Deadly Readings

by Laura Bradford

  It was all the girl apparently needed. Because no sooner had Elise finished talking than her box of popcorn and bottle of water appeared on the countertop. The clerk was certainly efficient if not tactful.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Two fifty.”

  Elise counted out the correct amount of money and handed the cash to the girl. She grabbed the popcorn box and water and turned to go.

  “Don’t forget some napkins. That butter gets pretty gooey.” Elise nodded appreciatively and scooped up a small pile of napkins. Would sticky fingers interfere with a palm reading? She chuckled to herself as she considered the possibility then popped a few fluffy pieces into her mouth. She’d take her chances with sticky fingers.

  It was fun to stroll down the pier alone at night. There were so many interesting faces to look at, amusing game vendors to tease back. But she couldn’t deny the fact that walking the boardwalk was even more fun with Mitch. And a little scarier without him.

  “Want to cook a chicken, miss?”

  Not sure if she’d heard correctly, Elise stopped in her tracks and looked around. A teenage boy motioned her to come over to his booth.

  “What’s this?” Elise asked. Seven different cooking pots spun around in an overlapping, circular motion.

  “Ever played Frog Bog?” the boy asked.

  “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “This is just like that, only instead of smacking your frog onto a lily pad, you smack your chicken into the pot.”

  He held up a brownish colored rubber chicken for Elise to see. Knowing full well that she couldn’t resist a challenge, Elise pulled a dollar out of her purse.

  “One chicken for a dollar. Three chickens for two bucks.”

  “This is really a sick game. You do realize that, don’t you?” Elise joked. She reached into her pocket for another dollar bill.

  She eyed the rubber chicken the teenager handed her with a mixture of amusement and disgust and plopped it down on the felt-covered ramp in front of her. She positioned the scrawny legs underneath the chicken’s body and hit the lever with the mallet. The chicken landed on the floor in front of her.

  “The chickens are a little heavier than the frogs,” the boy said, an amused grin tugging at his mouth.

  “Now you tell me . . .”

  Her second chicken wasn’t much better. The third missed a pot by just a few inches.

  “Want to try again?”

  “Nah, I think I’ll stick with the frogs.” She took a few steps backward as she spoke, eager to get to the first pier before it got any later.

  She felt her back hit something firm behind her. She whirled around and found herself looking into the bewildered face of Mayor Brown.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I forgot where I was for a second and just backed up while I was talking to the guy behind the counter.”

  “Not a problem, Elise.” Mayor Brown motioned to the young man beside him. “Have you met my son, Jacob?”

  She held her hand out to the young man with short brown hair and intense eyes, a younger version of his dad. “Hi, Jacob. I’m Elise Jenkins.”

  “The reporter?”

  The admiration in his eyes surprised her. She knew people read her articles, she just didn’t think they would remember her name because of them. “Wow! I didn’t think anyone really knew me yet.”

  “I want to go into journalism, too, someday, and I read your paper all the time. You’re doing a really nice job. I like your style.”

  “Thanks. That’s good to hear once in a while.”

  “He’s right, Elise, you are a very good writer,” the mayor interjected.

  She could feel her face warming, a sure sign her cheeks were changing color. It was an incredible feeling to realize people not only read what she wrote but enjoyed it too.

  “It was nice to meet you, Jacob. If you ever want to stop by the paper and look around, give me a call. And I’m so sorry for running into you like that, Mayor.”

  “No problem. Have a good evening, Elise.”

  Ten minutes later she finally reached the fortune-teller’s booth. She tossed a few more pieces of popcorn into her mouth and then threw the rest of the box away. Anticipation over having her fortune told made any lingering hunger disappear.

  She walked into the empty waiting room and sat down. The crystals that hung from the ceiling above her head shimmered and sparkled in the muted glow from the moon’s light that peeked through the open doorway. She looked around the room for a few more moments, her gaze stopping on the burn marks. The singed wall made her as uneasy now as the first time she saw it. And not surprisingly, she found her thoughts shifting briefly to Daniel Johnson.

  “Who’s next?” Madame Mariah emerged from behind the red curtain that separated the back room from the waiting area.

  “Hi, Madame Mariah.” She reached her hand out to the psychic and smiled at her. “I wanted to get a reading from you because I’m curious about what you do. And I think it might make a neat story for the paper.”

  The woman’s gaze traveled the whole length of Elise’s body in much the same way it had the first time they met. But this time Elise was comfortable under the apparent scrutiny. She liked Madame Mariah.

  When the woman’s eyes finally reached Elise’s face, she could tell the feeling was mutual.

  “Come on back.” Madame Mariah held the curtain aside for Elise to walk through.

  She stepped into the darkened room and looked around. The dim lighting added to her anticipation.

  “Where do I sit?”

  “Right there.” The woman pointed to a worn red chair beside the tiny round table.

  “What do I do?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I’m a reporter,” Elise answered with a grin.

