Death in the Cards (6 page)

“Besides,” I said, “I've had my heart broken before. I can deal with it.” Cherry and Max disappeared behind a tree.

Sally gave a short laugh. “Breakin' up with John Worthy back in high school doesn't count, sister.” She calls me that when she's annoyed with me, even though we're cousins.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she has six brothers and no sisters.

“Does, too,” I said, elbowing her. “The bum left me high and dry for junior prom.”

“I offered to set you up with Bo!” Bo was a biker buddy of her ex-husband—and both men were fifteen years older than us.

“Oh, that'd have saved my heart from pain.” We laughed.

The silence between us became comfortable again.

Then Sally said, “You know, them people down there, maybe they're onto something. Great-Aunt Noreen might have scared us near to peein' our pants with her talk of dreams about us drowning over at the lake, but Mamaw still says the gift of sight runs deep back into our family. I've always thought it was hogwash, but Mamaw's right about a lot of things.”

“I wouldn't know,” I said. Mamaw Toadfern had stopped talking to my mama when Mamaw's son, my daddy, ran off when I was a baby and never got back in touch with anyone ever again. When my mama ran off, too, a few years later, Mamaw turned the silent treatment on me—never mind that I was seven. Many members of the Toadfern clan, who didn't want to make Mamaw mad, didn't talk to me, either, unless they had to come into my laundromat when their washers broke or the water tables ran low on their farms after a drought. A notable exception was Sally and a few other cousins, who'd already ticked off Mamaw about all kinds of things. In Sally's case, that was marrying a wild biker and then buying a bar to run. (Mamaw was a strict Pentecostal.)

“Well, true,” Sally said, “but the point is, maybe there's something to at least a few folks having a gift of prophecy. And I can tell, Josie, that that Ginny Proffitt woman spooked you with whatever she said she saw in your palm. And I don't think it was really about navy blue swimsuits, either.”

I stared down at the earthworks. Here it was, my chance to tell someone about my recurring dream of Mrs. Oglevee. I'd never considered sharing it before.

Max and Cherry fell over from behind the tree—literally—with Max right on top of Cherry. Even from our distance, we could hear Cherry's “oof.” But that didn't stop Max from kissing her or Cherry from responding.

Sally sighed. “Might as well buy the bourbon and chocolate for next week now. He's gonna bust her heart wide open.”

“Yes, he will. He's known for that kind of thing.”

Sally and I both jumped and turned. Karen was right behind us. She was breathing quite evenly, given that she'd just climbed dozens of steps. “I saw them going at it as I came up the path. It's just desecration, pure and simple.”

I glanced back at where the psychic group (minus Max) had gathered. They had finished their ceremony and most were milling about now along the Serpent Mound path.

Sally waggled her eyebrows at Karen. “You think the Fort Ancient people never got it on? Maybe their spirits appreciate Max and Cherry's homage to the life force.”

Karen snorted—primly, somehow—at that. “Max would pay homage to the life force with anything in a skirt that's not dead. He's even flirted with my Skylar, although he's old enough to be her father—”

“—and I'm old enough to take care of myself,” said Skylar, who came up the steps to the lookout sounding weary, though not from her trek. “Really, Mom, leave poor Max alone.”

“He's just lucky Ginny's not here. She'd tell him off for desecrating a spiritual hot spot,” Karen said, a little sulkily.

“But not Cherry? She has some choice, after all, in whether or not to play tonsil hockey with Max,” Sally said. Two more people came up—Maggie, the chakra balancer, and Samantha, the pet psychic.

Skylar laughed. “Ginny'd just warn Cherry to beware of Max—that he's incredibly charming, but grows weary of his companions quickly. And she should know.”

“But they were together for three years, weren't they?” Samantha said, huffing every few words. I liked her for that. Karen, Skylar, and Maggie's ability to bounce up all those steps without getting out of breath was a wee bit annoying.

“Max and Ginny were dating?” I asked.

“Living together,” said Karen. “Unwed.” She put a whole lot of negative judgment into that one word. I was surprised to realize she was a conservative psychic follower—not a likely type, I'd have thought, but I guess it really does take all kinds.

