THE WITCH AND THE TEA PARTY (A Rachael Penzra Mystery) (33 page)

I took her up on her offer of tea. She makes a home brew of different herbs that is really delicious. I’ve tried the recipe, but mine never tastes quite as good. I think sometimes our taste buds are more influenced by our surroundings than we realize. Hot chocolate tastes better in the winter, even though we might not have been outside in the cold at all.

“I think I’d prefer to do a hand reading before we start,” she told me. “That should give me a basic idea of whether or not we’re dealing with a temporary situation. That’s almost certainly what it is, and once we’ve established that
, we can discuss what can be done about stimulating the psychic side. Or perhaps it would be wiser to let it be for a while. We humans tend to always try too hard, and nothing is more destructive to psychic and meditative practices than trying too hard. Things have to flow.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “But I haven’t been trying to make it work. I sensed something was off, but I didn’t really understand what was missing until the other day.”

“Well, let’s take a look at your hand.” She held out her left hand for me to place mine in. She likes to read the back of hands first, getting an overall impression of a person. I always study my veins and skin right along with her, but it means nothing to me. I have a few scars I can identify, but that’s about all that stands out.

She turned my hand over and we studied that side for a while. “I don’t see any reason to think you’ve lost your gift,” she finally assured me. “I do see a bit of a muddle at the moment, probably because you’re juggling too many things at once. You might not notice, but the way you’re
trying to curl your fingers definitely shows that you’re tightening the natural flow of energy.”

“The terrible threesome are in a mess,” I said. “But that’s hardly anything new. I don’t know what unpleasant thing could be causing it. Admittedly the murder is hardly anything to cheer about, but I didn’t know the woman and to be honest, I don’t like what I’ve heard about her.”

“Stop and think a bit about what is new in your life lately,” she advised.

I thought. “Oh no!” I pouted. “You’re going to tell me that finally having a love life is affecting my psychic abilities, aren’t you?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” she admonished. “You have to decide that yourself.”

“
Argh!” I tried to strangle the idea. “What should I do? Do you think it’s permanent? I don’t intend to give up David.”

She laughed, taking up my other hand in hers and looking it over. “I really don’t see anything at all indicating any permanent loss of your gift. You’re just busy having a good time emotionally. Do you recall whether or not you ever had any loss of ability during your pregnancies?”

“Now that you say that, I remember once thinking that having babies and kids was a great way to block any other thoughts,” I laughed. “I never thought of it as anything other than being so busy and tired that I didn’t have time for anything else. I don’t remember whether it was the pregnancies or the whole time of raising little kids. As they got older, though, I know it came back full force. It was kind of handy at times with the kids.”

“It does happen occasionally with pregnancy,” she told me. “And I guess if we really reached, we could say that your newly aroused interest in romance was along the same
channel of energy. So I’d recommend taking some set times for meditation, not trying to wake up any psychic hits, but just allowing your mind to flow freely. Other than that, don’t worry about it.”

That was a relief. Some years earlier I would have been delighted to lose my gift, but in the past few years it
had been something I nourished and enjoyed studying. I was learning how to analyze the flashes that hit my brain. At least I
had
been learning. Now I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the chance to continue to develop my skill. But Elena really was a witch, a wise woman, and she hadn’t led me wrong yet.

Back home I was feeling pretty good. I hadn’t realized how much the worry was draining me.
If nothing else, the psychic flow had been a habit. Not that I didn’t still have the worry about the safety of my loved ones, but that was something normal, something I could openly, as well as to myself, fret about. The other I’d been keeping buried, a secret even from my conscious self. And really, there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. It would disappear or it wouldn’t. I kept reminding myself that it hadn’t gone completely. I still had occasional episodes. If it wasn’t as invasive as it had been, maybe that was a good thing, too. Possibly I was gaining a little control. Well, okay, maybe not that last bit… Still, I didn’t intend to worry about it. Confession really is cathartic.

David called after I got home, and I surprised myself by telling him about my problem. I didn’t quite tell all. It didn’t seem necessary for me to mention the theory that I might be so involved in sex that everything else in my brain
had shut down. He was sympathetic, told me not to worry about it, saying that he’d had definite stretches when his abilities were greatly lessened. That made me wonder when and why. “It comes and goes, Rachael,” he assured me. “Some days you can feel the energy there all day. Other times, it’s just a trickle.”

The next day passed peacefully. We had pretty much worked out a routine with Aunt Myrtle. We escorted her back and forth, gave Mac a much needed day off,
and I volunteered to keep the three ladies company all evening. Mac would show up around ten, and I’d drive Moondance home after dropping my aunt at the house. It was beginning to feel like hospital vigils when the patient still needs a lot of care, but the danger is pretty much over. The added intelligence that the sheriff had a definite suspect in mind helped me a lot. It helped still more that I didn’t have any worry that me or mine were under suspicion.

Moondance, who had gone back to her fortune telling right away, was a little miffed at the disappearance of her beautifully carved crystal ball stand, but David promised to find her one that was clear crystal itself, so she could put various colored pads under it, depending on her mood. She liked that idea, and didn’t seem surprised that someone as graceful as David had broken the wooden one. Dora had agreed to back up the story quite readily. She must have been secretly nervous about
Moondance’s personality change.

Aunt Myrtle was delighted to be spending so
much time with Mac, of course, but was only a little sulky that he had taken the day off. The three of them had a lot to catch up on, despite their daily visits via the tree. After everybody had gone home to eat and been safely returned to the store, they busied themselves in the fortune telling booth, arguing about the décor. My aunt thought mysterious was the way to go, candles and incense. Moondance was all for rainbow colors and flashing strobe lights. Dora favored something in between the two extremes, arguing that there was no way she was going to allow candles anywhere near Moondance’s flowing caftan sleeves.

