cities of Cincinnati and Columbus and Dayton venture into Paradise to browse through old stuff at the antique shops, Paradisites leave to go to Cincinnati and Columbus and Dayton to browse through new stuff at the shopping malls. (Well, some Paradisites go fishing and boating, too, down at Licking Creek Lake.) You always want what’s not in your own backyard, my Aunt Clara always said.

  But there wasn’t a bit of traffic coming out of Paradise.

  A few miles later, we saw why. The main road into town, right by Elroy’s Gas Station & Body Shop, was blocked off, and Officer Dalton Hayes was directing traffic to detour to the right down Plum Street.

  I rolled down the van window and hollered at Officer Hayes. “Hey, Dalton. What’s going on?”

  Dalton walked over and poked his head in my window. “Oh, hey, Josie. Cherry.” He stared past me and gave Cherry a shy smile. Dalton’s long had a crush on Cherry, but she’s never done more than toy with the fact of his attraction. Which she did that afternoon by giving him a full-wattage grin and leaning so far toward him—which also meant into me—that he had a full view down her blouse if he wanted it. Her left boob squished into my shoulder. Dalton blushed. I elbowed Cherry’s tummy. She winced, but moved back and kept grinning at Dalton. Cherry never has been one to let major hots for, say, a psychic named Max, get in the way of her flirtatiousness.