by Paula Lester
Paige bit her lip to keep from barking out a laugh. Gypsy didn’t look like she was making any kind of living.
“I’ll tell your fortune. You can pay me fifteen dollars. Then I might just let you follow Razor to Old Pops’ tent. He likes to visit the cat that lives over there.”
Was the woman for real? Paige glanced at Lucy, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Paige shrugged. The worst that could happen would be she’d be out fifteen dollars and they wouldn’t see Pops’ tent. But Gypsy probably needed the money more than Paige did anyway. Besides, she had to admit she was the teensiest, tiniest bit curious. Even a witch wants to know her fortune.
Gypsy smiled, and it was evident there were a couple missing teeth in the woman’s mouth.
Paige wished she’d worn something cooler, but there was air conditioning at the bookstore. She hadn’t expected to be outdoors sweating.
Gypsy rose from the picnic table. “Let me see your hand,” she said, reaching out. As the older woman bent over her palm, studying it closely, Paige watched sweat beading on Gypsy’s forehead and prayed it wouldn’t drip on her.
Gypsy twisted Paige’s hand a little to get a better look at another area. Then she stepped back, crossed her arms, and looked at Paige with raised eyebrows. “That’s a very interesting story,” she said. Then she loudly clucked her tongue, which made Razor’s head pop up. “Very interesting,” she repeated.
Paige knew the woman probably said that to everyone whose palm she looked at. Still, she found herself super curious about what Gypsy would say next.
“You’ll meet a tall, dark stranger.”
Paige really had to fight her own muscles to keep from rolling her eyes. Seriously, how could the woman keep a straight face saying that? Paige reached into her purse. If Gypsy was going to simply spout clichés, she might as well just take the money so they could find Pops’ tent and get out of the heat faster.
“He’ll bring you big trouble,” the fortune teller continued.
“Yeah, what guy doesn’t?” Paige mumbled, and Lucy snorted.
“But he’ll also save you from almost certain death.”
Paige’s head snapped up. Gypsy met her gaze with a strong, even one of her own. She didn’t appear at all like a person who was making up lines and feeding them to an unwitting customer. She actually looked like she believed what she said.
Paige chuckled a touch nervously and glanced at Lucy to see what she thought of that last proclamation. The baker looked a little pale when she really should be red from the hot day.
“Um. Okay. Well. Anything else?” Paige stammered.
Gypsy shook her head, her face a mask of calm and her arms still crossed.
Paige felt creeped out. She dug in her purse more and finally found three five-dollar bills, which she held out toward Gypsy. The woman moved forward, grabbed the money, and stuffed it into the neck of her blouse. Then she turned slightly away from Paige, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled. Paige brought a hand to her ear and leaned away. “Sorry,” Gypsy said. “He’s a little deaf.” Razor jumped to his feet and trotted over to his master, who scratched his neck. “Why don’t you go visit Lobo? These women are going to follow you over there.”
Paige felt another wave of surreal uneasiness as the vagrant lady spoke to the dog as though he understood every word she said. As though he were a person.
Or a familiar.
Razor cast his bored, droopy eyes on Paige and Lucy before turning around and lumbering off.
“Thank you,” Lucy said over her shoulder to Gypsy as they followed the hound.
“Don’t you steal anything from Pops,” Gypsy called after them. “We look out for each other around here. Razor will tell me if you do.”
Razor threaded his way through tents, past fire pits, and around bicycles. Lucy and Paige didn’t have to hurry to keep up with the dog—he seemed to have only one speed in life: extra slow.
When he got to a red and yellow tent, Razor stopped and lay down. He coughed out a short, deep woof, and suddenly a small calico cat raced out of the tent and straight over to the dog, rubbing her body all over his head, ears, and face. Razor gave the cat a big, sloppy lick before putting his head on his feet again.
Paige and Lucy looked at each other. “I guess this is it.” Paige moved forward until she got to the tent’s doorway, which wasn’t zipped. “Hello?” she called. No answer. “Mr. Old Pops?” she tried. Silence.