I left them to work it out and wandered around again. That sort of shop is really addictive. Like every other customer, I was sure I’d find a treasure in the next box or pile, and like them, I did find little treasures. I had to keep reminding myself that one man’s junk is another man’s treasure. It didn’t help.

I was in the back area, further than I’d ever gotten before, when I sensed as much as felt a change in atmosphere. It was probably no more than an air movement that raised the hair on the back of my neck, but I acted instinctively, shutting off my flashlight and continuing to crouch where I was. I had been digging in some boxes under one of the tables off to the side. My flashlight was a small one, its beam no doubt unnoticeable in the general light from the various widely scattered fluorescents hanging from the ceiling.

Nothing. The sounds of argument hadn’t changed levels or intensity. I was just about to mentally shrug and go about my business
when I heard a faint movement in the center aisle. Everywhere else was a haphazard jumble of shelves and tables, but there was a fair-sized center aisle that led to the back double door. Larger items were transported through that. It was kept locked for the most part, even during the day, but could be opened from the inside just by turning the handle.

A shadow passed my aisle. I didn’t move and tried hard to remove my mind from the scene. I’m a firm believer that people in hiding can give themselves away by the
energy of their fear. My favorite way to remain unnoticed when I was a child playing hide-and-seek was to imagine myself to be a tree. It is amazing how well that camouflages a person. It might sound ridiculous, but it works. Whoever was moving past, though, was definitely concentrating on reaching the fortune telling booth—and its occupants.

No cell phone, of course, and it would have clanged out its opening lines even if I had it. I don’t keep my out-of-date instrument on unless I think there might be a need for it when I’m away from the house. Mostly I use it to place calls rather than receive them. I like my private time and nowadays it can be precious. I don’t need to have someone trying to contact me when I’m driving. For the most part, my life isn’t
so exciting that I can’t take a trip to the dentist without someone desperately needing to talk to me.

I was torn between sneaking away for
reinforcements and remaining to help out. Disgusted as I get by heroines in books, I stayed. I couldn’t bring myself to leave the three women helpless. I would have had to slip across to the house and phone for help. Patsy was out for the evening. That would all take time.

And time, as it turned out, wasn’t something I had to spare.

“What are you doing here?” I heard my aunt’s surprised voice. It didn’t sound frightened.

Dora went straight to the real issue. “How’d you get in?”

“Oh, the door was open,” I  heard a voice I half recognized. Female.

“No, it wasn’t,” Dora again. “Did you leave it open now?” Worried about Eloise.

“Hello,” Moondance said. “It’s Mrs.
Mandrell, isn’t it? Helen? Did you want a reading? We’re actually closed. We were just cleaning up a bit.”

“Stand over there!” Helen
Mandrell’s voice rose an octave. I heard a shuffling of feet as I edged closer.

“You don’t want to shoot us!” Aunt Myrtle sounded shocked at the idea.
The visitor, obviously, had a gun. “Everybody will know what happened.”

“All they’ll know is that there was a robbery and the place burned down,” the intruder answered. “Nobody will know anything for sure.”

I was almost close enough to make a running leap for her when Dora turned and ran, calling for Eloise. Two shots were fired. I jumped out of hiding, forgetting all about subterfuge. Unfortunately, I had to shove aside a small table to reach them quickly, and of course the table leg nearest me chose to collapse. I found myself floundering through books and costume jewelry and dirty bottles. It was one of the latter that was my downfall—literally. It rolled under my foot as I ran. I did a beautiful pratfall, something much more appreciated by an audience than by the participant. As my feet went out from under me I saw two startled faces behind a furious one. More shots were fired. I rolled quickly, trying to get anything between me and the bullets. As I banged to a stop half under a table I saw a pair of beady eyes watching me.

“Eloise,” I choked. “Run!” After a second to collect my thoughts, I yelled, “Everybody run!”

Of course nobody did. I was poked and prodded with what I was very much afraid was the barrel of the gun. I was right. It was. Helen was quite upset with me. “Get up, get up right now!” she panted. “What are you doing here? You are such a snoop. I hate you!”

I wasn’t feeling too fond of her, either, as I crawled out backwards on my hands and knees. Indeed, I believe I felt a little murderous. I tried to pull myself together and use my head. I had my karate skills,
but feeling ready to kill was not going to make them more useful. Control was the key. Mental, spiritual and physical control.

Right, like that was going to happen.

Dora came back down the stairs, realizing that her baby hadn’t followed her. I hoped she’d called for help, but was pretty sure she never got further than the top of the stairs before realizing Eloise wasn’t with her.

“She’s okay,” I told her, ducking my chin toward where the rat was hiding. She might be a friendly, loving little critter, but she was a rat at heart. She sensed a sinking ship when she saw one. She was wisely staying hidden for the moment.

“What on earth do you want?” my aunt asked our captor, still sounding indignant.

“I have to prove that Brandon didn’t do the murder
. He can’t have done
this
since he’s down being questioned yet again,” she explained, backing away from us enough to watch us all while she looked around. “Oh there it is,” she said, reaching down carefully to pick up a gas can with her free hand. “I knew I put it down close by.”

“Why would the sheriff think Brandon killed Frances?” I asked, actually curious. “She really seemed to like him.”

“Until she found out he was taking some extra money for himself. And why shouldn’t he? He was saving her hundreds of thousands, probably millions. But he didn’t kill her. He would have simply run away. He’s still planning on it, but he has had to wait now. He never expected them to find out about the money so fast.”

“Follow the money trail,” my aunt boasted. “That’s what I told everybody.”