  “Yes, you are, and a very good one I might add,” Madame Mariah said. “Would you like a palm reading, tarot card reading, or shall we take a peek into my crystal ball?”

  “How much?”

  “For you . . . nothing. This will be a good opportunity for me to show your readers exactly what I do.”

  “Could we try all of the different methods if it doesn’t get too busy in here?”

  “Sure. Let’s start with your palm first,” the fortune-teller said, reaching across the table for Elise’s hand.

  “What exactly will you be able to see when you look at my palm?”

  “I can see things about your career, your goals, your interests. I can see things about your life in general, and I can see into your romantic life as well.”

  “I was hoping you would say that,” Elise said, sheepishly.

  “So you want to look at your Heart Line first?”

  “I want to, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t hear another thing you said after that. So let’s look at my career stuff first.”

  “Head Line it is.” Madame Mariah shined the gooseneck lamp onto Elise’s palm and bent over it closely.

  “You have definitely found your niche in your choice of career. You are being received warmly by the people you deal with in your job. Your writing is going to prove to be a real source of pride for you as you continue to branch out in different directions.”

  “Directions?”

  “I see you writing something in addition to your news articles one day.”

  “I’ve always toyed with the idea of trying my hand at a book,” Elise said in amazement.

  “And you will, but not for a while.”

  Elise nodded her head in acknowledgment and leaned closer so she could hear the fortune-teller’s words more clearly.

  “Shall we take a look at that Heart Line now?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I see a kind of plateau where nothing has been happening in regards to a romantic relationship,” Madame Mariah said. She turned Elise’s palm gently and continued speaking.

  “But I see that changing. You are getting close to someone you have recently met and you will have a special re
lationship.”

  “I was hoping you would say that,” Elise said. “I think I know who you might be referring to.”

  “He will treat you very, very well.” She turned Elise’s palm once again.

  “That’s nice to hear . . .”

  “You two will take a trip to a secluded spot and it will prove to be very eventful,” the woman said in her trademark cryptic fashion.

  “Eventful in a good way or a bad way?”

  “Maybe the crystal ball will shed some more light on that for us.”

  “Is that it for the palm reading?” Elise gently slid her hand out of the fortune-teller’s loosening grip.

  “No.” Once again Madame Mariah reached for Elise’s hand and gripped it gently. “You have one more main line we must look at and that is the Life Line.”

  “Okay.”

  The woman’s sudden gasp of fear sent shivers up and down Elise’s body.

  “What is it?” she asked fearfully. “What do you see?”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Monday, July 5

  8:45 p.m.

  “Aunt Betty, that was the best meat loaf I have had in a long, long time.” Mitch wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin from his lap and sighed. It felt good to be home. He needed a recharging, desperately.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mitch.”

  “Let me do the dishes.”

  “I won’t hear of it. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you for weeks. I’m just going to set them in the sink for now so I can enjoy the rest of your visit.”

  “I’m sorry again for being so late tonight.” He looked at the elderly woman sitting across from him and smiled. Aunt Betty was a grounding force for him. She had stepped into his life without hesitation when Mom died and had been by his side, encouraging him ever since. “Things have been real crazy around the station these past few weeks.”

  He could see the worried expression in her eyes when she looked at him. She had been so careful to avoid any talk of work throughout dinner and it was just what he needed.

  “Would you like some pie? I made your favorite.”

  “Chocolate cream?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You are so good to me, Aunt Betty.” He scooted his chair back a few inches and dropped his hands into his lap. As grateful as he was to her for keeping the dinner conversation light, he needed her advice and encouragement now. But pie could come first.

  He waited as she walked briefly into the kitchen and returned just moments later, a large pie plate in her hands.

  “I haven’t eaten this good since the last time I was here.”

  “You need to find yourself a good woman,” she said, eyeing him curiously.

  “I know, I know.”

  His thoughts went to Elise . . . their time together on the boardwalk, their lunch together the other day, their upcoming date on Wednesday . . .

  “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?”

  “This is so good,” Mitch said, pointing to the pie. He liked Elise Jenkins a lot, but he wasn’t ready to share too much information about her just yet. Especially not with Aunt Betty of all people. She could be such a pit bull on the subject.

  “Don’t you change the subject on me, Mitchell. Who is she?”

  He hadn’t heard her call him Mitchell in years. And just as it had worked when he was a young boy, he found himself answering her question.

  “Her name is Elise Jenkins. She’s the new reporter over at the Ocean Point Weekly.”

  “I want to meet her.”

  “Aunt Betty, I’ve only talked to her a few times myself. I’ve been really busy at work lately,” he said helplessly. He knew his aunt well enough to know she wasn’t going to let the possibility of a girlfriend go. She had never liked being left out of anything.

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s very, very sweet. And very, very pretty.” His thoughts trailed off again.

  “You’re smitten with her, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t really know. We went on the boardwalk together one evening and then to lunch one day last week. Oh, and we sat together at church on Sunday.”

