Her repetition of the words she had used only a minute or two earlier – and with increasing plaintiveness – was not lost on Hope. She turned to her sister. Summer’s hazel eyes blinked at her with a winsome expression. This time, Hope didn’t restrain her laugh.

  ‘All right. I get the hint. You want me to draw a Tarot card.’

  The plaintiveness instantly vanished, and Summer nodded eagerly.

  ‘As long as you understand,’ Hope was quick to caution her, ‘that there is no guarantee the card will be a positive one.’

  Summer shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Hope didn’t agree. She knew that it mattered plenty. But she also knew that once Summer had made up her mind for a Tarot consultation, any further warnings or arguments would be a fruitless endeavor.

  Still tapping her cane with excitement, Gram paid no attention to their Tarot discussion. ‘Don’t worry for one moment about the set-up of the booth, my dears. You won’t have a bit of work. I’ll take care of everything.’ Gathering her handbag and rising from her chair, she began to muse aloud. ‘Now, what will we need to create the proper atmosphere? The dark curtains, certainly. I’ll speak to Jocelyn Frost about those. She’s an absolute whizz with a needle and thread. And then the candles. Real candles might be a problem. Too much of a fire hazard, I’m afraid, especially with the curtains. We could use those flameless candles instead. Or maybe a couple of oil lanterns would look more attractive. Amelia would be a good person to consult on that point. She has an excellent eye for lighting and decor. The most important thing is the crystal ball, of course. I wonder if Morris …’

  Gram continued chatting to herself as she headed toward the front door of the boutique, making lists and debating various options. Watching her depart, Hope couldn’t help being both amused and impressed. Although she had some doubts about the number of tickets she and Summer would be able to sell for their booth, she had no doubt whatsoever that, thanks to Gram, the booth itself would look fabulous.

  ‘Hope?’ Summer prodded her, more interested in the Tarot than the upcoming festival. ‘The card?’

  Hope rose from the partially unpacked box of silk scarves on the floor and walked over to the table that had been vacated by Gram. It was an aged, coffee-brown pine table set in the corner of the boutique near the large row of windows that faced the street, providing plenty of natural light for Hope’s palm and Tarot readings. She seated herself on one of the simple, straight-backed chairs that matched the table and motioned for her sister to take a seat also, which Summer promptly did.

  ‘What question would you like to have answered?’ Hope asked, opening the small drawer on her side of the table and removing her well-worn deck of Tarot cards from their protective cocoon.

  ‘The house. Whether the house will ever sell? Will I finally be free of it – and free of Gary?’

  ‘Just the house,’ Hope interjected. ‘Don’t think about Gary. He’ll cloud the picture. Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and concentrate only on the house.’

  Summer nodded. ‘Only the house.’ As instructed, she took a breath, closed her eyes, and attempted to focus her thoughts.

  Hope began to shuffle the deck. Her fingers moved slowly, hesitantly. She didn’t have a good feeling about the reading, and she wasn’t sure why. Drawing a single card from the Tarot was usually harmless. A card could be interpreted in many different ways.

  She stopped shuffling and placed the deck on the table. ‘When you’re ready, Summer, go ahead and cut the deck.’

  Unless she was well acquainted with a person, Hope never let them touch her cards. It was simply too dangerous. She didn’t know what kind of energy might be transferred from the person to the deck, rearing its ugly head later. But with her sister, that wasn’t a concern.

  There was another deep breath from Summer, then she opened her eyes, stretched out a slightly shaky hand, and cut the deck. Hope turned over the top card. She winced when she saw it. Her instinct hadn’t been wrong. It was not a positive card. Even with extreme interpretative contortions, it was nigh impossible to read the Five of Coins as anything but negative.

  ‘My god,’ Summer whispered, staring at the card before her. ‘It can’t get much worse than that.’

  The Five of Coins depicted a destitute woman in rags and a bandaged man on crutches struggling through a snowstorm in the dark of night, passing by a towering stone structure with warmth and light radiating inside. No one came out to greet them and offer assistance. No door opened to provide sustenance and shelter. They were poor and ill and alone.

  Summer dropped her head into her hands and groaned. ‘I’m going to be homeless. That’s what this means. The house will never sell, and I’ll end up on the streets.’

