by Ani Gonzalez
Fat chance of that.
Sean grabbed a napkin, used it to grab hold of a greasy slice and handed it to her.
"Here," he said. "I'm going to ask you some questions. I might as well bribe you and see if it gets me better answers."
She took the pizza, aiming a glance at the red pepper flakes. "What if I don't like it spicy?"
He smirked. "Oh, I can tell you like it spicy."
She sighed. He was right. She took a bite. The pizza was warm and gooey and delicious. They ate in silence, giving the pizza the reverent attention it deserved.
Luanne relaxed. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Her paperwork was in order and Sheriff Stickley didn't seem like such a bad guy. Maybe she'd been nervous for no reason.
Maybe she had nothing to be afraid of.
Sean devoured two slices, then leaned back. He hailed the waiter and ordered another beer. Luanne finished her slice and eyed the remaining pizza. She shouldn't have another slice. She really shouldn't.
"So," Sean drawled, as the waiter placed two beers on their table. "What can you tell me about Ponzi schemes?"
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FLAME-haired fortune teller didn't even blink. She grabbed another slice of pizza and bit into it heartily. His question about her less-than-illustrious past had not affected her appetite.
He let the question hang in the air, hoping the extended silence would make her nervous.
His strategy was a resounding failure. Luanne took her time finishing her bite of pizza, set the slice down and shrugged.
"What do you expect me to say?" She raised a brow haughtily. "That they are evil? That they exploit people's trust? That they ruin lives and bank accounts? Count me in for 'all of the above.'"
That fit the file he'd read. "And, yet, you do what you do."
Her chin went up and her eyes flashed. "I don't swindle people. I advise. I counsel. True, my process is a little unorthodox, but people know what they're getting into. I don't charge a lot, and I give good value for money."
He'd definitely struck a nerve. "But what is good value? Escapism? Glamour? Is that why these things appeal to people?"
Another shrug. "Maybe in some cases. Take the Virginia Lottery. The odds of winning are abysmal. Most people only get a couple of days of dreams in exchange for their ticket, and yet no one is talking about sending the ticket sellers to prison. Anyway," she paused and looked him straight in the eye, "I don't peddle in dreams."
He couldn't help it. He liked the way she met his gaze. It was probably just a trick, a fraudster's strategy, but it worked.
"What do you give people, then?"
"Control." She paused for emphasis. "Empowerment."
He considered that. "That's not the answer I expected." He didn't associate control with fortune telling. Surely, divination had more to do with greed and lust. "Don't people always ask if they will get married or come into money?"
"Oh, that's what they ask." She waved such questions away airily. "But that's not what they want to hear. They want to feel like whatever happens, they will be able to manage it. That's what the cards and horoscopes tell them. That they need to be vigilant, but they'll figure things out. Bad things will happen, but they will turn them to their advantage. Good things will come, and they will be able to capitalize on them."
He recalled the horoscope he'd read. There'd been stuff about love and money, but most of it had been about learning things and deriving benefits from such knowledge.
Maybe there was more to this hocus pocus than he'd thought.
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Trust me, people don't want to know their future. Even if you tell them exactly what they should do, they won't do it. All you can do is hint, and give them the tools to handle it themselves."
He recalled Eric's words. Her picks were good. The problem is that the fund didn't actually buy her stocks. He pushed the thought away. He didn't want to go down that rabbit hole.
"But what about the Ponzi scheme?" he asked instead. "That's just about money, right?"
She shook her head, the golden hoops sparkling in the light. "Wrong. That was the genius of Global Trend Investments. Our boss didn't just ask people for money. He got them to bring him other investors. He asked them for investment advice. He made people work. That made them emotionally invested in the fund, which, in turn, caused them to put in more money and to recommend the fund to their friends."
