Fool's Journey (4 page)

           
"That's a good idea," Mrs. Ruiz nodded.

           
“What is it you two know about this card that I don’t?”
Deirdre demanded.

           
Mrs. Ruiz tied the deck back into the silk handkerchief.
“Just interesting," she replied with a shrug. "Never see much of the
Fool. He stays in the deck most times. The deck, it’s his story.”

           
Deirdre put a hand to her temple. “So are you saying the
Fool’s story is about to become my story?”

           
"Everybody's story is the Fool's story,” she said as
she replaced the cards in her purse. “Just depends which chapter you're on.
Maybe I'll try again later, Deirdre. Today's no good. But I'll come back
tomorrow if you want."

           
"Don't worry about it, Mrs. Ruiz," Deirdre told
her. "I think it would be best if I put the whole thing out of my mind.
There are better things to think about." She smiled as she ran a hand up
through her hair.

           
"You let me know. Okay, Deirdre? You promise?"

           
"Sure, Mrs. Ruiz."

           
When Panda came back into the room bearing a tray holding
a teapot, three mugs, and a plate of cookies, Mrs. Ruiz was just putting on her
raincoat.

           
Panda's face fell. "You're not going to stay, Mrs.
Ruiz? I wanted to ask you some questions about the tarot. It's peppermint tea.
All my sources say it's good for serenity.
 
Plus, I raided Deirdre's hoard of macadamia nut-chocolate chip cookies.
They're good for the soul."

           
"Sorry, I gotta go, Panda." Mrs. Ruiz tied on a
plastic rain scarf.
 
"I got a three
o'clock over on Highland Drive. Bachelor. A real slob."

           
"You think maybe we could talk another time?"
Panda asked. "My article has been on the shelf since graduate school and I
could really use a publication. Besides, I want to help Deirdre figure out
what’s going on."

           
"Maybe, Panda. We'll see. Sometimes tarot has more
questions than answers. You take care of yourself, Deirdre. Be sure you lock
all the doors and windows tight. Oh—and light a candle. Angels always like
candles."

           
The smell of the rain blew in as Mrs. Ruiz opened the
door, then hesitated. "Looks like somebody left a package for you, Deirdre,"
she said as she stooped to pick it up from the landing.

           
Deirdre frowned. "I wonder why they didn't
knock?"

           
"You sure it wasn't here when you come up?"
Mrs. Ruiz asked as she stepped back inside and handed the package to Deirdre.
"Maybe with the rain coming down so hard you was just anxious to get
inside. Didn't look, maybe?"

           
"I don't think so," Deirdre answered slowly.
"Did you see anything, Panda?"

           
"No, and I always look down at my feet when I'm
wearing this caftan. I've tripped on it too many times. I couldn't have missed
it."

           
For a moment, Deirdre considered the box in her hands. It
was wet, although it didn't look as if it had spent too many minutes in the
rain. It was a common stationery box, the same kind used for the sort of paper
on which she printed her own manuscripts. There were no markings to indicate the
package’s origin. It looked innocent enough, but she was reluctant to open it,
almost as if she sensed it contained some sort of malevolent jack-in-the box.

           
She shut the door and carried the box to the coffee
table. Sitting down on the couch, she took a pair of scissors from the table
and snipped the tape that sealed the box shut. Slowly, she lifted the lid.
 
Bright pink tissue paper peeped innocently
out. she smiled. A present!

Feeling
a little foolish, she set the lid aside and lifted the paper away.

Then
she froze.

           
"What is it, Deirdre?" Panda asked.

           
She
looked at her friends still standing by the door, waiting for her to reveal
what lay inside the box. She swallowed hard and held the box up for them.
 
Inside was a dried flower wreath, identical to
the one she'd tried on earlier at the market.

Amidst
the colored ribbons, woven through the purple and pink flowers, curled a lock
of her own copper-colored hair.

V.

           
"I'm going to call Manny," Mrs. Ruiz said,
untying her rain scarf as she headed back towards the telephone.

           
Panda went to the door and slid the security chain.

           
"Who's
Manny?" Deirdre asked sharply.

           
"My nephew. He goes to law school, but he works
sometimes for a detective downtown. He'll know what to do,"
she said,
beginning to dial.

           
"Don't, Mrs. Ruiz," Deirdre interrupted. She
needed to think.

           
With an obvious reluctance,
Mrs.
Ruiz set the receiver back in the cradle.

           
Deirdre still sat on the sofa with the open box on her
knees. She needed to think. She picked up the lid and closed it, placing her
hands flat on top.
 

           
 
Panda and Mrs.
Ruiz exchanged a glance, but neither said a word. Deirdre knew what they were
thinking: whoever had taken her hair also knew where she lived.

They
were right to be worried. This was serious. Any normal person would head for
the telephone and call for help, but she knew too well where such a call would
lead: investigation, the press, and eventual exposure. That was more perilous.
Her simple life would be over and, with it, all the bright promises the future
held. She wouldn't risk that for the devil himself.

           
The
minutes ticked silently by. Finally, Deirdre stood and walked to the window,
one hand still playing with the ends of her shorn strands. The rain was coming
down hard, and the premature dusk of autumn had begun to usher in the first
twinkling of city lights. She wanted to be by herself, to sit with her
confusion and translate it like a line in a stubborn poem.

           
"Don't worry," she said as she turned to face
Panda and Mrs. Ruiz. "I promise I'm not going to be stupid about this, but
I think I'd be over-reacting to bother Mrs. Ruiz' nephew."

