Death Rides a Pony, page 3
Rosemarie nodded some more. ‘I’ll tell everyone I know! But only if you promise that I’ll get my turn. I don’t want to be stuck at the back of the line. When the list starts, you must put me at the top. And Davis, too!’
‘You can’t be serious.’ Davis rolled his protruding eyes. ‘You want me to have my fortune told?’
‘But you’ll love it! It’s marvelous. Hope can see so much. She’ll tell you all sorts of wonderful things.’
‘I don’t doubt it. A wonderful bunch of baloney.’
The man was obviously a skeptic – and an unpleasant one to boot. Under different circumstances, Hope might have replied more sharply, but she didn’t want to hurt Rosemarie’s feelings, so she kept her words light.
‘It’s meant to be fun,’ she reiterated. ‘And all the proceeds from the booth and the festival go to charity.’
Davis rolled his eyes a second time. Whether he intended to add any further derisive commentary wasn’t clear, because Summer started muttering again. Although still not comprehensible, it was now loud enough for Davis to take notice of it. He turned toward her, and for the first time since entering the boutique, he seemed to really look at her.
‘Hold on a minute,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before. Where do I know you from?’
There was a brief hesitation, then Summer’s head snapped up. Her face was heavily flushed, but she met Davis’s gaze straight on. ‘You know me from Gary. Gary Fletcher is my husband, soon-to-be ex-husband. You’re supposed to be selling our house.’
Both Hope and Rosemarie gave a little start.
‘Davis is your realtor?’ Rosemarie exclaimed.
‘He is,’ Summer confirmed crossly.
At last, Hope understood why the name had seemed familiar to her. Davis Scott. Shifty Gary’s disreputable choice in real estate agents. A slippery fish just like Amelia and Stanley Palmer’s realtor. Perhaps they were even one and the same. In any case, Summer’s odd behavior now made complete sense. Davis coming into the boutique would have been agitating at the best of times, but his arrival just after she had drawn the Five of Coins in a Tarot reading – with all its implications of loss and despair and potential homelessness – was a miserable coincidence. Hopefully, it was no more than a coincidence.
‘You’re lucky, Summer,’ Rosemarie went on, singing her beau’s praises. ‘Davis is a terrific realtor. He’s got dozens of property listings.’
‘A listing doesn’t mean much,’ Summer returned, ‘if you don’t actually sell the property. Or if you sell it for less than its true value to some buddy of yours so that you don’t have to split the commission.’
Rosemarie’s cheery expression clouded. Summer’s words seemed to confuse her. They did not, however, confuse Davis. He shot Summer a vicious look.
‘Don’t offer opinions on things that you have no clue about. Let the professionals handle their business without interference from amateurs. Just stick to what you know.’ He gave a desultory wave around the boutique. ‘Your scarves and crystals and whatnot.’
Hope’s gaze narrowed. Summer was on the verge of a biting retort, but Davis continued before she could get out more than a syllable.
‘This place is the perfect example of what I mean.’ He gave another desultory wave. ‘If you knew even the slightest bit about real estate, you wouldn’t be running some ludicrous little shop out of this old brownstone. You’d sell the building – lock, stock, and barrel – and make a killing.’
There was a rumble. It sounded like a train off in the distance, only instead of coming from the left or the right, it was emanating from directly above them. It grew louder and increasingly thunderous until it became an almost deafening roar. The ceiling started to shake, followed by the walls, and finally the floor. The whole brownstone was creaking and groaning. It shuddered so violently that the tea and herb containers tumbled from the shelves and the bottles of tinctures rattled in the drawers. A minute later, as abruptly as it had begun, it all stopped. Nothing moved. Stillness prevailed.
Hope was the first to react. ‘Is everyone OK?’
Her hazel eyes stretched wide, Summer nodded.
Rosemarie checked each of her limbs to make sure that they were all still attached. Then she gave a sudden shout. ‘Percy!’
In unison, the group whirled toward the pug. He was fine. After his cookie and his drink, Percy had curled up against one of the table legs for a contented snooze. The ruckus hadn’t caused him to budge an inch.
