Sharpe Mind, Hanging by a Thread Read online

  Tonya started to laugh. Of course, he was! Hadn’t she looked in the mirror lately? Somehow, she managed to turn her laugh into a weird wailing sound, covering her face with her hands in order to hide her grin. Betty sat back, frightened by the outburst. She pushed her glasses further up on her nose.

  Tonya regained her composure. “Natasha consult cards.” She pulled the deck of playing cards from her pocket and set them on the table. “Mix.”

  Betty’s hands trembled as she obeyed the command.

  Tonya stared as the woman swirled the cards around on the table. She seemed nervous. That was a good sign.

  When they first started this scheme, Roscoe had tried to get Tonya to use the tarot cards he carried in his box of tricks. But she could never remember what each card meant. After several failed attempts, she resorted to using a regular deck of playing cards and doing it her own way. After all, she had worked part-time as a dealer in a sleazy casino before landing a job as a dancer.

  That’s where she met Roscoe. He worked as a magician in the same casino, playing three shows a day. She fell for him the moment they met.

  Betty set the deck in the center of the table.

  Tonya picked it up and placed two cards face down in front of Betty. She laid several cards face up. With each one, she mumbled a sound to signify a different emotion. Finally, she turned over the two cards in front of Betty.

  “No!” Tonya quickly scooped up all the cards and placed them back on the deck.

  “What is it? Is he cheating?” Betty’s anxious eyes craved an answer.

  Tonya decided to give the poor woman a break. After all, it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t born beautiful. She could use a makeover, however. “Natasha sees no husband cheating.” She crossed her arms and set her jaw.

  “Ah. That’s a relief.” Betty put her hand to her chest. “But you did see something, right?”

  “Natasha sees what she sees.”

  “What? What is it?”

  Tonya hesitated, knowing Betty was hanging on her every word. “Natasha sees bad fortune. Bad luck.” She sucked in an exaggerated breath. “Now, go.”

  Betty appeared frozen in place.

  Pointing her finger straight at the door, Tonya repeated the command. “Go!” Her bracelets jangled, and the candle’s flame danced.

  Betty grabbed her handbag and was out of the house faster than a horse running the Kentucky Derby.

  Roscoe walked in from the kitchen. “Nice job, babe. You’re getting really good at this.”

  “Did you take care of it?”

  “Indeed.” He held up his pocketknife. “That slow leak will be a flat tire by the time she hits her cozy little house in the suburbs.”

  “Nice.”

  Roscoe checked his watch again. “Rats! I need to change clothes and get over to the bank.” He pulled at his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re going to have to handle things yourself until I get back.”

  “The bank? Why?”

  “It’s almost eleven. That McCarthy woman will be taking her smoke break soon. I have to get over there to be the ‘dark, handsome stranger’ you said she would meet.” He gave her a wink as he strode to the bedroom.

  “Just don’t enjoy it too much,” she called after him.

  Tonya was the jealous type, no matter what the other woman looked like. Back in Las Vegas, Roscoe had a wandering eye. She was not about to let his eye or any other part of him wander off and leave her stranded and broke in the middle of nowhere. She was prepared to do whatever she had to in order to hold on to her man.

  Chapter 5

  The cursor on Deena’s keyboard blinked over and over as she tried to focus on her story. After talking to Lloyd and Laurie, she had lost her motivation to write. Opting to work at home, she had left the office with her head in a fog. Getting laid off would have been bad, but she was prepared to accept it. But writing features? That was another matter altogether.

  Coffee might help. She got up from her desk and walked out of the formal dining room that she and Gary had converted into a home office.

  Hurley followed her to the kitchen and sat by his dog bowl.

  She gave him a sympathetic look. “No more food until dinner. The vet said you’re getting too heavy.”

  The black terrier-mix tilted his head as if he didn’t understand.

