Fool's Moon, page 5
She slid off the stool and rushed around the counter to give her friend and former Florida Atlantic University roommate, Johanna “JoJo” Jones, a side-hug that barely missed the bag.
JoJo returned the hug and then stepped aside, shooting her a look of mock dismay. “You’re so lucky, Rubes,” she exclaimed, using her longtime nickname for Ruby. “You gain weight, and it goes to your butt or boobs. Me, I put on a pound, and it goes right to my belly.”
Ruby rolled her eyes. They were the stereotypical opposites when it came to looks—JoJo being slim, blond, and leggy, and Ruby being sturdy, brunette, and not leggy. If there was an extra pound anywhere on her friend, Ruby darned sure couldn’t see it. Aloud, however, she said, “I’m sure whatever you brought is low cal as well as being delish.”
She paused for a look at the faux skull beside the register. The digital clock embedded in its forehead read 11:53 a.m.
“I can break for a couple of minutes. Let me lock up, and then we can sit in the kitchen.”
Ruby went to the front door and flipped over the Open sign so it read Will Return before turning the lock. JoJo, meanwhile, was prowling along the main aisle poking at the merchandise.
The other rows held the more workaday merchandise: spell books and prayer pamphlets; baskets of ritual materials (shells, herbs, and the like); shelves of colorful candles guaranteed to bring luck in anything from love to the lottery. The shelves down the middle, however, were an orgy of statuary.
All denominations and sizes were represented, from tiny gold Buddhas wearing serene smiles to a life-sized rendering of a half-naked, crutch-wielding St. Lazarus and his dogs. Since the shop was technically a Botanica, the greatest portion of the statues represented the Santería pantheon, along with a variety of Roman Catholic saints. But Rosa was a shrewd businesswoman, and so in recent years she’d begun catering to New Age and Wiccan clients as well.
A good quarter of what the shop now offered included such popular items as essential oils and witchy T-shirts, as well as singing bowls and hanging chimes. Basically, a one-stop shop no matter one’s esoteric preferences. Ruby had expanded the New Age offerings even further. Now everything from pastel-hued fairy figurines to gnomes to variations of the Three Wise Monkeys lurked among the various saintly representations on the statuary aisle. She’d also just stocked a series of modern witch statues, each figure wearing the stereotypical pointed black hat, but dressed in the outfit of her mundane job function.
JoJo picked up the blond witchy version of Lady Justice. The palm-sized statue was wearing a mini-skirted black suit that matched her hat and was holding the Scales of Justice in one hand, an upward-pointed sword in the other.
“Ha, all the little law clerks at the firm would probably say this is me,” she said with a sour look as she raised the statue in a toasting gesture and then set it back on the shelf. “You can get me this for Christmas—assuming I don’t say screw it and quit to stay home while Blake supports me in the style I’d like to become used to.”
Blake being Dr. Blake Gormley, handsome young dermatologist to Palm Beach’s richest, and JoJo’s fiancé.
“You’re not going to quit the law firm,” Ruby assured her as she gestured her friend toward the kitchen. “The whole four years we were roomies at FAU, and the three years of law school after, all you could talk about was how you couldn’t wait to be a criminal defense attorney. And how many other new lawyers did you beat out for this, and I quote, super-duper plum position that pays you more money than God?”
“Yeah, well, plans change. Besides, you were going to get your master’s, and then your doctorate, and then teach wide-eyed college freshmen all about great eighteenth- and nineteenth-century women’s literature. Instead, you moved out to California to try to be a screenplay writer for a couple of years. Now here you are back in Florida, pushing thirty and running your half sister’s woo-woo shop.”
“This isn’t a woo-woo shop,” Ruby countered, not for the first time. Reverting to her default statement of purpose that she’d crafted, she went on. “I’m running a retail establishment that specializes in traditional artifacts used primarily in Caribbean-based religious rites.”
JoJo halted and swung about to face her. “Seriously, Rubes? You’re selling naked people candles and live chickens. It’s a woo-woo shop.”
“They’re roosters, and they’re not for sale,” Ruby shot back.