Exhaling with relief, Rosemarie asked, ‘What in heaven’s name was that?’
‘An earthquake,’ Davis answered.
‘That was no earthquake,’ Summer informed him.
‘Of course it was,’ he rejoined. ‘What else could it possibly have been?’
Hope’s mind searched hurriedly for a reasonable explanation. ‘Next door,’ she said. ‘They’re working on the brownstone next door. It has foundation issues. They must have been drilling, or digging, or something similar.’
It was close enough to the truth. The neighbors were experiencing water seepage in their cellar; for the last week, a contractor and his crew had been on the premises trying to remedy the problem. Except Hope was painfully aware that what she and the others had just experienced in the boutique had no connection whatsoever to the brownstone next door.
‘Earthquake,’ Davis repeated with conviction.
The sisters exchanged a look. It hadn’t been an earthquake – or, for that matter, any other natural phenomenon. It had been the attic. The attic didn’t like Davis Scott.
THREE
As it had been every year since its inception, the festival was located in the large city park just off the square. Even though the event didn’t officially open to the public for another hour, the grounds were thronged with people, the majority of whom were frantically trying to finish the necessary preparations. Extra nails were being hammered into plywood supports. Folding chairs were being carried from carts into tents. Mammoth coolers of water and mountains of paper cups were being assembled in every spare corner in an effort to cool the oncoming masses. The soaring temperatures hadn’t abated, and the heat was oppressive, the more so as the throbbing orange sun began its slow descent in the west.
Hope and Summer weaved their way through the bedlam, heading in the direction of their assigned booth. Occasionally, an acquaintance would shout a greeting, and they responded with a distracted wave. The crowd was too thick and they were too engrossed in their conversation to do much more.
‘We must – absolutely must – keep Davis away from the brownstone,’ Summer said fervently.
‘I agree, but what are we supposed to do if Rosemarie decides to drag him along on her next visit?’ Hope considered a moment. ‘No, I doubt that Rosemarie will bring him to the boutique again. She was too embarrassed the last time. When she purchased that pair of scarves for her and Percy, and Davis made those unkind remarks about people wasting perfectly good money on useless trinkets for their pets, she turned about as purple as an eggplant. And there’s no chance that Davis – as dismissive of the shop as he was – would come of his own volition.’
‘Yes, he would! Not for a reading or a tincture, of course, but for the building itself. I’d wager that Davis has spent the last two days practicing his slippery-fish salesman routine so that he can try to convince us to put the building up for sale.’
Hope swerved around a woman hauling a humongous basket of scented soaps, each handsomely wrapped with a Scottish plaid ribbon.
‘And it doesn’t matter one jot,’ Summer continued, ‘that the brownstone technically belongs to Gram. In fact, if Davis learns that she’s the legal owner, he might become even more aggressive with his salesmanship. He’ll assume because of her age and her cane, Gram is some befuddled old lady whom he can smooth-talk into anything.’
‘Then he will be in for a big surprise, because there is nothing befuddled about Gram.’ Hope laughed. ‘Imagine having Gram and the attic turn on you at the same time!’
Summer laughed, too, but it quickly faded. ‘You shouldn’t joke about that. Considering what happened the other day, if Davis comes near the boutique again, there could be a horrible repeat.’
‘Not necessarily. The attic might feel that it has already made its point.’
This time, Summer’s laugh was sarcastic. ‘That’s some wishful thinking. But then there’s no question that the attic likes you a lot better than it does me.’
‘The attic likes you fine. There are just a few hard feelings.’
‘A few hard feelings?’ Summer exclaimed. ‘I can’t go beyond the third-floor landing, and even that is pushing it depending on the hour and the day!’
‘True,’ Hope conceded. ‘They’re still holding a grudge, I’m afraid, from the time you suggested that selling the brownstone would be smarter and more cost-effective than having the ancient wiring fixed.’
‘It wasn’t my suggestion. It was Gary’s suggestion.’
‘True, again. But you were the one who unfortunately made the mistake of saying it aloud in the brownstone. And they got a little testy.’