She grabbed one of the pizzeria cards. "It's similar to this. You think Zach is losing money by giving his food away, but you're wrong. He's going to make it all back. The pasta dish is now everyone's favorite entrée. They own it now, and they'll recommend it to all their friends." She put the card back on the table. "In a few weeks, it's going to be the most popular entrée in the menu because the patrons now have a personal interest in the dish."
"And that's what the pyramid scheme does?"
She nodded, looking glum. "Exactly. You don't just put in your money. You care enough to convince your friends and colleagues to put in their money too. It helps if you can make people think that they're helping a good cause. Global Trend used a big charity. It was one of the first investors, and it only put in a little bit of money. The name, however, brought in a whole bunch more."
"That's why they picked this town." He gazed at her with newfound respect. He'd never thought about it this way, but it made sense.
"Yes, except..." her voice trailed off.
"What?"
She frowned. "I don't know. There's just something off about it. The hook should be different."
"Like what?"
"I don't know." She drank her wine. "But I'll figure it out."
He noted her narrowed eyes and the defiant glint in her eye. "You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?"
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "I had a lot of free time."
"I see." He grabbed another slice of pizza and bit into it. He understood what that was like, how you could spend months going over the same scenarios, trying to figure them out. How you could obsess about how something happened a certain way and whether you could have seen it coming.
He knew that very well.
Luanne didn't finish her pizza. She seemed to have lost her appetite. For a second he was tempted to grab her hand and console her somehow. Starting over was hard.
Starting over when your past came after you was even harder.
But he resisted the impulse. He wasn't Luanne's friend. He was a cop. And his job wasn't to comfort her. His job was to keep the town safe.
So he ate his pizza and drank his beer instead.
"You're the local expert on divination and fortunes," he mused. "You've appeared in PRoVE's videos and given talks at the Banshee Creek Library."
Her eyes narrowed. "So? Most of my presentations have to do with the history of fortunetelling. My chat at the library was about the medieval origins of the tarot. There's nothing wrong with that."
"No, but it means people trust you. They rely on your expertise."
She eyed him suspiciously.
"They may come to you, and tell you about the Lucky Ghost, er, opportunity. They may ask you about it."
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"If they do," he said. "You'll let me know, okay?"
Her gaze grew vague. She stared off into space, as if enthralled by the Freddy Kreuger mural behind him. Then she shook her head and frowned, seemingly frustrated. "No one is going to ask me about it."
"Look, you don't have to help me out, but if you don't, a lot of people may lose —"
She waved him into silence. "No, it's not that. I'd tell you about it, of course. It's just that no one is going to ask." She paused, as if confused. "Which is rather strange."
Oh, crap. Was she going to try to pull the fortune-telling goobledidook on him?
"They should tell me about it," she whispered.
He considered pressing her on the subject, but Kat arrived, bearing a pitcher full of sangría. Her husband, Liam Hagen, was right behin
d her.
"Here we go," Kat exclaimed, setting the jar on the table. "How are you guys doing?"
"Great," Sean replied. "The pizza is fantastic. Hey, Liam. How are things?"
"Not so good," Liam eyed his wife warily. "Apparently, I'm getting a fashion makeover."
"Only if I win," Kat replied. "And don't complain. You need it desperately. There's more to life than flannel shirts and jeans."
Liam looked down at his plaid-and-denim ensemble and gave a long-suffering sigh.
The rest of the evening was spent in idle chit-chat and random gossip. Amy Chan was getting a new cook for her restaurant. House Haunters planned to bring in a huge celebrity for its new season and people wondered who that might be. Zak Bagans was a big favorite, but Liam and Kat made a strong argument for Jamie Lee Curtis. The empty space next to the bakery was up for lease and there was much speculation about the new tenant. The town mavens wanted to attract another paranormal-style business, similar to the botánica, but the townsfolk were hoping for an ice cream parlor.
Luanne, however, was silent. Her red hair curled around her sculpted cheekbones, and her gold hoops gleamed, but her expression was unreadable.