To be honest, however, the roosters had been on the block, until about five minutes after Rosa left town. Not willing to sell a hapless bird for ritual sacrifice, no matter if it was done humanely, Ruby had slapped a “quarantine” sign on their cages, telling anyone who inquired that the trio had been diagnosed with bird flu. She’d been trying ever since to find a poultry rescue to take them. In the meantime, their continued presence meant waking to a cacophony of crowing most mornings, but the loss of sleep was more than offset by a clear conscience.
And only some of the candles she sold were in the shape of naked humans!
This time, it was JoJo who rolled her eyes; still, her tone was apologetic as she replied, “Fine, I’m sorry. What you’re doing makes sense. You get free rent and a salary, and you still have time to take a couple of classes and work on your master’s thesis. I just worry about you being alone, with some of the people who stop in here.”
“Ninety-nine percent of our customers are lovely, everyday people
… and thanks to you, I’ve got Zuki for that last one percent who aren’t.”
A year earlier, JoJo had risked literal life and limb to steal Zuki, then a scrawny puppy, from the backyard of a lowlife who’d bought her to use as a bait dog in a dogfight ring. But since JoJo’s condo association—just like the majority of HOAs in South Florida—didn’t allow bully breeds, she couldn’t keep the pup herself. Fortunately, Rosa had a soft spot for dogs, and so she’d not objected when Zuki had come to live with Ruby instead.
“So where are the fur babies?” she wanted to know as they settled at one end of the galley kitchen. “I can’t believe they’re not here trying to mooch our food. Is everyone getting along okay?”
“Ophelia and Zuki ran off to the courtyard before you came in,” Ruby replied as JoJo unpacked the food—moo goo gai pan, along with an order of garlic shrimp, the requisite white rice, and a side of spring rolls. “And, yes, they’re getting along fine.”
She pulled a couple of vintage turquoise Fiestaware plates from the cabinet. She set the dishes on the red Formica and chrome dinette table that sat beneath the window. As always, she couldn’t help but mentally contrast the narrow galley setup with those oversized farm kitchens in the home magazines with acres of cabinets and miles of counters and islands.
The first thing one saw as one walked through the kitchen door was a big painted hook, where Ruby hung Zuki’s leash and a small tote that contained dog walking accessories: folding water dish, poop bags, and a half-bald tennis ball for chasing. On the opposite wall from the door and to the right of the dinette were glass-front white cabinets. These old-style fixtures hung over a couple of white-tiled countertops on either side of the white enamel sink (Rosa had yet to install an
automatic dishwasher). To the right along the short wall was an old gas stove and an almost-as-ancient refrigerator. Together with the cabinets and stove, they formed a tidy, L-shaped cooking/prep area.
Set against the opposite short wall was a tall, pierced-door pie safe. The piece was original to the house, its chippy white paint a result of age rather than the work of a clever up-cycler. That cabinet held linens, pots and pans, and extra dishes. Beside it in the corner sat a large blue-glazed round planter on a wheeled base. The pot held a ponytail palm—a bulbous-trunked succulent with a swath of long narrow leaves sprouting from its top in a crazed fountain of green. The plant was Rosa’s pride and joy, and so Ruby had been frantic the first time she’d seen Ophelia nibbling at one of the leaves. Luckily, a quick flick of water from the sink had scared her off, and so far there’d been no further signs of feline chomping.
All in all, it was a homey space. Even JoJo, who was proud owner of one of those miles-and-acres farm kitchens, often remarked how cheerful she found it.
Reaching into the aforementioned icebox, as Rosa called it the fridge, Ruby grabbed a couple of bottles of sparkling water. Then, slipping into one of the dinette’s matching chrome and red upholstered chairs, she added, “Ophelia was a bit hissy the first couple of days, but that was to be expected. Now that she’s had time to settle in, she and Zuki are best buds.”
“What about you and her?” JoJo asked as she dumped half the moo goo gai pan onto her plate and then passed the cardboard container to Ruby. “Does she sit on your lap while you read Tarot cards?”