‘A little testy? They locked me in and wouldn’t let me out, and very nearly scared me to death with their antics! And don’t forget about what happened to the poor electrician who went up there after that to work on the wiring.’
‘Lord, yes. The poor electrician.’
They paused, shared a sigh, and then went onward, dodging a wheelbarrow packed with pots of wilting geraniums.
‘While we’re on the subject of being scared to death—’ Summer began after a minute.
‘No, no, no,’ Hope cut her off. ‘We are not going to discuss it any further. We’ve reviewed and debated and analyzed it ad infinitum already. You are not going to be homeless. And you are not going to die. Not for many, many years, at least. Yes, the Death card is disturbing. Yes, the Death card can indicate actual, imminent death – but not usually. As I’ve already explained, there are several other cards in the Tarot that are more closely associated with physically dying and funerals and mourning. In most instances, Death means change. Big change. Often difficult change. And you are going through big, difficult changes. The separation from Gary, moving back to the brownstone, the divorce proceedings, the ongoing sale of your house—’
It was Summer’s turn to cut her off. ‘The Death card is numbered thirteen.’
‘Well, yes, but that’s because at the time the Tarot was created, people were genuinely, seriously superstitious. Black cats and cracked mirrors and the like. You’ve never worried about being on the thirteenth floor of a building or waking up on the thirteenth day of a month before.’
‘Maybe not before, but perhaps I am now,’ Summer returned stubbornly.
‘Then you’re being silly – and you know it.’ Hope was thoughtful. ‘I still believe that there’s more to it, just as I said when the Five of Coins first came up. Something about it didn’t feel right to me then, as though it was pointing in another direction. And I still feel the same way. If we could have drawn more cards at the time, we would have been able to get clarification, but that wasn’t possible because Rosemarie and Davis came in.’
‘So it’s Davis’s fault. Everything is Davis’s fault. I wish the festival had one of those old-fashioned dunking booths that carnivals used to have years ago. The kind where people could throw a ball at a target, and if they hit it, the person sitting on a stool would fall into the tank of water below. I’d like to dunk Davis a couple of times. That would wipe the annoying smirk off his face.’
Hope laughed. ‘Sadly, there is no dunking booth here. I’m not even sure if those are allowed anymore. They might be considered too dangerous these days. But you’re right about Davis having an annoying smirk. Honestly, I don’t know how Rosemarie ever got involved with him. She’s so good-natured, and he clearly isn’t.’
‘She’s too good-natured. That’s the problem. Davis is taking advantage of her. Maybe he’s trying to talk her into selling her house, too! In any case, the man is a slippery fish, and I hope that Rosemarie comes to her senses soon and dumps him at the curb. She’d be much better off on her own with just Percy—’ Both the sentence and Summer’s feet abruptly halted. ‘Oh, Hope, look at that!’
The mass of people parted to one side, and the antique carousel rose in front of them like a gleaming edifice. It was majestically beautiful, with a fabulous assortment of animals. Giraffes, elephants, and tigers. Zebras, camels, and horses. Each one carved in exquisite detail and intricately painted in brilliant colors. There were more carvings along the base and on the cornice. Cherubs and celestial bodies, all luminously gilded.
‘It’s marvelous,’ Hope said in wonder. ‘As though you’ve stepped back in time.’
Summer nodded. ‘There probably aren’t many woodworkers with the talent and the training who can put together a piece of art like that anymore.’
As they stood admiring the carousel, its lights were turned on. The display was dazzling, and they gazed at it, mesmerized.
‘Enchanting, isn’t it? As you know, I’m about as far from a starry-eyed dreamer as they come, but even I have to admit that it’s so lovely it takes one’s breath away.’
The voice was unexpected, and the sisters turned in surprise to find Megan Steele standing beside them. Aside from Summer, Megan was Hope’s closest friend. They had gone to school together and saw each other on a nearly daily basis. Megan was the Director of Activities at Amethyst, the luxury hotel and spa also located in the historic district of downtown Asheville, only a few blocks from the boutique.
