Stolen Hearts

by Jane Tesh

  “How long are you going to carry this around?”

  “As long as I want, okay?” I said. “Back off.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long while. I thought he was going to drop the subject. Then he said, “Lindsey has something to say to you.”

  Hearing her name made me grip the steering wheel. “Damn it, Camden.”

  “You need to hear it.”

  I wasn’t sure I could unclench my teeth. “No.”

  Another long look from Camden. I put my head down on the steering wheel and steadily pushed her image from my mind.

  With a creak the back doors opened, letting in a rush of hot air and Kary, who apologized for keeping us.

  “You didn’t fall asleep, did you, David?”

  I straightened, keeping my gaze forward. “I’m wide awake,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

  ***

  At the house, we had a quiet lunch. Afterwards, Kary sat down in the island with her laptop to start her research, Camden went upstairs to take a nap, and I went to work.

  Time to quit brooding. I wanted to find Pamela’s locket and Nick’s watch and get that out of the way so I could concentrate on Laura and Ashford. These couples were getting annoying.

  I met Lily on the porch, wearing what looked like a bridesmaid’s dress of light blue with a little half jacket and a fisherman’s hat. Her hair poked out like a dandelion gone to seed. She had another box of crystals.

  “Sorry, Lily, Camden’s taking a nap. You want to leave those with me?”

  She handed me the box. “All right. I thought of someone else you might ask about lockets. Mama Irene. She’s very good with the Tarot.”

  “Tarot cards, you mean?”

  “Plus she makes jewelry. She might have a lead for you.”

  “Do you have her address?”

  Following Lily’s directions, I found Mama Irene’s house, a very normal-looking white split-level. A stunning young woman answered the door, her black hair a cloud of smoky curls, her mouth a perfect pout. She was wearing a satiny purple blouse and black slacks.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but I asked anyway. “Uh, Mama Irene?”

  “No, I’m Ivy,” she said. “Mama’s not here. Did you want a reading?”

  “No, thanks. When will she be back?”

  Ivy blinked her big dark eyes. “Oh, please, come in. I need the practice. I’ll do you for free.”

  How could I resist such an offer? “I really don’t believe in fortune-telling.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. Come in.”

  I expected the inside of the house to be dark and smoky, all gypsy caravan, with beaded curtains and weird dried things hanging from the ceiling, but it was Early American, a cheerful orange and brown. The only difference was a small round table covered with a red velvet cloth in the middle of the living room. Ivy pulled two large cushions from a chair and put them on the floor.

  “Have a seat.”

  She sat down on the other cushion and took out a pack of large pink cards. She started to shuffle the cards and paused. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “David Randall.”

  She focused on me like a camera lens. “Okay, David, we need to choose a significator for you. I’m thinking the King of Swords.”

  “Fine by me.”

  She searched the deck for a picture of a dark serious-looking king holding a large silver sword. She put the card on the table.

  “David, I want you to shuffle the cards three times, all the while thinking of the question you want answered.”

  After I shuffled the cards, Ivy had me cut them into three piles. Then she stacked them back up, laid six of them in a cross-shaped pattern and four more in a line to the right of the pattern. She was practically bouncing on her cushion.

  “This is so exciting. I hardly ever get a chance to try this out on anyone.”

  “Glad I stopped by.”

  “Okay, are you ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Remember, sometimes you have to interpret what the cards are telling you. It isn’t always clear at first.” She picked up the first card. “This covers him, the general atmosphere of the question asked. Four of Pentacles. One possessive of material things, inheritance, gifts.”

  I hadn’t really thought of a question. I’d just been humoring her, but the locket and watch were gifts, all right. Maybe these little pieces of colored paper were going to tell me something, after all.

  Ivy picked up the second card. “This crosses him, for good or evil. The Queen of Swords, a sad woman.”

  Laura. Or possibly Melanie. Or Ellin.

  “This crowns him. Ace of Rods, a time of beginning, marriage, birth, enterprise, creation. This is below him: Knight of Rods, reversed. Conflict, division in emotional or business life. This is behind him: Ace of Pentacles, reversed, the evil side of wealth. This is before him: The Hanged Man.”

  “That doesn’t look too good.”

  “It isn’t a bad card,” she said. “It means spirituality, self-sacrifice.”

  I could think only of losing Kary. If that wasn’t self-sacrifice, and if I didn’t feel like hanging myself, then I didn’t know what else it could be.

  Ivy moved to the line of four cards and turned over the first one. It showed a man carrying seven big sticks. “This card represents your attitude. The Seven of Rods: ultimate victor, courage, persistence.”

  “You bet.”

  She turned over the second card. “This card is the environment surrounding the question. Page of Rods, reversed. Hmmm, bad news, indecision, instability.”

  Got that one, all right.

  “Now to your hopes and fears.” The third card showed an odd-looking man in fancy robes. “The Hierophant. This means a spiritual nature and a marriage or alliance of some kind. Is there someone special in your life? This is a very good card.”

  “Let’s see what the last one says.”