  “Good. She’s a churchgoer.”

  He looked fondly at the woman sitting across the table from him. Aunt Betty had a one-track mind when it came to church and her nephew finding a good woman.

  “She seems to be a really nice person. We’re going to the fireworks together on Wednesday night.”

  “Good . . . good.”

  He smiled to himself as he watched Betty’s eyes sparkle from behind her thick glasses. She was plotting and he knew it.

  “When do I get to meet her?”

  “Aunt Betty, I really haven’t spent much time alone with her myself. Things have been crazy for both of us at work . . . I’m just glad that she was able to overlook my rudeness in the beginning.”

  “Mitchell! Why were you rude to her?”

  “I didn’t mean to be. These murders are really frustrating. I’ve got a lot of people relying on me to solve these cases and bring this lunatic to justice.”

  “I read that each of the victims had consulted a fortune-teller prior to their death,” she said.

  “That’s right.”

  “You wouldn’t catch me anywhere near a fortune-teller.” Mitch looked at his aunt closely, surprised by her comment.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a sin.”

  “What are you talking about?” His mouth went dry, his heart rate quickened as he waited for her to explain.

  “It’s breaking a commandment. When you consult a psychic, you are saying that you believe they can see the future. But as Christians we are taught that God alone knows the future, no one else.” He felt his mouth drop open as the meaning of her words hit him right between the eyes.

  “The first commandment . . .”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh, my God,” Mitch said in horror as he stood up and ran for the telephone in his aunt’s kitchen.

  Chapter Thirty

  Monday, July 5

  9:15 p.m.

  “Elise, I see near tragedy for you. You must be very, very careful when you leave here tonight.”

  She stared at the fortune-teller, too shocked to speak. It had to be a joke, didn’t it? But she knew it wasn’t. The fear in Madame Mariah’s eyes told her it wasn’t. “Is it . . . is it like you saw for the victims?”

  “Yes. Just like that.”

  “Why is this happening?” Her voice cracked and grew hoarse.

  “All I can say is that you are breaking the law and you will face punishment,” Madame Mariah said gravely.

  “What law am I breaking?”

  “A law composed by a higher power.”

  “I’m scared, Madame Mariah.”

  “So am I, Elise. You must go home now, and lock your door. Be very careful.”

  She nodded slowly, unsure of where to go and what to do. She couldn’t call Mitch. He was at his aunt’s house. Dean was at a party and Sam had a writers’ meeting. There was no one.

  Elise breathed in slowly, willed herself to remain calm. It was the only way to think clearly. She squeezed the fortune-teller’s hand and walked out onto the boardwalk.

  The crowds that had milled around earlier were all but gone. Now, when she looked down the boardwalk, all she could see were empty booths that provided a great place for someone to hide behind. She turned and looked at the beach, the foamy waves glowing in the moonlight. It was wide open.

  Elise crossed the boardwalk and walked down the short flight of stairs onto the beach. She hoped that the fresh ocean air would help clear her mind.

  “Breaking the law . . . breaking the law . . . breaking the law . . .”

  Maybe by repeating the fortune-teller’s words over and over, she might be able to make some sense of them.

  “. . . a law composed by a higher power . . .”

  God?

  “Could she mean God?” Elise said aloud, lis
tening to the way the word sounded as it escaped her mouth and disappeared in the sound of the crashing waves.

  Laws composed by a higher power . . .

  “Laws composed by God . . .”

  She slapped her hand over her mouth as the pieces began to fit for the first time. The commandments are God’s law.

  “How am I breaking the commandments by going to see Madame Mariah?” she shouted into the darkness. But no one answered.

  She reached for her cellular phone and dialed information.

  “What town, please?”

  “Ocean Point.”

  “What listing?”

  “St. Theresa’s rectory.”

  “Would you like me to connect you straight through?”

  “Please!”

  The phone rang once and was answered.

  “Good evening, St. Theresa’s.”

  “Father Leahy. This is Elise Jenkins.”

  “Hello, Elise. You sound troubled.”

  “Is it breaking a commandment to see a fortune-teller?”

  “That’s strange. I just got off the phone with someone who asked me that very same question.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, it is, Elise. The first commandment says we shall not have strange Gods before Him. God alone knows the future. By believing in a psychic’s ability to see the future, we are giving him or her a perfection which belongs only to God.”

  “Thank you, Father.” She blinked hard against the stinging tears in her eyes.

  “Are you okay, Elise?”

  “I’ve got to go, Father. Good night.”

  She shut the cellular phone and slipped it back into her pocket. Her mind reeled in a million directions. Each one of the victims had been a member of St. Theresa’s. They had broken the first commandment. She had broken the first commandment.

  “Oh, my God, the first commandment,” she shouted. “All of the victims had their index finger extended as if saying the number one . . . the first commandment . . .”

  Horrified by the thoughts in her head, Elise stopped in her tracks. Snatches of conversation ran through her mind, rewinding and playing at will.