           
"You're already being stupid," Panda fumed.
"Look at this place!"

           
 
She strode to the
door and pounded it in several different places. "The door is hollow core.
Sure there's a lock, but anyone with the strength of Winnie-the-Pooh could kick
this thing off its hinges. Besides, there's just this flimsy security
chain—I’ve got ankle bracelets stronger than this—and no peephole. I shudder to
think how often you've opened that door to me without even asking who was
there. You don't even have another door, so there's no escape route if somebody
got in. Yet here you stand—"

           
 
"You're
right," Deirdre cut her off, keeping her voice calm and subdued.
"I'll tell the landlord I want a deadbolt installed–"

           
"Him!" Panda shuddered dramatically. "I'd
forgotten about that guy. He's always given me the creeps. How do you know it's
not
him
?"

           
For the first time that afternoon, Deirdre felt like
laughing. "Panda, only you would find Mr. Simmons creepy. He's a total
innocent and he looks like Santa."

           
"The eye of the beholder, I suppose," Panda
muttered. "There’s something a little weird about Santa, too, if you ask
me. Old fat guy. All those elves! Maybe I'm out in left field, but you can't be
too careful. You ought to at least call the police. They might know something.
Maybe this isn’t an isolated incident."

           
An immediate sense of relief flooded over Deirdre. What
if she herself wasn't a target in particular? What if she had been chosen at
random?
What
if some psycho was running around Pike Place Market collecting hair samples?
Cold comfort, but she'd take it.

"Do
you really think so?"

           
"Either that or the Voodoo Poetry Society putting
out a hit on the literary princess,” Panda said. “Just call the police. Doing
nothing is playing with fire. It doesn't matter if this craziness was random or
not."

           
It did matter though, Deirdre thought, but she wasn't
going to explain.

           
"What would I tell the police?" Deirdre asked.
"The whole thing sounds unlikely. Even if they believed me, I doubt a
crime's been committed."

           
"Assault and battery," Mrs. Ruiz supplied
immediately. "I sit in on a couple of Manny's law classes last year."

           
"Really, Mrs. Ruiz?" Panda asked, leaning
forward. "Assault and battery?"

           
"Sure." The little woman nodded her head
wisely. "Assault—it happens every day. I raise my fist at you . . . that's
assault. I don't even have to touch. If I do, we got battery. That's what they
call general rule anyway. Easy. And for this, they charge big tuition. Another
thing, too. They cut your hair, Deirdre. That means scissors or a knife. Now
maybe we got assault with deadly weapon."

           
"If I'd known that," Panda said, laughing,
"I'd have had my last hairdresser locked up.

“What
are you going to do, Deirdre?" she asked more soberly.

           
Deirdre fought to convey composure. She had to think
clearly, but it was so hard, especially with Panda harping at her. She wanted
to be alone, to drop her facade and rail against the universe for a while.

           
As if in answer to her thoughts, Mrs. Ruiz said quietly,
"I think we better go, Panda. Deirdre's a smart girl. She's got a Ph.D.,
right? She knows what to do."

           
"Hey, I've got a Ph.D., too," Panda snorted.
"That's not a guarantee of anything but the stomach to stick around a
university for years at a time." She gave Deirdre a hard look, "If
you have the sense God gave a radish you ought to get out of this
place—tonight. Come over to my place."

           
"I'm not
that
scared." Deirdre turned to Mrs. Ruiz. "You wouldn’t understand unless
you’d seen her apartment. I’m always expecting to find a shrunken head in the
sugar bowl."

           
"Come on, Deirdre," Panda protested. "I
swear it's not that bad, Mrs. Ruiz. It's just the lifestyle that goes with the
job. Besides, I've gotten rid of about half of the artifacts from my last
study."

           
"Gotten rid of them?" Deirdre asked.

           
"In a manner of speaking,” Panda hedged. "I had
to rent a storage unit. I wrote it into my last grant proposal. Anyway, the
guest bed looks a little less like a sacrificial altar than it did last time
you were there. Come on, Deirdre," she urged. "We can have a slumber
party."

           
"You, me and the rest of the urban legends?"
Deirdre shook her head. "Not tonight."

           
"Aw, come on! I'll turn on the tape recorder and we
can listen to some ghost stories I collected at a junior high last Halloween.
You wouldn't believe how many of them think their school is haunted."

           
"You don't believe in ghosts, Panda?" Mrs. Ruiz
asked, her eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch.

           
"I believe in them, all right, Mrs. Ruiz. What I
can't accept is the notion that anyone would haunt a junior high school. A
castle, maybe. A locker room, nope. What do you say, Deirdre? I’m leaving for
that conference in New Orleans in the morning and you could have the whole place
to yourself for a few days. I’d feel so much better if you got out of
here."

           
Deirdre sighed. It seemed clear that Panda was not going
to give up on this. "Well," she said slowly, "I guess the main
thing is that I'm not going to take any chances. If it will make you feel
better, I suppose I could call the non-emergency number at the Police
Department."

           
"Good start,” Panda said. “But what about coming
home with me?"

           
"Thanks, Panda, but I've got work to do for
tomorrow. I've got classes to prepare for. My computer's here and I can't get
anything done without my word processor. You know what that’s like. I can’t
write legibly in longhand anymore. I promise, I'll just stay here and I won't
answer the door."