Mind Games (2 page)

“Oh, I thought you’d tell me.” The woman chuckled, and scattered sounds of amusement rose from the dimmed theater. Diana joined in with a smile. She searched the faceless crowd and shrugged, as if she’d never before heard the comment. “Well, that’s a new one—a subject turning the tables. I have to admit, you have me stumped.”
Elsie Cavanaugh
.

“Elsie. Elsie Cavanaugh,” the woman responded.

“Okay, Elsie. You managed the first surprise of the evening, now let me hold your hands and see whether I can surprise you, okay?”

Elsie sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a huff, and reached her hand across the table. “Okay, I’m ready.”

The audience went dead silent. Diana felt their expectation. She took Elsie’s hands in hers, closed her eyes, and let some time pass before she spoke in a voice everyone could hear. “You have a child who’s away and you’re worried. A young man, right? Answer yes or no. Nothing more.”

“Yes.”

“He’s in his early twenties.”
Not too hard to figure for a woman her age. The young man part would have been a fifty-fifty chance…if I were guessing
.

“Yes, that’s right. He’s—”

Diana’s eyes flared open. “Please don’t say anything before I finish.” Elsie nodded and Diana closed her eyes again. “I see a uniform
. He’s in the military―”

“How did you know that?”

“And stationed overseas. The Middle East, I believe.”
Thank you, phone records
.

Elsie’s bottom lip quivered. “Oh, dear God, is he all right? I haven’t heard from him in weeks.”

Diana opened her eyes. “He’s
fine, fine. Missing you. I think you’ll hear from him soon
.
”
General information. Law of averages
.

Tears filled Elsie’s eyes. “Oh, thank you. I’ve been so worried.” Sporadic applause drifted throughout the theater, along with the obvious intakes of breath, signifying either belief or skepticism.

“Are you all right, Elsie?” Diana asked. “Would you like a moment to gather yourself?” She poured more water into Elsie’s glass and her own. The stage lights seemed especially brilliant tonight. Sweat dripped down her back. Both sipped their water.

“That’s better,” Elsie said, plucking a tissue from the box and wiping her cheeks. “Go on.”

Diana slipped back into meditation mode, waiting long enough to pique interest before speaking. After all, she was an actress, and the believability of her performance was as much a part of her act as the revelations she imparted.

“I have a strong sensation you want to quit something, maybe your job. No, no,” she said shaking her head. “That’s not it. Ah, you want to quit smoking, but you’re afraid you’ll gain weight, like before.”

“How did you…I can’t believe you know that.” Elsie turned to the audience. “How did she know that?”

Because I’ve been there. Every smoker has.
The struggle with the pounds was worth it, because quitting restored her sense of smell, a vital tool of the trade. “You can do it, Elsie. Just takes a little willpower…and a patch or two.” Murmured agreement skittered through the audience. Acutely aware of her timing, she held off another moment to let her success resonate. “By the way, Elsie, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? About what?”

“I sense you recently lost a pet, a traumatic experience you haven’t quite gotten over.”

“Yes, our dog, Beamer. He was a member of the family.” She dabbed the damp tissue to her eyes. “Did my husband tell you this?”

“No,” Diana said. “You told me.” Now a buzz rose from the theater. Diana waited, milking the theatrical moment for all it was worth. She didn’t enjoy resurrecting the woman’s loss, but the emotional response of touching a raw nerve never failed to pull the audience into her mystical world.

“But I see you have a new puppy in your life. A border collie you’ll grow to love as much as Beamer.”

A smile lit Elsie’s face. “Yes, he’s a love.”

After a few more on-target disclosures, Diana ended the reading. Elsie hugged her and left the stage to a thunderous ovation.

Diana acknowledged her fans with an appreciative smile, careful not to bask too long in their adulation. The smile faded when a knifelike pain stabbed the back of her neck. Her hand shot to the base of her skull, and she massaged the tendons until the discomfort eased.

What the hell was that?

Composing herself, she bowed and left the stage. The persistent applause almost drowned out the announcement that the show would resume after a ten-minute break to give Ms. Racine a chance to rest.

“How’d you know about the dog?” Diana’s father, hot on her heels, almost tripped her.

“Lucky guess.” Diana hurried toward her dressing room, still rubbing the ache in her neck. She attributed the unsettling twinge to exhaustion, or maybe she jerked her head and pulled something. What else could it be? She snatched a cold bottle of water from the mini fridge, rolled it across her cheek and around her neck, then reclined on the chaise. After twisting off the cap, she gulped half the bottle.

“Did Jason get that information for you?” Galen paced the floor, hands stuffed in his pockets, a strand of thinning gray hair flopped onto his forehead. He looked at Diana curiously. “I don’t remember nothing’ ’bout no animal.”

“Galen, I’m tired. No inquisition, please. The woman lives on a farm. It’s only natural she’d become attached to an animal. Deductions. Sometimes they’re better than facts. Besides, I mentioned an animal; she brought up the dog. Might have been a lamb for all I knew.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t mention a new puppy. You did. And she sure as hell didn’t mention no border collie.”

“What’s the first thing someone does when their dog dies? They get another one. So, like I said, lucky guess. Border collies are farm dogs. Hell, I bet old Beamer was the same breed.”

“They herd sheep, not cows.”

Unwilling to rise to the discussion, Diana put her head back and closed her eyes. “Do we have to go to that Mardi Gras party tonight? I’ll be drained after this.”

“You sound like you’re actually readin’ ’em. How could you be drained? All you gotta do is memorize a few things. What’s so hard about that?”

“I guess I’m tired from the schedule. This is the sixth performance in seven days, with only one day off between cities, and that was a travel day.”