The women exchanged looks again and then Paige glanced around. She didn’t see anyone other than Razor and Lobo, so she quickly ducked through the tent’s opening. She heard Lucy gasp, but the baker followed her through the doorway a few seconds later.
Paige scanned the small tent. There wasn’t much there. A few items of clothing were scattered around, a ratty sleeping bag with a thin pillow were crumpled in a corner, and a small wooden chest stood near the tent’s far edge. Paige crossed to the chest, expecting to be unable to get it open, but it quickly became clear that the lock was broken. She looked a question toward Lucy, who shrugged and nodded. Paige opened the hinged top of the box. It was filled with knickknacks and small doodads, but the thing that caught Paige’s attention immediately was a glossy photo of Bucky Grant sitting on top of everything else. She picked it up and turned it over. The back of the photo was blank except for a line of red letters stamped at the very bottom that said Top-Notch Talent Agency. She flipped it back over and looked at the photo again.
“No wonder he was able to describe Bucky so well.” Lucy had moved to hover over Paige so she could see.
Paige nodded, pulled out her phone, and snapped a picture.
“What are you doing in my stuff? Who are you?”
At the angry words, Paige jumped up so fast she almost bumped heads with Lucy. The photo of Bucky fell out of her hand onto the dirt floor.
A man who appeared to be somewhere in his late seventies blocked the opening of the tent. He had deeply tanned, leathery skin and a bald head glistening with sweat.
Slowly, keeping her eyes on Old Pops, Paige knelt, picked up the photo, and held it up. “Where’d you get this?”
She knew she was being bold, standing in Pops’ tent, clearly guilty of looking through his things, and taking the offense instead of defense.
Pops shook his head and snatched the photo out of her hand. “What business is that of yours? Who are you?” The repeated question didn’t cause Paige to change her tune. Instead, she thought of Lucy’s special power and asked point-blank in a clear voice as strong as she could make it, “Did you murder Cash Conway?”
Old Pops blustered. His cheeks purpled, and his jowls shook and twitched. Then his eyes moved to Lucy and his face stilled a bit. “I know you. You own that bakery in town.” He shifted his feet and tucked the photo into a tattered canvas bag in his hand. “You’ve given us meals before,” he said in a calmer tone.
Lucy smiled. “Yes, I have. This is my friend Paige. She owns the bookstore next to my bakery.”
Old Pops listened carefully but then seemed to remember he was supposed to be angry and straightened his spine. “Why are you in my tent? I should call the cops.”
Paige doubted very much that the man would want to get anywhere near a police officer voluntarily, even if he was the accuser.
Lucy stepped forward. “We just came to talk to you.” She sounded vague. “Hey, how about you get a shower and come on into town with your friends tomorrow morning around seven? I’ll feed you a hot breakfast at Just Baked. You have a place to take a shower, right?”
“We go to the community center down the road. They don’t mind. But how about a cold meal?” He rubbed sweat off his forehead with his arm. “It’s too hot for warm food.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. A nice, cold meal for you and your friends. After you’ve all showered.”
Old Pops nodded, thoughts of trespassing apparently forgotten. “Okay.”
Paige and Lucy emerged from the tent. Razor was gone and Lobo sat under a big tree nearby, her yell
ow eyes only half-open.
Paige figured from all the shower talk that Lucy hadn’t been able to sniff truth or lies out of Old Pops. The baker confirmed Paige’s suspicions when they got back out to the dirt road where the Oldsmobile sat.
As she drove back toward town, Paige worried Scott was going to be angry with her for interfering in his investigation. Finally, she sighed. It didn’t really matter if he gave her a lecture. She had to tell him what they’d found.
Paige asked Lucy to dial Scott’s number and hand her the phone so she could talk to him while she drove. He answered after a few rings.
“Hey,” Paige said.
“Hi. Where are you? It sounds like a tunnel.”
Paige rolled the window up and hit the air conditioning button. “Sorry. Better?”