‘I would hug you, but as you can see’ – Megan gestured toward her apparel – ‘it’s nearly impossible for me to move in this get-up, so an air kiss will have to suffice.’
A pair of air kisses followed, but neither Hope nor Summer could immediately respond. They were too startled by Megan’s ensemble. She was dressed in a petal-pink, floor-length ball gown. The satin, sequined bodice was so tight that it might as well have been lacquered on to her skin. Although it showed Megan’s excellent figure to great advantage, it also looked as though it might split in half if she were to twist one millimeter too far or inhale one oxygen molecule too many. Below the bodice were layers upon layers of crinkly tulle decorated with more sparkling sequins. An equally sparkling tiara decorated Megan’s blond bob.
Summer wheezed with amusement. ‘What on earth are you wearing? You look like a fairy godmother that popped out of a storybook.’
‘I’m supposed to be a queen,’ Megan corrected her.
‘Good or evil?’ Hope inquired.
Megan grinned.
As she had with Gram, Summer gave vent to her dislike of sequins. ‘With all those hideous sequins, definitely an evil queen.’
‘They are pretty hideous,’ Megan agreed. ‘So is the tulle. It’s beyond uncomfortable. I can barely walk, and I can’t sit down. And don’t get me started on how horrifically hot I am. Sean and I have a bet as to which one of us will collapse and get hauled off to the medical tent first.’
‘Sean?’ Hope said. ‘From the spa?’
‘Yup. He’s supposed to be the king to my queen. His costume is made of thick corduroy, and he has this enormous cape and crown. He has to stay seated, because it’s too heavy for him to stand while wearing it. And you know that he gives massages for a living, so he’s strong. Also, he’s sweating buckets.’
‘But why?’ Summer demanded. ‘Why a king and queen?’
‘It’s the not-so-genius plan of Amethyst’s upper management,’ Megan explained. ‘They think the best way to advertise the hotel and spa is to send the message to potential guests that they’ll be treated like royalty if they spend their money at the place. It’s complete rot, of course. Nobody passing by the booth will have any idea why we’re dressed in this preposterous manner, let alone book a suite of rooms or a bevy of spa treatments because of it. We were also supposed to hand out the little chocolates that housekeeping usually puts on the pillows during the nightly turndown service, but that’s not happening now.’
‘Did somebody forget to deliver the chocolates from the hotel to the booth?’
‘No, the chocolates were delivered. But unsurprisingly in this heat, the whole lot liquefied in a matter of minutes. Sean is presently sitting between two giant glass bowls of sludgy brown goop interspersed with tiny tinfoil wrappers.’
Her deadpan description made Hope laugh.
‘I’d laugh, too,’ Megan told her. ‘Except I can’t. The bodice seams will burst, and then the queen’s attire will no longer be considered family-friendly.’
‘You’re doing a good job keeping your sense of humor about it.’
Megan replied with a resigned shrug. ‘I don’t really have much choice. We’re all required to take a shift during the festival. Thank heaven mine will be over and done with this evening. Then tomorrow, I can play around and hang out in your booth. At least you can wear normal clothing. I like the scarf idea, by the way. Using it to twist up your hair looks great and will help to keep your neck cooler. I’ve seen those velvet curtains in your booth. They aren’t going to give you much airflow, I’m afraid.’
‘We have velvet curtains?’ Hope asked.
‘Yes, dark burgundy ones. They’re attractive and rather atmospheric, especially with the twinkle lights. Didn’t you know? Haven’t you been there?’
Hope shook her head. ‘Gram organized everything – in only two days. Summer and I kept offering to help, but she was adamant about doing it herself.’
Megan smiled. ‘That sounds like Olivia. She’s the best organizer I’ve ever met. I think that she missed her calling and should have been a campaign manager. With the amazing way she can coordinate and plan, in her heyday she probably could have gotten one of the ladies in her bridge club elected to the Oval Office. When I was at the booth a little while ago looking for you, Olivia had an entire platoon under her command operating with well-oiled efficiency. Hanging the curtains, stringing the lights, adjusting the banner—’