“You got nights off between shows this week, and when they’re over, you’ll have a few days to rest. And yes, we have to attend the party. Won’t look good if you don’t show up. Besides, lots of important people’ll be there. You get a few new clients from this shindig every year. Good publicity too.”

“Just what I need, more publicity.”

“Ain’t done you no harm up to now, that’s for sure. You’ve packed every house, not to mention the fees your private clients cough up.”

“That’s because I’m good at what I do.” She rolled the water bottle across her forehead. “God, it’s hot out there.”

“You got ’em eatin’ right outta your hand, little girl. They’re believin’ every word you say. Hell, even I believed you.”

Diana scowled at her father. “Thanks for reminding me what a fake I am.”

“Get over it. I don’t have to remind you ’bout the nice livin’ you’re makin’. Come on, up. Time to get on out there. Remember, third row from the back on the end. Young man, twenty-two, just graduated college.”

“I remember. Lots of school loans, cheerleader girlfriend, Mustang. I remember.” She dragged herself off the chaise. “Where’s Blanche?”

“Your mother’ll be here in time to go to the party. Now go on, scoot.”

Diana took another sip of water, freshened her lipstick, and hustled back toward the stage. She hated when she was tired, cranky, and acting like a prima donna. She hoped that didn’t come across in her performance or she’d read about it in the morning papers. Besides, her neck still tingled and she didn’t understand why. A quick, chiropractic jerk of her head produced a satisfying crack, and she massaged the area. As she was about to pull back the curtain, Jason, her computer researcher, caught her arm.

“How’d you know about the dog?”

“Lucky guess. You know, farm, animals. Women get attached.”

“This was a little closer than that. Border collie? No information I gave you.”

“I’m a psychic, remember?” She winked and pointed to her head, as if that explained everything.

“Yeah, well, when you veer from the script like that, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Spooks me, Diana.”

“Gotta go, Jase. That’s my cue.” She smiled, blew an air kiss, and sashayed onstage to the waiting crowd.

The Contest Begins

T
his was the fourth year Diana and her parents had received the coveted envelope bearing the Marigny family crest with an invitation to their Mardi Gras ball. Because of Francine Marigny’s well-known fascination with the rich and famous, her guest list included every important performer in town, along with a Who’s Who of New Orleans society. Thanks to introductions made during these ostentatious events, Diana engaged a few readings at enormous fees. Her reputation skyrocketed two years before when she brought up a secret miscarriage from Francine’s past during a psychic reading. Impressed, the woman publicly extolled Diana’s genius, resulting in lucrative future appointments.

Diana watched her hostess greet the guests. The woman wore a voluminous green satin gown, piled her bottle-red hair high atop her head, and covered her eyes with a feathered mask. She portrayed a vibrant picture of New Orleans’s decadent past. As Diana approached the receiving line, Francine nudged her husband, Alain, and drew his attention to a vest button sprung open by his burgeoning waistline. Alain Marigny was fat, loud, sweaty, and rich. Not the ideal checklist for selecting a husband, but Diana presumed that one out of four met Francine’s criteria of good enough.

“Dahlin’, how good of y’all to come. I swear, it’s a treat to have you here during my parties every year. Galen, Blanche, I hear your daughter was brilliant tonight. Had the crowd riveted in their seats. Wish I could have been there, but you know this party is
sooo
important to Alain and me. My dear, how
do
you do it? We have tickets for Monday night, so I hope you’re as good.”

Diana caught Galen’s don’t-say-a-word warning and tucked away her natural tendency toward smart-ass answers, honed from years of fending off audience hecklers and skeptics. “I’ll do my best, Francine. Having you in the audience will be inspirational, I’m sure.”

“And if I haven’t mentioned it, you look absolutely gorgeous.” Francine drawled the last word into three, long syllables. “You get prettier every year. What a cute, petite figure. I’m so envious. I think all of us tall, statuesque women secretly want to look like li’l ol’ you.”

“Really, I don’t know why. All I get to see are tall women’s chests. Looking up all the time gives me a neck ache. I’m sure you find looking down on people so much easier.”

Galen slowly closed his eyes, and Diana wanted to smack herself for biting the hand that fed her.
What is wrong with me?

“Oh, you are such a riot.” All within earshot turned around as Francine’s high-decibel cackle pierced the room. “Come join the party. I must tend to my guests. The bar’s over there, or lasso one of those dahlin’ waiters with the cute little buns and the trays full of the best champagne money can buy.” She bent down and whispered in Diana’s ear. “I do hope you haven’t forgotten our reading. I did so enjoy the last one.”

“Of course not. I can’t wait.”

“Wonderful, dahlin’.” She touched Diana’s arm and trilled, “Enjoy,” as she scurried off in a flurry of green satin, with tendrils of red tresses following in her wake.

“She’s a piece of work,” Diana said to her mother, relieved that her acerbic comment had soared over Francine’s architectural hairdo.

“But an expensive one, dear. That reading is a week in Europe for all of us.”

“Be nice, baby,” Galen said. “Francine ain’t the only jackpot at the party.”

“I need a drink.” Aside from the best champagne, Francine served eighteen-year old single malt scotch. Diana planned to savor a few to help endure the evening. The bartender filled her order, and with drink firmly in one hand, she adjusted the beaded mask over her eyes with the other. Scooping up the skirt of her black satin gown, she circled the room to speak to a few private clients. As she moved toward the bar for a second drink, a tall figure wearing a Cyrano de Bergerac mask blocked her path.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“That’s okay.”

He moved out of her way, and she moved in the same direction to get out of his. When they moved a second time in lock step, she heard him laugh.

“You’re Diana Racine, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

Though muffled by the full over-the-head mask, the man’s voice resonated a sexy flirtatiousness. She answered in kind. “Have you now?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And why is that?”

“Why, to test you.”