  ‘You won’t end up on the streets,’ Hope corrected her. ‘And you aren’t going to be homeless. You can always live here – in the brownstone – with me and Gram, although these days Gram spends most of her time at Morris’s. In any event, Gram owns this building. She certainly isn’t going to evict you.’

  ‘It still means that the house won’t sell,’ Summer replied morosely. ‘And then I’ll be crushed under an avalanche of debt, get seriously ill, and be stuck with Gary forever. Oh, he’d love that. He’d think that was absolutely fantastic.’

  Hope didn’t respond. She sat in silence, pondering the card.

  ‘There is no other interpretation,’ Summer went on, her voice rising with the beginnings of hysteria. ‘I can see it in your face. It’s bad. Very, very bad.’

  ‘It’s true the card isn’t a happy one,’ Hope admitted. ‘There’s no sugar-coating that fact. The Five of Coins indicates loss and despair. But I think, in this case, there’s more to it. Something about it doesn’t feel right to me, as though it’s pointing in another direction. We should draw a second card to help explain—’

  Just as Hope reached out her hand to turn over the next card in the deck, the front door of the boutique flew open, and a gust of hot, dusty wind shot through the shop. It tossed up the loose scarves from the box on the floor and swirled the stack of empty paper bags on the herb-and-tea counter. The squall seized the card from Hope’s outstretched fingers, and it soared up into the air like a fluttering bird. When it came tumbling back down to the table, the card landed face up next to the Five of Coins.

  Summer gasped. It was Death.

  TWO

  Death was a skeleton on a pale horse at sunset.

  Hope instantly snatched the card and the Five of Coins from the table. Reuniting them with the rest of the deck, she pulled the drawer in front of her open as quickly as she could and thrust everything into it. Along with the gust of wind, two people were entering the boutique. Death was far too serious and contentious a card to be left in view.

  ‘Hurry up and come inside,’ a man said to a woman. ‘You’re letting out all the air conditioning.’

  At the voice, Summer’s horrified gaze moved from the spot on the table where Death had lain only a moment earlier to the door. She gasped once more.

  Her reaction startled Hope, and she looked hastily at the man. She didn’t recognize him. He was in his late forties or early fifties, and he had the shape of a flaccid pickle. He didn’t stand quite straight, and all of his appendages seemed limp somehow. His black hair was slicked back from his protruding forehead with a shiny pomade. His equally protruding eyes had an incongruously sharp expression.

  ‘It’s a sign,’ Summer whimpered despondently. ‘A terrible, terrible sign. First the cards. Now him.’

  Hope frowned, not understanding the connection. Who was the man?

  ‘I’m moving as fast as I can,’ the woman answered him. ‘The lead is tangled around my sandal and caught in the door jamb.’

  It was Hope’s turn to recognize a voice, and this one unequivocally belonged to Rosemarie Potter. Rosemarie was one of Hope’s most loyal clients, visiting the boutique two or three times a week without fail. She was a gregarious woman in her mid-fifties who – although divorced twice already – was an incurable romantic eternally in search of her human soulmate. Her canine soulmate was her beloved pug, Percy, an inveterate companion for all of Rosemarie’s adventures.

  As if on cue, there was a sharp yip.

  ‘Oh, he’s stuck. Percy’s stuck!’ Rosemarie wailed. ‘You must help him. Help him, Davis!’

  Summer gave a woeful sigh.

  Hope’s frown deepened. Davis? The name seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place it. She opened the drawer in the table again, this time not for the deck of Tarot cards but to retrieve the bag of doggie cookies that was also stashed inside.

  ‘Wait. Hold on. Stop tugging,’ Davis instructed either Rosemarie or Percy – or possibly both of them. He leaned down out of view, presumably to detangle the difficulty with the sandal and the door jamb.

  When Davis reappeared, Rosemarie appeared with him, smiling widely and bobbing her blazing red-dyed mop animatedly. ‘Thank you, Davis.’ She gave him a smacking kiss. ‘You’ve saved the day. Say thank you to Davis, Percy.’