“Yeah.” Scott’s voice lowered, like he didn’t want others around him to know what he was saying. “We just brought Bucky Grant in.”
Paige’s breath caught in her throat. “You arrested him?”
“Yes.”
Paige groaned. “Um. I have to tell you something. Lucy and I went out to the Camp and looked around Old Pops’ tent a little. We found an eight-by-ten glossy of Bucky Grant, front and center in his belongings.”
“Paige! What in the world? You’re not a trained investigator.”
“I know.”
“You could have been in danger,” he growled. “You have to leave that kind of thing to me.”
She stayed silent and heard him take a deep breath. “I knew something was off about Pops,” he said more patiently. “Let me handle this—I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you do,” she protested. “I didn’t do it because I think you aren’t doing a good job. I’m just nosy.”
Scott chuckled. “You did save me a trip out to the Camp.” His voice lowered again. “We arrested Grant on bogus charges. Unpaid parking tickets in the Panhandle. We just wanted to see if arresting him would break anything loose for us in the case. Sometimes, an arrest like this causes something—or someone—to crawl out of the woodwork.”
Paige was relieved. She’d been concerned Bucky would be falsely accused of murder.
“You can tell Lucy but no one else. I don’t want this getting out or it will ruin the jig.”
“Got it.” Paige hung up, filled Lucy in, and then drove the rest of the way to Comfort Cove in silence. Before long, Gypsy’s fortune leaped into her thoughts. She’d been totally sure the whole thing was a farce, but there had been something about the woman—and the situation—that had seemed real. Could it mean Paige was in some kind of mortal danger? And who was this tall, dark guy who was supposed to save her? Jordan? Marco? Or maybe it was someone else . . .
Chapter 15
Paige and Lucy parted ways in the back parking lot, and Paige went into Beachside Books and headed straight for the front door. She flipped the sign to Open and unlocked it. Jordan was sorting through some books in the sitting area, and he was fully clothed again. Paige was relieved—she didn’t need any more heat in her life at that moment.
“Old Pops, the man who first discovered Cash’s body on the beach, fingered an actor named Bucky Grant as Cash’s killer.” She knew she had to walk a fine line between telling Jordan what she knew and keeping what Scott had told her about Grant’s arrest under wraps.
Jordan pressed his lips together and thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t see how that would make any sense. They’re not the same type of actor, you know. Cash was a leading man type and Bucky is a character actor. They’d really never be up for the same roles, so I can’t imagine what Bucky’s motivation would be to murder him.”
“Who do you think may have had motivation?”
Jordan ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair. “Cash had a temper from what I’ve heard, and it got worse when he drank. I could see him having a brush-up with the wrong guy on the beach and, well, you know.”
Paige wondered if Jordan could be right. Maybe it was a random stranger. But what about the axe? She shrugged. “I guess there could be something we don’t know about. Hey, I want you to take a look at something.” She scrolled through her phone and pulled up the photo she’d taken of the eight-by-ten glossy in Old Pops’ tent.
Jordan took the phone and looked at the picture closely. “This is a headshot,” he said. “When an actor has an agent, these are the types of photos the agency sends out when applying for auditions. Actors and agents hand them out like candy. Where’d you get this picture?”
Paige hesitated. It might be over the line of what she should share with Jordan to let him know she’d been in Old Pops’ tent. Luckily, before she had to decide what to say, her phone rang. Paige held up a finger, turned away from her employee, swiped the screen, and held the cell phone to her ear.
A robot voice greeted her. “Hello. This is a courtesy call from Comfort Cove Credit Union. Your checking account is overdrawn. Please contact a credit associate at your earliest convenience. This could negatively impact your credit rating. Thank you.” The automatic voice recording clicked off, and Paige lowered the phone from her ear. She’d known she was cutting it close on her checking account when she paid Brody the Pipe Doctor for the service call.
The bells over the door rang, and Paige slipped her phone into a pocket and smiled brightly. She knew it wasn’t an authentic smile, but she needed to push thoughts of going bankrupt and losing the bookstore out of her mind and be pleasant if she wanted to make any money.
