She pretended to busy herself, arranging a local artist’s hand-painted greeting cards more neatly in their display slots.
“Then what’s wrong?” he demanded, then answered his own question. “Why am I asking? That place should have gone to you.”
“I didn’t stay with Amelia because I hoped she would leave me the house,” she said firmly. “I figured it would go to back taxes, to tell you the truth. I don’t know a thing about construction, but even I know it needs big money put into it just so it stays standing.”
“Maybe you can buy it,” Vinnie suggested. “When it’s fixed.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
She stared at the cards. “There aren’t enough tarot cards for me to read in all of New Orleans to make enough money to buy that house.” She paused, and looked at Vinnie. “I wouldn’t even have this shop if it weren’t for Amelia, although I did pay her back. Every penny.”
“I know you did. And you did a lot more for her than that.”
“She was like my honorary grandmother,” Kendall reminded him.
“It’s probably because of his wife,” he said. “The brother, I mean.”
It took her a minute to change gears. “Um, the oldest brother is probably a jerk because of his wife?” she asked. “What, is she a bitch or…something?”
Vinnie looked at her, frowning, and shook his head. “She’s dead.”
“Oh, sorry.” She paused. “How on earth do you know all this? The attorneys told me they were in business together, and then the lawyer called this morning and said they’d be taking possession today. And I’d heard the middle brother on the radio, but…”
Vinnie walked over to her and affectionately brushed her jaw with his knuckles. “I’ve played with two of them,” he reminded her.
“Then you know them—and anything about them—better than I do, and I don’t know why you’re asking me questions,” she told him impatiently.
He laughed and shook his head. “I can’t say that I know them, not really. And I’ve never met the oldest one, but apparently he can’t play guitar. Hey, maybe that’s why he’s a dickhead.”
“Back up, bozo,” she commanded. “What about the wife?”
“I told you, she’s dead.”
“But…how?”
Vinnie brought a finger to his lips. They heard voices coming from the back. Mason Adler appeared in the hallway, escorting a small woman with a T-shirt printed with a New Orleans Saints logo. She was carrying a map of the French Quarter, sporting a sunburn and wearing sunglass with alligators encircling the lenses. If she had worn a sign that proclaimed her a tourist, it couldn’t have been more obvious.
But she was laughing, and she looked flushed and happy. “Mason, you are just too good,” she cooed.
Mason looked at Kendall over the woman’s head and shrugged. He was a good tarot, tea-leaf and palm reader. Like her, he had majored in psychology, and he could home in on people and make his predictions believable, instead of telling them that they would find love in a month, receive a huge sum of money in a year or have two children within the next decade. He was also a striking-looking man, over six feet in height and bald as a buzzard, with black eyebrows and a gym-hardened body.
He wore one gold hoop earring, and it was seldom that people forgot him once they met him.
“Well, you know, Miss Grissom, you give off very strong vibes,” he told the cooing woman. “And look, here she is. Kendall, this is Fawn Grissom. She wanted to see you, but I did my best.”
“Oh, really?” Kendall smiled at their customer and offered the woman a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“How do you do?” The other woman shook her hand firmly. “My friend Ellen—do you remember her? She said you were wonderful. That’s why I came here. And I’m sure you are wonderful. But Mason was…well, he just sees.”
“He really is terrific, and I think this means you were meant to see him,” Kendall assured the woman.
The woman’s eyes widened as if Kendall had just said the wisest thing in the world. “Of course. I think it was meant to be.”
Kendall kept her smile in place. “Absolutely.”
“If you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a gig tonight,” Vinnie said. He waved and started toward the door.
“Vinnie, wait!” Kendall called.
He paused in the doorway, with its tinkling bell. “What’s up? I gotta get going,” he reminded her.
“Never mind. It’s nothing.” She waved him on, and chastised herself inwardly. She didn’t know why she was so curious, but she was. She wanted to know how Aidan Flynn’s wife had died, not that it was any of her business. She would never see the man again.
“This is such a wonderful shop,” Fawn Grissom told her. “You have the most delicious tea, the best reader and lovely merchandise.”
“We like to feature the work of local artists—and thank you very much,” Kendall said.