  She turned over card number four. “This is the outcome: Six of Swords. A journey by water. Action toward resolution of difficulties.” She sat back, looking pleased with herself. “A very good reading. Did it answer your question?”

  “Let’s see. If I get past the bad woman and carry some big sticks across the water, I’ll be able to marry the girl of my dreams. Otherwise, I have to hang myself.”

  For a moment, Ivy looked exactly like Lily, that same big-eyed look of disbelief, but then she smiled. “Well, everything is open to interpretation, but I’d say the outcome is going to be pretty good.” She pointed to the Seven of Rods. “You’ve got the courage and persistence to see it through.”

  “I still don’t know where the missing watch is.”

  “Oh, but you’ll find it.” She stretched her fingers. “I didn’t have to look in the book once. Want a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  She went into the kitchen. I looked at the brightly-colored pictures spread out on the red cloth. Journey by water, my ass. Where was the mysterious dark-haired stranger? The promise of long life?

  Ivy came back carrying a tray with two glasses of lemonade and some oddly shaped cookies. “Mama Irene made these. I know they look funny, but they taste good. Do you like peanut butter?”

  “My favorite.” I took a bite. “Very good.”

  She sat down on her cushion. “So you’ve lost your watch? That’s too bad.”

  “I’m looking for a watch and a locket.”

  Ivy frowned at the cards. “Was that your question?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I can’t see any pattern here for lost objects.”

  “Maybe they fell in the lake.” At her frown, I pointed to the last card. “Journey by water.”

  “Oh, that’s for you.”

  “A
cruise in my future?”

  “It’s possible.” She chewed thoughtfully on that luscious lower lip. “I haven’t seen that card come up very often.”

  “You did a very good job. Sure I don’t owe you anything?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve been studying with Mama Irene for about six months now, and I really haven’t had the chance to read many strangers. I’ve already gone through all my friends and family—those who’d let me, that is. Some people just aren’t believers, no matter how many times the answer stares them right in the face.”

  I was staring right into her lovely little face and almost choked on my cookie.

  Ivy.

  She pounded me on the back. “Take a drink, quick.”

  I gulped some lemonade and caught my breath. “I think I know where the watch is.”

  “Well, of course you do. I gave you a very good reading.”

  “Better than you know.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Death and the Lady”

  I drove to the Vincent house, parked the Fury, and started my search around the house. Pamela had asked Nick to pull the ivy out of her flowerbed, and he’d done a thorough job. The beds were clean and ready to plant. So where had he tossed the unwanted ivy? I found a tangle of leaves and vines near the edge of the forest and after rooting through, saw a gleam of silver, and pulled out the watch.

  When I got back to the house, Nick was on the porch. “I saw your car.”

  I held up the watch. “And it’s still ticking.”

  The relief that swept over his face surprised me. I hadn’t realized how deeply the loss of the watch had disturbed him.

  “You found it!”

  I handed it to him. “It was in the discarded ivy.”

  “I never thought of that. When I was pulling at all the vines, it must have slipped off.” He put his hand over his eyes the way I’d seen Camden do to clear his vision. “Thank God.”

  Pamela came out onto the porch. “What’s all the excitement?”

  “David found my watch.”

  “How wonderful! Where was it?”

  Nick put the watch on. “In the pile of ivy I pulled out of your flowerbed. I don’t know why I didn’t think to look there.”

  Pamela beamed at me. “David, how can I thank you?”

  “No thanks yet,” I said. “I haven’t found your locket.”

  Pamela shook her head. “Don’t worry about my locket. Finding Nick’s watch means a great deal more to me. What gave you the idea to look in the ivy?”

  “Oh, I had a Tarot reading. Led me right to the watch.”

  She laughed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “My reader was a lovely young woman named Ivy.”

  “Ivy! Well, aren’t you clever?”

  I could’ve basked in Pamela’s smile all day, but I had other mysteries to solve. She wrote me a check, and she and Nick thanked me again. I said good-by and got into the Fury.

  ***

  Next, I planned to interview some of Laura’s old acquaintances at the Shady Oaks Rest Home, stop by Lassiter’s to give him the notebook and recording, and then head back to the college to see what else Tate Thomas could tell me.

  That’s what I planned. That’s not what happened.

  Shady Oaks was a typical rest home, a long, low brick building surrounded by a fence. A few of the residents were sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch. One smiled and waved as I went in.

  The woman at the desk looked up from her computer. “May I help you?”

  “I’m David Randall. I called earlier about visiting a Mrs. Amelia Barnes and Mrs. Modene Fiddler.”

  She checked a list on her calendar. “They’re in the parlor. Just go straight. It’s the first room on your left.”

  “Thanks.”

  The parlor was a sunny room with lots of comfortable chairs. A TV blared a talk show from one corner; two men dozed over a checker game in another. Faced with about a dozen elderly women, all of whom stared at me avidly, I cleared my throat.

  “Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Fiddler?”

  A spry-looking woman in a flowered dress beckoned. “Over here, dear. I’m Amelia Barnes.” She pointed to a wizened little woman in a wheelchair next to her. “This here’s Modene Fiddler.” She gave the wheelchair a kick. “Modene! That man’s here about Laura Gentry.”