"I'm going to head home," she finally said. "I have to update my website and prepare for my lecture."
"We understand," Kat answered, sounding a little tipsy. "The future waits for no one."
They all laughed, and Luanne rolled her eyes and smiled. Sean watched her walk out of the restaurant as he finished his second and last beer. His goal tonight had been to get more information about the mysterious Luanne LaRue.
And, truth to tell, he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for.
"I should go too," he said. "I have an early day tomorrow."
He said his goodbyes and left, thinking about Luanne and her so-called powers.
He felt someone grab his shoulder and he spun around quickly, his cop reflexes kicking in.
"Sorry, Sheriff." Caine, the leader of the local paranormal investigations crew, looked uncharacteristically agitated.
Sean was instantly alert. The local group of ghost hunters—known as Paranormal Research of Virginia Enterprises, or PRoVE—were no strangers to the police. Sean's squads were often called in to PRoVE investigations that went awry. But Caine's concern was unusual. The group was originally a biker gang composed mostly of ex-military and law enforcement types. They were, despite their crazy theories, professional and unflappable.
But tonight Caine was shaken.
"You need to come with me," the PRoVE leader stammered. "There's something...by the bridge."
Sean nodded and followed the burly biker to the door. As he walked out of the pizzeria, he heard Zach announce the winner of the plate-naming contest.
Holly Hagen, Assistant Librarian at the Banshee Creek Library.
CHAPTER FIVE
LUANNE TURNED left on Foxglove Street and sighed. She was almost home.
She couldn't afford a car, but the town was small and her house was right off Main Street, so it wasn't a long walk. She had easy access to the botánica and the other village businesses. Her daily walks were annoying sometimes, but they were good exercise. She'd lost ten pounds since she'd arrived in Banshee Creek, and she'd never been in better shape.
She walked toward her home, a small Craftsman-style bungalow with cheerful yellow siding and white trim. The cedar window boxes were full of flowers and the wood door was flanked by stained-glass sidelights in bright colors. The porch was adorned with ceramic pots filled with pansies and mums. The absentee owners had done all they could to tempt potential tenants into renting their property.
To no avail. Luanne was the only person desperate enough to live in this place.
She opened the door and turned on the light. The interior of the house was as bright and cheery as the exterior. The walls were a light creamy color, the intricate trim was bright white, and the oak wood floors were smooth and glossy. She hung her denim jacket and pashmina scarf on a wooden peg, and headed to the living room.
Which was a mess.
The vintage tufted sofa with the threadbare pink velvet cover and the Persian rug were still in their usual spots, but the floor lamp was on the floor, as were the needlepoint pillows. The pink lampshade lay a couple of feet away, the Queen Anne desk lay on its side, and the matching chair leaned against the wall precariously. The place looked like it had been hit by an F-5 tornado.
Which was not entirely inaccurate. There was a reason no one wanted this house.
She straightened the lamp and placed the shade on top. It was lopsided, but that didn't bother her. The shade had been askew when she'd first toured the house. She returned the desk to its usual spot, then did the same to the chair. Finally, she picked up the pillows and placed them on the sofa.
There, good as new. Or, at least, good as the day she'd moved in.
None of the furniture was hers. It all came with the house. A clause in the rental agreement stated that the landlord strongly advised the renter to avail herself of the furniture in the house, as said landlord was not responsible for damage to items left in the premises.
She opened a closet and took out her laptop computer and business files. She usually left them on the desk, but today she'd put them away in a safe place. She'd known that her resident ghost would have a tantrum tonight.
A poltergeist was no match for a fortune teller.
She opened the computer and sat down. Time to research the Lucky Ghost pyramid scheme.
She found it easily. The scheme had its own website and everything. The site was black and white with red lettering and it used the music from the original Ghostbusters movie. It had a flashing banner that announced "Everybody Wins...Fortune will favor you...Tell Your Friends...The Banshee Creek Lucky Ghost will make your dreams come true!"