  Percy responded with a grunt. It didn’t sound particularly appreciative. Nor did he look appreciative. There were no happy wags in Davis’s direction, let alone smacking kisses. But Percy also didn’t look traumatized by the incident. He gave an exploratory sniff, promptly recognized his surroundings, and turned an expectant eye toward Hope.

  ‘Hello, Rosemarie. Hello, Percy,’ Hope greeted them cheerfully. She reached into her bag to get a cookie for Percy, who was already approaching her in eager anticipation.

  ‘No.’ Davis took possession of the lead from Rosemarie and pulled back the pug unceremoniously. ‘No treat for you, old man. That’s how you’ve been putting on so much weight.’

  Hope laughed. ‘That’s not true, is it, Percy? You might be a bit stout around the middle, but certainly not too stout for a cookie.’

  Again, she was about to offer him the treat, but Davis held Percy firm.

  ‘No,’ he repeated, now directing the command at Hope.

  She bristled at his tone, one which seemed to imply that she was also on a lead and could be ordered about. Based on the smacking kiss and the imperious manner in which he had put himself in charge of Percy, Davis was evidently Rosemarie’s newest beau. From her first impressions of the man, Hope couldn’t congratulate Rosemarie on her fine choice.

  ‘He’s too heavy for his size,’ Davis went on. ‘The old man needs toning and tightening – and a restricted diet.’

  Hope almost laughed once more, this time at the irony. With his spongy figure and sagging posture, Davis was far from toned and tightened himself. As for Rosemarie, it was tricky to tell whether her weight ever fluctuated in either direction, because she had a penchant for billowy, flowered dresses, and today was no exception. She wore a wide, ankle-length wrap in a vivid indigo iris pattern.

  ‘We’ve been trying to add a little more exercise to our daily routine,’ Rosemarie explained, fanning herself with her hand. ‘But it’s so difficult in this stifling weather. Half a block – even at the most leisurely pace – and Percy and I are both panting like polar bears in the desert.’

  ‘I’ll get Percy some water,’ Summer volunteered in a barely audible voice. She rose from her chair at the table and moved with swift steps toward the rear of the shop, her eyes steadfastly avoiding all contact with the group.

  Hope’s frown resurfaced. Summer was not a shy person, and she was ordinarily extremely affable with customers, particularly long-standing ones such as Rosemarie.

  For her part, Rosemarie didn’t seem to notice Summer’s uncharacteristic reticence. Instead, she continued fanning herself and complaining to Hope about the weather. ‘It’s been terribly warm all week – all of August, so far – but today feels especially beastly. When Percy and I walked out of the house this morning, we might as well have marched straight into a blast furnace. But it’s wonderfully cool in here.’

  ‘The air-conditioning bill will be a nightmare,’ Hope said, more to herself than to Rosemarie. Money was always tight at the boutique, and the skyrocketing temperatures over the past month had brought fewer tourists than usual to the city and the shop. Hope wondered if the booth at the festival would be of any help. Maybe she and Summer could get some new customers out of it.

  Rosemarie nodded. ‘The bill at my house is going to be astronomical, too … Oh, that’s awfully kind of you, Summer. I’m sure Percy will be grateful.’

  Summer had returned with the promised water, but instead of placing the bowl directly in front of Percy, she set it on the floor next to the table and Hope, forcing Davis to release some of the lead for Percy to reach it. As the pug came for his drink, Hope reached down to give him a pat and a soothing scratch under his harness, surreptitiously slipping him his long-awaited treat in the process.

  Percy merrily crunched his cookie and lapped his water, and Hope glanced at Summer to give her a clandestine smile. Summer, however, kept her gaze glued to the ground. Her brow was furrowed, and her normally peaches-and-cream complexion had turned splotchy white.

  ‘Did these just come in?’ Rosemarie exclaimed, her attention shifting to the partially unpacked box of scarves that Percy’s lead was rubbing against. She took one of the scarves from the stack and pressed it against her cheek. ‘The silk is so soft. And the colors are gorgeous! That’s the reason I enjoy shopping in person. It’s much better to see things directly in front of you. I ordered a scarf from a catalog a few months ago, and it looked beautiful in the picture, but when it arrived, there wasn’t the least resemblance. It was all washed out and faded.’