  Deena knew he did. Ever since she’d gotten the pup from the animal shelter last fall, she had felt a connection. They could read each other’s minds. She and Gary weren’t able to have children, but she had definitely tapped into her mother’s intuition when she adopted Hurley.

  The coffee pot had cooled from the morning, so she poured what was left in a mug and put it into the microwave. Out the kitchen window, she saw her neighbor, Christy Ann, loading two of her three children into their car seats. Must be time for Mommy’s Day Out.

  The microwave dinged, and Deena pulled out the hot brew, hoping a caffeine blast would motivate her literary muse.

  She headed back to the office and set the mug on her desk. The clouds outside made the room darker than usual. She turned on the desk lamp and faced the screen again, determined to knock out the article. She hadn’t missed a deadline yet, and she wasn’t about to miss this one.

  The new town slogan contest would be the story’s lead. She flipped past the doodles in her notepad and found the details she needed.

  As she typed, she spoke aloud. “The village idiots once again had nothing of importance to discuss. They came up with the lame idea to hold a contest to see who could piss the farthest. It was a draw.” Luckily, the words on the screen didn’t match her narration.

  After muddling through her notes, she checked her word count. Close enough. Bert could pare it down to fit. She inserted the story into an email and hit “send.” She’d wait a few minutes for a reply to make sure it was received.

  She leaned her head back in the swivel chair and pictured the newsroom. Maybe she should have told Lloyd about her idea to follow up on Marty Fisk’s re-zoning proposal. It could be her last chance at a real story before she started writing features about the Bluebonnet Club and spring gardening.

  What if he weren’t interested in the story and told her to drop it? She didn’t want to risk it. With her mind made up, she decided to see what she could find out on her own before pitching it to Lloyd as a story. After all, the investigation—the thrill of the hunt—was the part of the job she liked best.

  DINNER AT THEIR FAVORITE restaurant, Las Abuelas, was relaxing as usual. The aroma of roasted corn and spicy peppers provided the perfect pick-me-up. Gary suggested she have a margarita and offered to be the designated driver. Over dessert of warm sopapillas with honey, she finally got to the heart of the problem.

  “You know, it’s not that I hate feature stories, it’s just not that challenging to me.” She spread butter on the pastry. “I guess after spending all those years as a teacher, I was looking for something more.” As she took a bite, honey dripped on the front of her blouse. She rolled her eyes and set the pastry back on her plate.

  Gary snickered at her predictable mess. “I thought you wanted to work for the newspaper. That’s all you talked about for the last two years before you retired—I mean, quit.”

  “See? I was afraid to say something because I thought you might say, ‘I told you so.’” She dipped the cloth napkin in her water glass and dabbed at the spots on her blouse.

  “It’s not that, it’s just that I’m worried you’re looking for something that you won’t be able to find.” He wiped sugar and cinnamon off his mouth and took a drink of water. “This isn’t some mid-life crisis, is it?”

  The smirk on Deena’s face answered that question. “I’m past mid-life by a mile. I guess I just thought working for the newspaper would be more rewarding. Truth. Justice. The American Way.”

  She took another bite and more honey fell to her lap. “I give up.” She set the dessert back on her plate and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “I thought I would be ma
king a difference. Helping people.”

  “Like when you were teaching?”

  “Yes, but...” She didn’t know what to say, just like she couldn’t put her finger on what was missing from her job. She sat back in her chair.

  “What about that story you wrote on the school board banning water guns at the Halloween carnival? That started a protest movement.”

  “I wouldn’t call a couple of teenagers carrying signs a movement. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

  Gary signed the check, and they headed outside. “Wait here. I’ll get the car.”

  The skull and bones umbrella kept the rain off while she waited. With Gary’s six-foot-two frame, they could never successfully coordinate sharing one umbrella. As he pulled up, she stepped across a large puddle and ducked into the car. “Do you mind if we take a detour on the way home?”

  “No problem. Where to?”

  “I want to drive over to the south part of town where Marty Fisk wants to re-zone. I’m curious about what’s over there.”