  Modene gave a start and opened tiny blue eyes as clear as the October sky. “Hello, Sweetie.”

  I pulled a chair over and sat down. “I’m glad to meet you both. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “Oh, no. We should thank you for letting us see you,” Amelia Barnes said. “You are one handsome man.”

  Modene put one tiny claw on my knee. “I could go for you.”

  Amelia Barnes took Modene’s hand off my knee. “What do you need to know?”

  “Anything you can tell me about Laura Gentry and John Burrows Ashford.”

  “I never knew John Ashford, but Laura and I went to school together. She was a mighty pretty girl, but way too flighty for most of the boys.”

  “Do you know if she wrote music? I’m trying to find proof that she’s the author of some folk songs.”

  “She used to be a good friend. Then she met Ashford and he was all she ever wanted to talk about. I found that tiresome.”

  I felt Modene’s little hand creep back onto my knee. I gave it a pat and she beamed.

  “We’re a very musical family, too,” she said. “You should talk to my sister, Lodene.”

  “Is she here?”

  “Oh, my, no, she lives at home. You go out past the old Hendricks place—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Modene, he don’t know the old Hendricks place.”

  “Well, it’s a big white house with a pig out front pulling a wheelbarrow.”

  “That makes even less sense.”

  “I didn’t put it there. The people that bought the house must think it’s pretty. I don’t know how they got it to pull a wheelbarrow.”

  Amelia sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not a real pig.”

  I tried to get the conversation back on track. “Mrs. Fiddler, would your sister know anything about Laura Gentry’s music?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to ask her.”

  “Mrs. Barnes, did Laura ever talk to you about Ashford’s songs? Did she ever show you any of the music?”

  “No, lord, all she wanted to talk about was how grand he was and wasn’t she lucky to have snagged such a man. Never said a word to me about songs. Of course, we all knew Ashford wrote songs. He thought he was something, he did.”

  “What do you know about her death?”

  “Fell in the river and drowned. Poor thing. I think Ashford pushed her. He was probably tired of her by then. He fancied himself quite the ladies’ man.”

  “But there isn’t any real proof he had anything to do with her death?”

  She sighed again and seemed to sink back. “That was a long time ago.”

  Modene Fiddler’s blue eyes shone like little jewels. “Turn right at the second mailbox, the one that’s setting crookwards. Go past True Vine Baptist Church. It’s the gray house setting back from the road. Lodene will know. Or ask Robert.”

  “Robert’s been dead for twenty-five years,” Amelia said.

  “Then why’d he come see me last Sunday?”

  “That was your nephew.”

  A smiling young woman in a pink smock came and announced lunchtime. I thanked Amelia Barnes and Modene Fiddler.

  Modene held onto my arm. “Give me a kiss.”

  I kissed her soft wrinkled cheek, and she laughed.

  “You’re a devil,” she said.

  Following Modene’s directions, I drove out into the countryside past some tr
uly ugly mobile homes. I found the pig pulling the wheelbarrow, a remarkably grotesque work of yard art. I passed True Vine Baptist and found Lodene Fiddler’s house. Expecting a tilted shack with major appliances rusting on the front porch, I was surprised to drive up to a small neat house framed by flower gardens. A short furry dog barked excitedly as I went up the porch steps, but was too timid to approach. A woman in her seventies opened the door. She wasn’t wizened yet, but she was going to be. Her eyes were the same October sky blue.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Lodene Fiddler? My name’s David Randall. I was just speaking with your sister Modene at Shady Oaks. She said you might be able to help me.”

  “Help you with what?”

  “I’m trying to find out all I can about Laura Gentry and John Burrows Ashford.”

  “What for?”

  “Laura’s great-granddaughter hired me to find out if Laura wrote any of the songs in Patchwork Melodies.”

  “Why should that matter now?”

  “There’s a great deal of money involved.”

  Lodene Fiddler grimaced. “Ain’t that always the way? None of it coming to me, I’ll bet.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I don’t know nothing that could help you, so if you’ll excuse me.”

  She started to close the door when I heard an odd metallic plonking sound, like someone hammering on piano strings.

  “That’s a dulcimer, isn’t it?”

  “Evelene’s practicing. Told her it was a waste of time. Everybody’s all booked for the festival.”

  “I know someone who’s looking for a dulcimer player.”

  She scowled at me. “God’s truth?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She opened the door. “Well, come in and talk to her. See if she’s interested.”

  Evelene Fiddler was a surprisingly punk young woman with spiky pink hair, a nose ring, a tattered yellow tee shirt hanging high over baggy jeans, and a slash of magenta lipstick. Her dark eyes, glazed with some shiny green stuff, gave me the once-over.

  “Who’s this?”

  Lodene said, “This here’s Mister Randall, come asking about the Gentry family. Says he knows a fella needs a dulcimer player.”

  Evelene’s sullen demeanor changed. “Really? What’s the name of the group? Would they let me sit in? I know all the standards and can fake the rest.”