She turned her attention back to Marigold. “Explain to me what all that Cypress Woods Witch stuff was about.”
“Well, basically, Myrtle is super old, supposedly a hundred and twenty, and she’s always had the sight. She used to live by herself in an area of Blue Moon County known as the Cypress Woods, and she’d wander into town, her eyes looking all milky, and make some kind of obscure prediction, and it would always come true. Supposedly. Then she’d go back to the woods. Eventually, when she got old, she got Alzheimer’s, and now she lives in a nursing home. But apparently she still gets visited by the spirit from time to time, and her predictions still come true. Supposedly.”
Marigold never stopped moving as she talked. She pulled a plate of sandwiches out of the refrigerator and handed it to Lainey, along with a plate of cookies.
Next, she pulled out a big pitcher filled with something amber, which smelled alcoholic and delicious. “I’ll be in charge of the drinks,” she said. “That’s important.”
Marigold buzzed with energy, zipping around the kitchen, gathering up glasses, dumping ice cubes in them. The next thing Lainey knew, she was following her outside onto the back porch, which ran the entire length of the house. Marigold set down the pitcher on a table made of a cable spool, and poured a drink into each of the two glasses.
There was a row of planter boxes full of herbs on the porch railing. Marigold picked some mint leaves and dropped them into the glasses. Then she sat down on the porch swing.
“Mint julep,” she said. “Drink up.”
“Not until you tell me what all this fated mate stuff is about.” Lainey settled on to the porch swing, set her purse on the table, and glowered at Marigold. This was really rattling her nerves.
“I would, but you’d think that I’m crazy.” Marigold took a sip of her mint julep.
“Too late,” Lainey muttered.
“Do you know what I do for a living?” Marigold continued, ignoring her.
“What you do for a living?” Lainey echoed, startled by the change of subject. “I don’t know…I’m hoping it doesn’t involve handling sharp objects or anything that could start a fire.”
Marigold ignored the snipe. “I’m a love psychic. I help people find the one that they’re meant to be with. When I saw you walk into our kitchen, I immediately knew that your fated mate would be at Ginger’s wedding, so you need to be there, too. This is my new mission in life. You’re my new BFF, and we’re going to find you that man. Or shifter, as the case may be. Drink up.”
Lainey found herself really, really needing a drink. She took a healthy swig of her mint julep.
“Wow,” she said, momentarily distracted from the certifiably wacko woman sitting next to her. “This is liquid heaven.” She took another sip and savored the sweet, smoky taste of bourbon, sugar and mint swirling on her tongue.
“So, I’m working out ways that we could get you invited to Ginger’s wedding. The reception is no problem, but that’s not where you need to be. My psychic vision is a little muddy on the exact details, but it’s definitely telling me that I need to find a way to get you into the wedding reception, which is a little challenging, since of course the guest list is already full, but I will find a way. What are you doing?”
Not running for the door, like a sane person would, Lainey thought. She’d pulled a pad of paper from her purse and was doodling on it.
“Nervous habit,” she said.
Marigold peered at it. “Nice. Is that a sketch of me? I like it.”
Lainey shrugged. “Thanks. I kind of do it without thinking.” She’d been a doodler since she was a little girl. Every time her parents started lecturing her about how none of the popular girls at her school ate a second helping of dinner, she’d find herself doodling on the tablecloth, the wall, her own arm…a habit that her parents hated almost as much as her habit of asking for seconds.
When she’d decided to quit working for her parent’s company as a bookkeeper, she’d managed to snare a job as an art teacher. Granted, it was at a reform school where she went to work every day expecting to be shanked, but still. She was an art teacher. That’s what counted.
“So,” Marigold continued. “Wardrobe. Something pretty, flattering, but not too sexy because it’s a wedding. Still, we need a little cleavage. We definitely want to highlight that rack.”
“I met you ten minutes ago,” Lainey protested. “Are you seriously checking out my rack?”
“Yes, but it’s strictly professional. I’m not that way inclined. You saw my fiancé, Henry. He pushes all the right buttons. Literally.” She flashed another evil grin. “All right, makeup. I can be your makeup artist. I’m thinking a smoky eye—”