  Gary pulled onto Main and headed south. “It’s dark, so you won’t be able to see much.”

  “That fine. I might be able to tell which of those old houses are occupied by the lights on inside.”

  “Good thinking, ace.”

  She stared out the window as the defroster cleared the windshield. They crossed over the railroad tracks. The shocks on Gary’s red Mercedes were not as good as the ones on her SUV, and she jostled sideways. She was a little light-headed from the alcohol and wished she had skipped the margarita and ordered iced tea instead.

  “Look. There’s that new fortune telling business.” Gary motioned over his left shoulder.

  “I’ve heard about it. Sandra’s been there.”

  “Figures.”

  Deena pictured Gary rolling his eyes even though she couldn’t see them in the dark. Her husband was less understanding of Sandra’s “quirks.” He still agreed to occasional double dates because he liked Sandra’s husband, Ian. They could talk about sports and politics and other things men talked about. Gary was an accountant; Ian was a lawyer. They shared some of the same clients.

  Deena leaned forward and rubbed at the windshield. “Slow down. I think this is it.”

  The neighborhood consisted of three long streets with old houses. Some were vacant, others condemned.

  As Gary drove down each street, she counted the houses that seemed occupied. “Not many people live here anymore. I counted nine houses that looked occupied.”

  A porch light came on next to them, and a gray-haired woman in a bathrobe stepped out her front door. She was holding a landline telephone with the receiver at her ear. She stared menacingly as they passed.

  “Must be the neighborhood watch,” Gary said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  As they drove home, Deena wondered what it was about that specific area that made the councilman so interested. There were plenty of vacant commercial properties in the area. What was so special about those three streets? By the time she got home, her journalistic juices were flowing again, and her spirit was renewed.

  First thing tomorrow, she planned to talk to Marty Fisk and to see what she could find out. Then she remembered her hair salon appointment. So that would be the second thing she’d do.

  Curling up with Hurley on the couch, she made a list of questions to ask Fisk. She knew this might be her last news story, so she hoped it would be a juicy one.

  Chapter 6

  A break in the clouds was a welcome sight for Deena as she headed downtown Wednesday morning. She lived in Butterfly Gardens, a suburban community on the west side of Maycroft. By the time she left the house, most of the neighbors were already at work, their kids dropped at school and the morning newspaper read.

  Somehow, though, she always seemed to run into Christy Ann. After what she had done for Deena and her brother the previous December, Deena had tried to be extra nice to her. It wasn’t always easy.

  “Deena,” Christy Ann called out in her best “yoo-hoo-neighbor” voice as she strolled up to the car.

  Deena rolled down the window. “Hey, Christy Ann. I was just heading to the salon.”

  “Gotta get your roots done. I see that.” She squished her face as though looking at road kill.

  Deena forced a smile.

  “I was just going to see if you wanted to buy some cookie dough from Charlie. It’s a fundraiser for peewee soccer. You know, Charlie is on the all-star team.”

  “Is that so?” This was at least the fifth time Christy Ann had mentioned it. “Sure. Y’all stop by this evening, and I’ll place an order.”

  “Great. I knew I could count on you.” She smiled and blew an air kiss. “See you later. Oh, and you might want to have your lip waxed. I’m seeing that little mustache again.”

  Gritting her teeth, Deena returned the smile and closed her window. She white-knuckle drove all the way to town.

  The Manely Beauty Salon was busy for a Wednesday morning. The break in the weather had sent everyone scrambling to make up for missed appointments. Deena waved to Kristy who still had another client in her chair.

  “Be with you in a few minutes,” Kristy called over the sound of chatter and blow dryers.

  The magazine selection was slim, but Deena found a copy of Southern Living she had not yet read. As she sat in the waiting area, Charla, a real estate agent who lived two streets over, was talking to her hairdresser, Melissa.

  Charla seemed even more animated than usual. “You wouldn’t believe it! As I live and breathe, it was the craziest thing since Elvis Presley.”

