Gray aura? I’d never heard of it. “So what does that mean?”
“Well, depending on the shade of gray, it might simply indicate that Alice feels trapped in her life. Or, it could point toward depression.”
“She doesn’t seem depressed,” I mused.
“There’s another possibility.” Mom paused, then sighed. “She could be terminally ill.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, patting my hand. “I’m just the messenger. The good thing is that the gray wasn’t dark enough to call it black.”
“There are black auras?”
“They’re very rare.” Mom’s shoulders shook and she rubbed her arms. “Gives me chills just to think about it. Black aura is often seen in abused children, torture victims, and occasionally, heavy drug addicts.”
I thought about that. “I don’t think she does drugs.”
“No, of course not.”
“But she was raised by nuns in a Catholic boarding school. I hate to think there might’ve been some abuse going on.”
“Oh, dear, I hope not.”
“She seems ridiculously grateful for every little scrap of friendship anyone shows.”
“Maybe she was deprived of such things growing up.”
“Maybe.” Talk about depressing. I’d just met her and already considered her a friend. I didn’t want to find out she was dying.
If I could have laughed off Mom’s aura thing as a big joke, I might have been able to ignore her dire calculations. But as I’d told her, I’d seen her land right on the money too many times to blow it off.
The problem with Mom being right was that Alice was now undergoing a radical Ayurvedic treatment known as panchakarma, or cleansing, which was a really nice way of describing the purging, bloodletting, and high colonics used by practitioners of the regime. They looked for every way possible to draw out poisons and toxins in the system, basically cleaning out every bodily orifice they could find. It was a lengthy procedure normally done for terminally ill patients who’d tried everything else.
Alice wasn’t going to thank me for this.
“Keep good thoughts, sweetie,” Mom had said. “Today is a day for positive thinking. You won’t help your friend if you act depressed over her state.”
I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be grateful either way, but no point in saying that. “Don’t worry. I’ll be perky as a petunia.”
“That’s my good girl. Tell you what. I’ll crochet a healing sachet for Alice to wear.”
“Sounds attractive,” I mumbled.
“My Wicca skills improve every day,” she said. “Your father thinks I make one hell of a witch.”
“Uh, Mom, I’m not sure he meant—”
“Don’t say it.” She laughed and slapped my arm. “Let’s go help our Annie.”
I glanced around and realized we’d walked down the block, turned around, and now were back at Annie’s store. We stared through the wide plate-glass window. “Is she inside?”
“I don’t see her,” Mom said, “but she’s been swamped all morning. She might be in the back, placing orders. I’d better go help out. Are you coming in or heading to Robson’s?”
“I’ll head over to his house now and be back to help out in a little while.”
“Blessed be,” she said, and gave me another hug before I took off down the street.
Nothing was a very far walk in Dharma. Guru Bob’s lovely home was just up the hill on a piece of land that jutted out to provide magnificent views in three directions. I’d always considered it the catbird seat as far as property in Dharma went.
I approached his two-story Edwardian mansion with some trepidation. It’s not that I didn’t like him; I did, very much. But he was a man of higher consciousness, and even if you didn’t drink the commune Kool-Aid, there was something solemn about being in his presence that made you want to talk in quiet tones and behave respectfully. It was a little disconcerting.
I knocked on the front door and waited less than ten seconds before he opened the door himself.
“Brooklyn,” he said jovially. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Robson.” I’d never dared to call him Guru Bob to his face, but he probably knew we’d nicknamed him that years ago. He seemed to know everything that went on when it came to his town and his people.
He ushered me into his well-appointed, art-filled home and led the way to a small elegant sitting room. A tea service was set up on the coffee table. Or did that make it a tea table?
A door off the tea room led to Guru Bob’s small library. I’d helped him acquire a number of rare books over the years and knew how wonderful and extensive his collection was. I could hear papers being shuffled and footsteps moving around the room. Someone was working in there.