“Not exactly. She’s still a bit standoffish with me, but she’s getting better. But I do think she has a career ahead of her as a Tarot reader all by herself.”
Ruby added a bit of garlic shrimp and part of the container of rice to her plate. Then, between bites, she told her friend about the earlier reading with Carmen, and how Ophelia had saved the day.
“It was pretty uncanny,” she finished, waving her wooden chopsticks for emphasis. “I mean, what are the chances she could turn over the exact card that made sense?”
“Well, depending on whether or not you believe that sort of thing”—JoJo was, Ruby knew, quite the skeptic—“I’d say almost no chance. So your new kitty must really be a prodigy.”
As they continued to eat, they moved on to other subjects—starting with the latest update on JoJo’s attempts to secure the perfect wedding venue (two churches and a nature center had thus far been eliminated), and then on to Ruby’s love life (or lack thereof).
“Speaking of which,” Ruby said through a mouthful of garlic shrimp, “I need a pinkie swear or something that you won’t try to set me up with another of Blake’s friends ever again.”
“What? I thought you and Bobby got on just fine.”
“Oh, yeah … if by fine you mean that I should ignore what he told me about being nervous around girls who have unnatural hair color. And how the one little blue streak in my hair is the first step toward a full tattoo body suit and major facial piercings. Nope, no more of those clean-cut professional guys, thank you very much.”
JoJo gave a martyred sigh. “Well, you didn’t like the spin instructor from the gym either. Too peppy, I think you said? And you told me that the cute barista I found for you at CoffeeCoffee”—she named the nearby Starbucks knockoff—“was too needy. Seriously, I’m running out of single guys to dangle in front of you.”
“And thank goodness for that,” Ruby shot back, stabbing a hapless shrimp with her chopstick.
Then, tempering the words with a smile, she added, “Not that
I don’t appreciate your concern, but I’m calling a halt to dating for a while. Between the shop and studying, I barely have time for a casual dinner out once a week, let alone a steady guy.”
“What, and you think I have time for a fiancé and a wedding on top of working sixty hours a week?” JoJo countered with a snort. “But I make time for him—for us—because it’s important to me. And I want my best friend to find a great guy and be worn to a happy frazzle, just like me.”
“Uh, thanks?” Ruby laughed. “Believe me, until further notice I’m perfectly happy to live vicariously through you and your fairy-tale relationship with Blake.”
“Okay, if that’s really what you want … but just as long as it stays vicarious. Oh, crud.”
That last was directed not at Ruby for settling for a secondhand romance, but at JoJo’s cell phone, which had started binging. Wiping duck sauce off her fingers, the attorney swiped the screen and read the incoming text. Then she frowned.
“Work?” Ruby commiserated.
“Yep … so much for a leisurely lunch.”
Sighing, JoJo snatched a final shrimp with her chopsticks and then reluctantly pushed back her chair. “Emergency meeting back at the office. All hands on deck and that kind of thing. I’ve got to get moving.”
“You want me to pack up the rest of the food for you to take home to Blake?”
“No, you go ahead and save the leftovers for dinner tonight,” her friend replied as she gathered her purse and looped it back over her shoulder. “Besides, one of those spring rolls is for Zuki. Give the fur babies a hug from me and tell them Auntie JoJo is sorry she didn’t get to love on them today.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Ruby walked her friend back to the front door, where they parted with mutual promises for lunch and shopping and happy hour later in the week. Since no potential customers were lurking outside, Ruby relocked the door after her and headed back to the kitchen to finish the last couple of bites of her lunch. Then, leftovers refrigerated and dishes done, she picked up a spring roll and a piece of shrimp—sauce carefully washed off—and headed for the courtyard.
Five
“It’s.”
“The.”
“Cat!”
“Be—”
“Ware.”
“Brothers!”
The call came from the three courtyard roosters who had paused in mid-strut at Ophelia’s approach. Usually, she ignored them lest the sight of their dancing tail-feathers be too tempting for even the strongest of felines to resist. They didn’t have individual names, at least not that they shared with outsiders. Zuki called them Roosters One, Two, and Three, though Ophelia had no idea which one was which, since they looked identical.