  “Hold still now so I don’t burn your ear.” Melissa had the super-sized curling iron twisted around Charla’s bleach-blonde locks.

  Charla’s voice grew louder. “The first time, she said I was going to have good fortune, ‘cept she said it in this weird foreign accent. She must be from France or somewhere.” She paused to blow on her freshly manicured nails.

  Deena scooted to the end of the bench so she could hear better.

  “I left there and headed to the Walmart. They were having a sale on beauty products, you know. Well, when I picked up my handbag out of the buggy, a twenty-dollar bill nearly bit my hand! I know it wasn’t there before because I never carry cash. That-a-way, I can honestly tell any bums on the street that I don’t have any money when they ask. I hate to lie, you know. It’s not Christian.”

  “You can say that again.” Melissa used a pick to fluff Charla’s hairdo. She had to lower the chair to see the top.

  “Is my hair too big?” Charla asked, squinting in the mirror.

  “Why honey, there’s no such thing!” Melissa opened the can of hairspray and took aim.

  “Good. So, the next time I went, I—.”

  “I’m ready for you,” Kristy said, interrupting Deena’s gossip gathering.

  She walked over to Kristy’s station and took a seat, disappointed that she wouldn’t get to hear the rest of Charla’s story.

  “Are we cutting today or just coloring?” Kristy re-arranged the utensils on her cart.

  “Just color.”

  When Kristy walked to the back of the shop to mix up the dye, Deena strained to hear Charla. The shop was too noisy.

  Kristy returned with the bowl of magic potion, guaranteed to turn Deena’s gray roots to a shiny, medium brown. “I saw you listening to Charla. What was she jabbering on about?”

  “I think she must have gone to that new psychic reader.”

  Kristy parted off a section of Deena’s hair and began painting on the mixture. “She and half the town. Lots of my clients sit in this chair and tell me about going to ‘Sister Natasha.’ That’s what she calls herself. Some people have also seen a guy there. They say he’s her brother.”

  Deena stared at Kristy in the mirror. “Have you been there?”

  “No way. I’m not going to throw my money away on that bull malarkey. I’ve got mouths to feed.” She reached for a towel and wiped away a drip on Deena
’s forehead.

  “So what kind of things have people said about her?” Deena asked.

  “That she tells their fortune. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes bad. It always seems to come true, though, just the way she says.” Kristy shook her head. “Whatever. I’m not going to argue with a paying customer. I’m like a bartender. I’m paid to listen.”

  Deena smiled. “Once people get something in their minds, it’s hard to reason with them.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  Deena liked Kristy. She had a good head on her shoulders. They chatted amiably while Kristy finished applying the color and foil.

  “Let me go wash this bowl out. I’ll be right back.” She walked toward the back of the shop.

  “Mrs. Sharpe,” someone whispered.

  Deena spun around in the chair to see Cindy, the stylist next to Kristy, waving at her. “I heard what you two were talking about,” she said in a low voice.

  Deena wasn’t the only one listening to gossip.

  “I’ll tell you this, ever since that psychic woman set up shop, there’s been some strange things going on in Maycroft. Some people are really worried. There’s been talk of evil spirits.”

  “Oh, good gravy!” Deena waved off the girl’s words.

  “Shhh. I’m serious. Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.” Cindy turned back to her own client.

  Deena’s cell phone rang in her purse. The barking dog ringtone meant it was a call from someone other than Gary. She leaned down to see who the caller was before letting it go to voicemail.

  Ian Davis. That’s odd. Why would he be calling? She hadn’t talked to Sandra’s husband since December. She would call him back as soon as she left the salon.

  All at once, Deena felt anxious to get the appointment over with so she could take care of business. She wanted to talk to Marty Fisk and perhaps some of the residents in that neighborhood. She needed to call Ian. And now, there was a new task to add to her list. Check out this fortune teller. She was curious to see what all the fuss was about.