“Until Ginny dumped Max. But not because of his flirtatious nature. Just because she tired of him,” said Maggie. “At least, that's the talk, and it doesn't surprise me. Ginny uses people for her own purposes, then dumps them.” I looked at little, plump, soft-spoken Maggie. She sounded so bitter.

“Is that why Ginny didn't come on the tour—because of Max?” Sally asked.

“I don't believe so,” said Samantha. “Ginny is quite capable of ignoring Max, although Max really hates her for dumping him. Male ego and all that.”

“I'm amazed Ginny would miss this. Isn't she from here?” Maggie said.

Sally and I looked at each other, startled. We knew most everyone from around this area, but neither of us had heard of Ginny Proffitt before today.

“From the Columbus area,” Karen said. “She told me about Serpent Mound, how much she loved coming here as a kid. This was at the Chicago psychic fair, before the fair started and she took so many of Skylar's potential clients away. If I'd known she was going to do that, I'd never have
talked to her. I've really got to talk to Damon and Sienna about moving Skylar.”

“Mo-o-om,” Skylar started.

“Now, sweetie, your mom is just trying to watch out for you,” Samantha said kindly. “Unfortunately, that is Ginny's way. She always wants all the attention, all the focus on her, and—” Suddenly Samantha stopped, her soft round face going rigid, as she stared into the trees.

“Are you okay?” I asked anxiously.

Maggie swatted me on the arm. “Hush!” she hissed. “She's tuning in.”

Sally looked around nervously. “What? What? Don't tell me there are Fort Ancient spirits you all can see.”

Maggie pointed at the tree below us. I stared at the tree. Sally stared at the tree. And all we saw was a tree. Even Max and Cherry had moved on from behind it.

Then, finally, I saw what had snagged Samantha's attention—a gray squirrel, up on a top branch, sitting up on its hind legs, its front paws dangling. Samantha was perfectly still as she stared at the squirrel. The squirrel was perfectly still as it stared back at her.

Then, suddenly, Samantha threw her arms up in the air and let out a wail that sounded like “whee-w-w-whree-eee!!”

The squirrel shot up into the tree as if it had been launched from a cannon, disappearing from our sight.

Samantha—quivering and shaking—wiped sudden tears from her eyes. Sally, I noted, was quivering, too, and wiping at her own eyes, but I had a feeling it was from a very different emotion than what had motivated Samantha, who was now hollering, “Oh, thank you, dear Xavier!”

I looked around. “Xavier?” Had I forgotten a psychic?

Maggie swatted my arm again. “The squirrel. She's thanking him for the message.”

I was confused. “Message? I didn't hear anything.”

Samantha gave me a look, again surprisingly hard for such a little, soft woman. “He told me,” she said with great dignity, “that all will be avenged for me this weekend.”

“That was mighty nice of him,” Sally said, barely holding back her laughter. “You leave him any messages?”

Samantha gave her a look of such seriousness that even Sally quickly sobered. “Xavier had forgotten where he'd left a stash of acorns. I reminded him.”

With that, she turned and started back down the steps. Karen watched after her, clearly awestruck. She sighed. “I do so admire psychics' talents.” She patted Skylar's arm. “Yours are the best, of course, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Skylar said, through gritted teeth. They started down the steps, too.

“Most everyone's headed back to the van. We need to get back to the motel to finish setting up. You did a great job leading the tour,” Maggie said, turning toward the steps.

“Wait—what do . . .” I paused, wanting to keep the incredulity out of my voice as I spoke the next words. “What do you know about Samantha's message from the squirrel—that she'll be avenged this weekend?”

Maggie turned back around. “My guess is that Samantha interpreted whatever the squirrel channeled to her”—Maggie said this with complete seriousness—“to mean that Ginny will in some way be humiliated this weekend. Samantha and Ginny were business partners once, and, so I hear, it didn't end well. Somehow, Ginny ended up with most of the assets, and Samantha basically had to start over.”

Maggie shook her head. “Poor Samantha. The stress almost destroyed her abilities, but fortunately she met a duck at the park near her house, and after several conversations with him, Samantha was back on track. She moved to Milwaukee
and rebuilt her business. She's probably better off without Ginny, but I don't think she's ever quite gotten over it.”