People trickled in fairly steadily for the next hour, some of them buying a book or magazine and others leaving empty-handed. Some of them snapped selfies with Jordan. Between customers, Paige tried not to think about her overdrawn checking account and the loan she needed. Instead, she wondered how Old Pops had gotten the talent agency’s picture of Bucky Grant. A new thought also occurred to her—how would Pops have known that Bucky Grant was even in town when he went into the station and told Scott the character actor was Cash Conway’s murderer?
Maybe it was true. Maybe Pops had seen Bucky kill Cash, thought he was a zombie, hid out for a while, and then somehow come upon the actor’s headshot photo and put two and two together.
During a brief moment when the shop was empty, Paige decided to get online and pull up her personal bank account. Her hands sweated as she handled the mouse, and dread filled her as she prayed the number would be big enough to allow her to transfer some money to her overdrawn business account. But the bells over the door interrupted her, and she glanced up to see the geocaching Indiana Jones look-alike couple, Pat and Pat Hawke, enter the shop. They were both chuckling at something they’d been talking about before coming in, and Paige noticed right away that Mrs. Hawke carried a small stack of books, which she brought directly over to the checkout counter and pushed toward Paige. “Hello. We’d like to return these, please. We didn’t use them at all.”
Paige’s heart sank as her eyes fell on the Comfort Cove history and travel books the Hawkes had bought a few days earlier. The very last thing she needed to be doing was giving customers their money back. Reluctantly, she punched at the cash register a few times to get it into return mode and began to scan each book. Forcing a smile onto her face, she glanced at the geocachers. “Headed out of town?”
“We’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon, right after our auction,” Mr. Hawke affirmed, taking his hat off and running a hand over his sweaty brow.
Paige’s eyes widened. “Auction? Wait, did you find Oz Wilder’s treasure?”
Both Hawkes wore matching expressions of pride. “Sure did,” Mrs. Hawke said. “We had to use every trick we knew to do it, but we were successful.”
“Every geocaching trick, that is,” Mr. Hawke interjected, giving his wife a strange look. “And yes, we were successful, just like we knew we’d be.” He straightened his shoulders. Paige thought he looked just like Casper did when she praised him for something—equal parts joy and smugness.
“Well, we really should give credit where
it’s due.” Mrs. Hawke grinned at her husband. “Lady Luck gave us a little bit of help.”
“I imagine a fair bit of luck has to go into treasure hunting.” Paige hit enter on the cash register transaction and watched with sadness as the drawer popped open so she could remove the money she owed the couple.
“It does feel a little disrespectful to call a man’s death lucky, but for us, that’s most definitely what it was.” Mrs. Hawke beamed.
Paige’s eyes snapped up from the register. “You mean Cash Conway’s death?”
“Yes. That murder turned out to be the best thing possible for us this week. So many people in town looking for the treasure had their attention diverted from their goal.”
“But not us,” Mr. Hawke boomed.
“No, never us,” Mrs. Hawke confirmed. “And now that we’ve found the treasure, the extra publicity from the media coverage of Cash’s death is feeding into the excitement about our auction of the movie role with Wilder. We should get even more money than we expected for it now.”
Mr. Hawke nodded and accepted the money Paige offered him. “That’s true, dear. Plus, now we have a new job.”
“Job? You aren’t going to be treasure hunters anymore?”
“Oh, of course we are.” Mrs. Hawke looked shocked at Paige’s suggestion.
Mr. Hawke put an arm around his wife. “We’d never give up on treasure hunting. We just had an offer to join up with a very successful, well-known geocacher in Florida.”
“Putting our resources and talents together, we’re on track to find every treasure anyone ever hides in the world.” Mrs. Hawke beamed with excitement.
“Well, that sounds very exciting. Good luck with your auction, and I hope you have safe travels and successful hunts around the world.” Paige hoped the couple would take the hint and leave so she could indulge in some self-pity over her financial state. Luckily, they took the subliminal hint and exited the shop, giving her a little wave on their way out the door.
