“She was like any tourist. She came in,” Kendall told him, her voice hard. “She wanted a tarot card reading. I gave her one. She was pleasant. She told me she was a teacher and that she’d saved for years to pay for her vacation. She was excited to be going on such an adventure.”
Everything she was saying was true, he knew; she just wasn’t saying everything.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“That’s it,” she told him firmly.
“Then why did you look as if you’d seen a ghost?” he demanded.
She shook her head, just staring at him. Then she said, “I know why the cops hate you.”
“‘Hate’ might be too strong a word.” Or was it?
“You’re never going to make it here. You aren’t an insider. You don’t know the area. You come in here like you think you can save the day when we’ve all been picking up the pieces for a long time. Seriously, just who do you think you are?”
It was strange, he thought. She was genuinely indignant.
And just as genuinely afraid.
“I’m not that much of an outsider—I’ve been coming around here forever,” he said curtly. “My brother is involved in a major benefit for the area kids. So you think I’m an intrusive ballbuster? Well, I’m pretty sure this girl is dead,” he said. “And I think I found a piece of her remains.”
Kendall stared at him. He was surprised she hadn’t gotten up and walked out on him yet. But she was just staring at him, her eyes very wide and her skin ashen.
“What makes you so positive that you’ve found this girl?”
“I’m not positive about anything.”
Almost unconsciously, she ran fingers over the picture as she stared down at it. For a moment he thought she was going to cry. She was definitely distressed. He reached across the table, setting a hand on hers. “Kendall, what the hell is it?”
“She was very sweet,” she said.
She started to move her hand away; he held firm.
She shook her head. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“So that you can look down on me even more?” she asked bitterly.
“I don’t look down on you.” All right, so he was lying then, at least a little bit. But hell, it had looked as if she’d been living off a frail old woman. And he did have a problem with people who indulged in all that psychic claptrap, believers or not.
“All right, so I’m a skeptical man,” he admitted.
“I think I should go,” she said.
“Please, stay. Help me. I know I’m floundering in the dark.”
She was searching his eyes, wondering if he was sincere. His hand was still on hers, and he sincerely hoped she wasn’t going to bolt.
“Please,” he said again.
“If you laugh at me, I swear, I will never speak to you again,” she said. She meant it. He could tell.
“I don’t find anything about Jenny Trent to be amusing,” he said.
Her lashes fell; she looked toward the table. “There was something strange when I tried to give her a reading….” She looked up at him again. She seemed to sit taller; she was stiff and regal. “I don’t actually believe in psychic powers myself. Yes, I give readings. Good ones, I think. But I graduated with degrees in psychology and fine arts. I had a teacher who taught me once that entertainment has to do with knowing your audience, and psychology taught me how to do that. So then the shop came up, and I was positive I could make a go of it, but I never thought I could read anyone’s palm or look into a crystal ball and tell someone their future. But I knew something—that presentation could make or break a show, and giving readings, giving people what they want, is a way of putting on a show.”
As she spoke, he found himself wanting to reach out and stroke her cheek, wanting to tell her that it was all right, that she had done everything right. Except he still didn’t know what she was getting at.
“I see,” he said, but the truth was, he didn’t see at all.
She took a deep breath. “There have been a few times when something really strange has happened. One of those times was with Jenny Trent.”
“Kendall, what happened?”
“Tarot cards have more meanings than you can begin to imagine. A good reader should have instincts to help sort through those meanings as they relate to each client.” She took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to explain is that they really are a perfect tool for…well, for a psychologist, for a way of listening and then trying to point out certain aspects of life that someone might want to be blind to. Every card can mean many things. The Death card doesn’t mean death. Not usually. It means change.”
He stared at her, pinning her with his eyes. “And you drew the Death card for Jenny Trent? You…you saw death for her?”
“Yes and no.” She took a deep breath and went on. “I just explained that the cards have all kinds of meanings. That the Death card doesn’t mean literal death. It indicates an ending for something. Depending on what other cards turn up, it can mean a major upheaval, the end of a relationship. But it’s also associated with the concept that when one door closes, another opens.”
“So why did it bother you when the card appeared for Jenny Trent?”