Sally contained herself until Maggie had gone down the steps, then erupted with laughter.

“Keep it together,” I snapped, grumpy because I knew I'd also been tempted to laugh. “I need you to help me get everyone back on the van so we can head back to Paradise.”

“Aww, Josie, can't Xavier come too?” Sally called after me, as I started down the steps.

I didn't let her see it—but her comment made me smile.

“Thank you for touring with us! On our way back to Paradise, I'll point out some of the sites we missed on our way over here,” Cherry was saying, fifteen minutes later, as Sally pulled the van out of its parking spot.

We were all present and accounted for on the van, and, I thought with relief, my duties were over.

“As we exit, you'll see on your left a large soybean field where a local man sighted a landing of an alien spaceship.”

The group behind me gasped. I wasn't sure if this was in awe at this report, in annoyance that perhaps Cherry was making fun of everyone (which I didn't think to be the case . . . I thought she was just enjoying being Ms. Tour Guide), or if it was because as she flipped her hair behind her right shoulder and turned to look to the left herself, a largish red mottled hickey was revealed on her neck.

“Of course, when the man reported it to the local authorities, they pooh-poohed his claims, despite the fact that burn marks in a circular pattern were found in the field that could never be explained. . .”

As Sally went on, and everyone else craned to look at her hickey, I stared out my window to the right. Tonight, I told myself, I would have a fine, relaxing time with Owen . . .

Then I saw them. Ginny Proffitt and Dru Purcell. Standing in the parking lot, facing each other. Talking—but, I could tell even behind the window that made their conversation mute to me—in a quiet way. Not the screaming I'd have expected from Dru.

What was Ginny doing here? Had she finished up her mysterious meeting and come to meet us for the end of the tour?

That seemed believable . . . but what was Dru doing here? This wasn't exactly his kind of place. One of his Sunday School teachers at the Paradise Church of Almighty Revelation, so I'd heard, had been so severely reprimanded for suggesting a youth group field trip out here, that she'd become a Lutheran.

Then, I saw him lift his glasses, wipe his eyes and pull Ginny to him in a tender, gentle embrace.

The meeting Ginny had rushed to, I knew with startling clarity, had been this—to meet Reverend Dru Purcell at Serpent Mound. As Dru hugged her, Ginny looked over the top of his arm . . . at me. At the bus. And she grinned. And pushed him away enough to give me a wave.

Then Dru pulled away from her and looked over at our van, at me staring out at them through the window, and a look of fear—then anger—came over his face.

And Aunt Clara's saying came drifting through my mind again . . .

5

“That there is a devil, there is no doubt. But is he trying to get in, or trying to get out?”

I clearly recall the first time I heard Aunt Clara's saying. It was a few months after she and Uncle Horace took me in from the local orphanage, after my mama ran off.

I was seven, eating my after-school snack of molasses cookies and milk in the kitchen, and trying not to squirm in the hot tweed dress Aunt Clara had sewn for me on her old treadle Singer. It was Indian-summer hot, but to Aunt Clara, October in southern Ohio meant crisp candy-apple weather, and that was that.

Aunt Clara stared out through the kitchen window at Buster Toadfern—a distant cousin of mine on my daddy's side (Aunt Clara and Uncle Horace being on my mama's side). She kept washing her Ball canning jars while muttering and staring and shaking her head.

Aunt Clara had hired Buster to clear out the tomato vines from the large vegetable garden that filled half of the backyard of our house on Plum Street. She'd already put up sixty
quarts of juicy red tomatoes, but I'd heard her tell Buster that morning to be sure to save all the green tomatoes.

Some she'd fry in corn meal batter, the rest she'd can as relish. Aunt Clara's grand plan was to be so frugal that there'd always be money to take care of Guy. To Aunt Clara, green tomatoes were an important part of that plan.

“What's a matter, Aunt Clara,” I asked. “Did Cousin Buster throw out the green 'maters?”

At my question, Aunt Clara went quiet, so fast and hard that her bun quivered in the wake of her sudden stillness.

Then, keeping her gaze on Buster, she said: “That there is a devil, there is no doubt. But is he trying to get in, or trying to get out?”