Most times, the birds cackled and crowed among themselves out there in the courtyard. When they spoke to anyone else, it was as if there were three heads controlled by a single rooster brain. More like bird brain, she thought with a snort. Each bird clucked out one word, in turn, until as a group they had managed a full sentence. That made for boring conversation, in Ophelia’s opinion, which was why she rarely engaged them.
But today, feeling particularly out of sorts with worry over Brandon, she slanted them an evil green look and let loose with a little hisssssss.
The three birds gave a collective Squawk! Then, wattles and combs wobbling, they flapped and fluttered their way to the safety of the side yard where Rosa grew her herbs.
Ophelia flopped onto the ground, laughing, her bad mood momentarily relieved.
“I should—do that—more often,” she gasped out, waving sleek black paws in amusement. “It almost—makes up—for not being able to chase them!”
“That was mean,” Zuki scolded, though Ophelia saw her cover a grin with one big paw. “You’d better be much nicer to Philomena.”
Sobering, the cat got to her paws again. “All right, let’s meet your friend and see if she can help me find Brandon. Though I’ll probably do just as well looking at Ruby’s Tarot cards.”
“Forget Tarot cards. Philomena can tell you anything just by looking at you. She’s psychic.”
Ophelia had lived in the Botanica long enough to know what that meant. She rolled her green eyes. “For kibble’s sake, you’ve been hanging out with the human too long. You expect me to believe this Philomena can predict the future?”
“And the present, and the past!” Zuki exclaimed. “She’s very, very smart. Do you know, she’s at least fifty human years old.”
“Really?” That impressed Ophelia more than anything else Zuki had said. She’d never met a furred or feathered creature anywhere
near that old before. “Fine, I’ll talk to her. Where is she hiding?”
“There.” The pit bull waved a paw in the direction of the pond.
Ophelia frowned. She didn’t see anyone. “Where?”
“There!” Zuki pointed a paw again. “In. The. Pond,” she clarified, speaking slowly as if Ophelia were as dumb as a mouse.
Ophelia gave her a slanted look. If this was the canine’s idea of a joke, well, Zuki was in for some payback. “The pond? What is she, a frog?”
“Jump up on the ledge and call her, and you’ll see.”
Muttering bad words about bossy canines, Ophelia lightly leapt atop the rocky wall that surrounded the pond. Sitting straight up and wrapping her long black tail around her, she ventured, “Philomena? Philomena?”
A few seconds ticked by, and other than a lizard dropping from the tree to the table, no creature appeared. Leaning closer to the water, she repeated, “Philomena, where are you?”
Nothing. She shot a look back at Zuki, who gave her an encouraging nod. She took a deep breath and yowled, “PHILOMENA!”
Without warning, the pond rippled, and a large, shiny white head topped by a splotch of scarlet breached the surface, splashing water and halting a few inches from Ophelia’s velvety black nose. Scaly lips made smacking sounds, and then a watery voice said, “You need not to shout. I was coming out.”
“Me-YOW!”
Skittering away from the largest fish she had ever seen, Ophelia stubbed her rear paw on an uneven rock and went tumbling off the wall. She caught herself in mid-fall and twisted about, so that she landed on all four paws. But that didn’t keep Roosters One through Three, who’d apparently been spying on her and witnessed her mishap, from clucking with hysterical laughter.
“The.”
“Cat.”
“Fell.”
“Serves.”
“Her.”
“Right.”
Ophelia hissed in their direction, which put an end to the laughter and promptly sent the chickens scuttling to the side yard again. She gave her front paw a quick, displacing lick and then shot a look at Zuki.
“Did you see that? That fish friend of yours is pretty mean. She—she knocked me over.”
“Well, actually, I think you fell all by yourself,” the pit bull replied, looking suspiciously like she was trying not to laugh, too. “But as long as you’re all right, that’s what matters. And so you know, Philomena is not just any fish—she’s a koi who came all the way from Japan to live here. Now, go ask her about Brandon.”