  ‘We have the same problem here,’ Hope commiserated. ‘With photo-editing software, every company can make their products appear attractive digitally. Then you get the item in your hands, and it turns out to be junk. That’s why when Summer and I find a quality source for the boutique, we stick with it. We’ve purchased from that manufacturer before.’ She gestured toward the scarves. ‘Their silk is soft and strong. It won’t tear or snag as a lot of cheaper silks will after only a wearing or two. Although these scarves cost a bit more, they’re worth it, because they’ll last and look good not just this season but also the next and the next.’

  Davis gave a dubious snort. ‘It’s pretty stupid of you to be hawking scarves in the summer season.’

  Hope turned to him, taken aback. She had certainly dealt with her share of difficult and discourteous customers over the years; even so, the rudeness of Davis’s remark was unexpected. ‘The scarves are new for autumn,’ she responded defensively, ‘which should be obvious from the fact they’re still in the shipping box. And we don’t hawk anything.’

  Summer muttered something under her breath. Although Hope couldn’t hear it, there was no doubt that it was not complimentary toward Davis.

  Rosemarie giggled nervously. ‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding. These aren’t winter scarves to bundle up in, Davis. They’re year-round scarves. They’re accessories, the same as a pair of earrings or a cute handbag.’

  To demonstrate, she gave the scarf in her hand a deft twist and wrapped it decoratively around her neck. The rich gold tones in the silk balanced the indigo in her dress. Together, they did an excellent job of ameliorating the startling crimson of her hair.

  ‘That looks lovely on you,’ Hope complimented her.

  Rosemarie inspected herself in the mirror next to the jewelry display case. ‘It’s nice, isn’t it? I’ll take it! And one for Percy, too, of course.’ She bent down to search through the remaining scarves in the box.

  There was another snort from Davis. ‘That’s ridiculous. Get the old man a cotton bandana, not an overpriced silk scarf.’

  Although Rosemarie continued to work her way through the pile, Hope saw that there was now some crimson in her cheeks to match her hair. She was clearly embarrassed by Davis’s behavior.

  Hope made an effort to soothe the situation. ‘While we’re on the subject of scarves, Summer and I were thinking of wearing two of the new ones ourselves this weekend at the festival. Are you planning on going to the festival this year, Rosemarie?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Percy and I always go. I like the hustle and bustle of the crowd, and he likes the smells and samples from the food booths.’ She popped up holding a chevron-patterned scarf in classic black and white. ‘Last year, we really enjoyed your talk on semi-precious stones. I have several quartzes at home, but I never understood the differences between them until you and Summer explained it all. I hope you’re doing another talk this year. We’ll be in the front row to listen, won’t we, Percy? And Davis will be there with us. He’s promised to escort us on Friday evening.’

  Davis’s mouth opened, and from his smirking expression, it wasn’t difficult to guess that he was about to say something deprecating, either about Percy and food booths or talks on quartzes and semi-precious stones. Hope didn’t give him the chance.

  ‘Instead of a presentation,’ she told Rosemarie, ‘Summer and I were slated to take tickets at the carousel this year. But that changed earlier today. Now – for the first time – we’re going to have our own booth.’

  ‘Your own booth!’ Rosemarie gave a cry of delight. ‘Will there be palm readings? I love your palm readings!’

  ‘Actually, I’m going to use a crystal ball.’

  ‘A crystal ball!’

  Hope found herself wincing slightly as she explained, ‘The booth is intended to be more fun fortune telling than serious readings.’

  Rosemarie nodded so vigorously that the gold scarf loosened and slid to her shoulder. ‘How fun! Fortune telling!’

  ‘For criminy sake,’ Davis snapped. ‘Stop parroting everything she says!’

  There was a momentary silence. Unsure whether to respond to his outburst, Hope looked at Rosemarie. She blinked once or twice, straightened her scarf, and then let out another cry of delight, as if Davis hadn’t spoken at all.

  ‘This is so exciting! Is there a list? A waiting list to get into your booth?’

  Her confidence that their booth would reach such tremendous heights of popularity made Hope smile. ‘No. There isn’t a waiting list. At this point, Summer and I are just keeping our fingers crossed that we manage to sell enough tickets to not embarrass ourselves. So if you run into anybody over the next day or two who you think might be interested, please tell them about the booth.’

 

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