She snorted in derision. The comment section was full of participants praising the wonders of the Lucky Ghost and wishing each other good luck. Her heart sank as she read. A woman in West Virginia wanted college money for her son. An elderly man in Florida needed to pay medical bills.
It made her feel sick.
She clicked back and scanned her search results. There was a PRoVE disclaimer stating that the group had nothing to do with the Lucky Ghost site. WPRV, the local radio station, and Haunted Orchard, the cidery on the outskirts of town, had issued similar statements. The Banshee Creek Library had gone further, issuing a stern warning that people shouldn't participate in the scam. The Banshee Creek Sherif's Department also had a warning, as did the Fire & Rescue website.
Too bad her talent wasn't clairvoyance. She couldn't tell who was behind this or what they were planning to do with the money. Divination didn't work that way.
But maybe she could try a different approach.
She grabbed her tote bag and took out her tarot pack. She could do for these victims what she hadn't been able to do for herself when she'd worked on Wall Street.
She couldn't tell her own future.
But she could still help others.
She shuffled the cards, concentrating on her goal. She focused on the elderly man with the medical bills. He lived alone, he had no family left, and he'd invested his nest egg in this venture. He was also a Cancer. She could tell from his Facebook profile.
What would happen to his money?
She took a deep breath and picked a card.
Five of pentacles. Upright.
Isolation. Financial loss. Ruin.
Crap.
The card didn't spell doom. She knew that very well. There was always hope, always a way to turn the lemons into lemon meringue pie. That was something that tarot had taught her.
There was always a way out. Unfortunately, that didn't make the pain go away. She knew that well.
She put away the cards. An ounce of prevention, as they said, was worth a pound of cure. The whole town was banding together to fight the Lucky Ghost scam.
Now Madame Esmeralda was joining the fight.
She opened
up her AstroMasterDeluxe astrology computer program. The monthly subscription was expensive, but it was worth it. The AstroMaster was a technician's dream—no subjectivity, no hocus pocus, just pure numbers. She used the NASA website as well, of course. They had the best raw data. But, still, AstroMaster was the best for number crunching.
This was her favorite part. She honestly liked astrology more than she liked tarot. Tarot was all about intuition, but astrology was math.
And she loved math.
She redid her monthly horoscopes, this time focusing on how each sign was vulnerable to fraud. Some of them were a bit of a stretch, true. Not all star signs were vulnerable—Capricorn, for example, was pretty much scam-proof—but she did her best. Cancer and Libra were a bit tricky. They would face money challenges, but those would not be related to fraud. Cancer, for instance, needed to buy flood insurance pronto. Capricorn, and her own sign, Pisces, were unexpectedly difficult. Romance, romance, romance. Ugh. Who cared about finding a stupid soul mate? She had a pyramid scheme to take down.
Finally, it was past midnight, and she had a draft. It was rough and would need a fair amount of work, but it would do for now. Tomorrow, she'd figure out a way to work in the Lucky Ghost pyramid.
She reviewed her to-do list. She had to finalize the horoscopes, but she also had to work on her lecture. She'd signed up to do a PRoVE video about the history of fortunetelling, and she had to figure out a way to work in some of the most notorious frauds in her profession. That was going to take some research, as well as a new slide deck.
Time for a shower and some sleep. She had a lot of work tomorrow.
She paused, staring at her last two charts, Capricorn and Pisces, a feeling of unease creeping over her. The computer screen was a tangle of lines and vertices, an obscure medley that only the most devoted technician would be able to unravel. Her gaze traveled across the screen, pausing here and there, instinctively looking for a pattern. Venus was freaking everywhere. That usually meant romance, but it could also mean glamour or illusion. The goddess of love was also, in many cultures, the goddess of money and luxury, and, in either incarnation, she could be fickle and cruel. Sometimes she was also the goddess of death.
