False Notes (2 page)

“That’s right,” I told the chief, pushing a few strands of my strawberry blond hair out of my eyes. “It’s this Thursday. We’re having a little get-together for him that evening, if you’d like to come.”

The chief looked pleased to be invited. “Well, I’ll have to check my schedule,” he said. “I’ll let you know.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get back inside now. Take care, Nancy.”

I gave him a wave and walked on. I’d spent the last couple of hours wandering all over the River Heights shopping district. I couldn’t believe Dad’s birthday was only three days away and I still had no idea what to get him. It’s definitely a challenge to shop for Dad.
I knew he would be happy with whatever I got him, but I wanted to make sure his gift was something really special. He’s been both father and mother to me ever since my mother died when I was three, and I like to let him know how much I appreciate him.

A couple of doors down from the police station, I glanced into the large plate-glass window of a small shop called the Psychic’s Parlor. Inside I spotted a petite, dark-haired woman sitting at a table with a cup of tea. It was Lucia Gonsalvo, the shop’s owner and sole employee. She smiled and gestured for me to come inside.

The copper wind chimes over the door tinkled softly as I entered the shop, which was painted in warm shades of red and gold and smelled pleasantly of incense and mint. Lucia hurried over to give me a hug, almost knocking off the red velvet turban she was wearing. Her dozens of bracelets and necklaces jingled with her every move, blending with the sound of the wind chimes.

“Nancy!” she exclaimed in heavily accented, but flawless, English. Nobody knew exactly where Lucia had come from, but she had been in River Heights for at least ten years. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“What, you mean you didn’t foresee that I would be coming?” I teased.

Lucia smiled and waggled a finger at me. “Now,
now,” she said. “You shouldn’t make fun of the fates. It’s bad luck.”

I grinned. Lucia and I have been good friends ever since Dad represented her in a dispute with her landlord. Thanks to his intervention, the two sides had come to an amicable agreement, and Lucia’s psychic shop had been able to remain in its longtime location on River Street between the police station and a big antique shop.

I sat down in a plush armchair at the wooden table in the center of the small room. “Okay, then predict this for me: What am I going to get Dad for his birthday? Because right now, I have no idea.”

Lucia shook her head. “Now, Nancy, I was only joking. You know this is all just for fun—I can’t
really
tell you what will happen.” She bustled over to the teapot on a fabric-draped side table and poured me a cup of tea.

“Thanks,” I said as she set it in front of me. “And yes, I know—you’re always telling me that. But it would be a lot more convenient if you could just peek into your crystal ball once in a while and tell me what’s going to happen. Like when I have a tough mystery to solve, for instance.”

“I can certainly predict what would happen if I
could
tell you,” Lucia said, sitting down across from me. “You wouldn’t like it—it would make it far too
easy to solve the mysteries, and that wouldn’t be any fun at all.”

I had to admit she had a point. Ever since I was a young girl, mysteries have seemed to find me. And I like it that way. There’s nothing I love more than puzzling through clues, figuring out connections and motives to solve a tough case. Chief McGinnis isn’t the only one who gets noticed either. I’m pretty well known around River Heights for my amateur sleuthing abilities. Sometimes people even seek me out to ask for help with sticky or mysterious problems.

“Okay, fine,” I told Lucia. “But even if you can’t magically predict what I should get for Dad, maybe you can help me think of ideas.”

“Ah, that’s very different,” Lucia said. “I’d love to help if I can. Have you considered stereo equipment? Or maybe some new CDs—I seem to remember that he loves classical music, right?”

“That’s the problem.” I sighed. “If he wants anything like that, he just goes out and buys it himself.”

“All right, then,” Lucia said. “We’ll have to be more creative. What about a subscription to a new magazine, or…” She paused for a moment and looked out the window. “Something’s wrong.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, stirring my tea. “If I don’t come up with some good ideas soon, I’ll be giving Dad tube socks for his birthday. Or maybe a tie—that’s
what I usually got him when I was a kid.” I shrugged. “Not very original, but he always claimed to like them.”

“No. Something is
very
wrong.”

I blinked, realizing that Lucia wasn’t playing around anymore—her voice had suddenly turned deadly serious.

“Huh?” I twisted around to see what was going on outside. “What is it?”

It was a little after lunchtime on a sleepy late-summer Monday, which meant that the street was nearly deserted. The only sign of life I could see was an ordinary-looking African-American couple standing on the sidewalk across from Lucia’s shop.

Or maybe they weren’t so ordinary after all. As I watched, the woman—an attractive female in her forties, dressed in a trim navy pantsuit—tugged on the man’s sleeve, looking distraught. The man, who appeared to be her husband, was tall and lean, with gray at his temples and an expression of determination on his handsome face as he stared across the street. The woman grabbed his arm again, but he shook his head and pulled away.

I tilted my head to one side, trying to figure out why the woman looked so familiar. I was pretty sure I’d seen her somewhere before, but I couldn’t put my finger on when or where. Was she one of Dad’s
clients? A local merchant or businesswoman? Someone from one of my volunteer groups?

Before I could figure out the answer, the man took a step into the street. The woman cried out. I couldn’t hear what she was saying from inside Lucia’s shop, but I could see her mouth move. She gestured wildly, still seeming very distraught.

I glanced over at Lucia, wondering if the people were regular clients of hers. The man certainly seemed determined to come over toward the shop.

“There is something very serious happening with those people,” Lucia said grimly. “
Very
serious.”

“Do you know them?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t have to know them to see that they are in trouble.”

I shrugged, wondering if Lucia was teasing me again, pretending to see into the future or something. But when I glanced at her, her expression was grim. She seemed convinced that something unusual was going on with the couple outside. In my years of sleuthing I’ve learned it’s wise never to jump to conclusions without enough evidence. And, at that moment, I just didn’t see evidence of anything much more than a minor disagreement.

“Well, I suppose they
could
be in serious trouble,” I said, trying to be tactful. “But it’s also possible that they’re just a married couple having an argument.”

“No,” Lucia said firmly. “It is more. Much more.”

I glanced at the couple again, a little surprised by her certainty. Despite the somewhat wacky way that she makes her living, Lucia is usually pretty sensible and perceptive. What made her think that we were witnessing anything more than a perfectly ordinary argument? Was she just being dramatic, or was I missing something?

That’s when I realized that the man wasn’t looking toward the psychic shop after all. As he took another step into the street, he stared directly at a building just to our left—the police station.

I raised my eyebrows curiously. That changed things a little, didn’t it?

But I wasn’t going to find out how just then. The woman finally appeared to prevail. She pulled at the man’s arm again, and this time I saw his shoulders slump with what looked like defeat. His face crumpled, and he swiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. Turning around, he walked rapidly toward a late-model blue sedan parked at the curb. He and the woman both climbed inside.

“Weird,” I muttered under my breath as a puff of exhaust blew out from the rear of the car.

The sedan pulled away from the curb with a screech of tires—and a second later, it was gone.

H
ow about a bathrobe?”

What?” I blinked at Lucia, momentarily confused. Then I realized she had returned to our previous topic of conversation. “Oh,” I said, glancing out the window again. “Um, I think he already has one that he likes.”

I stared out at the empty street. I don’t really believe in psychics and that sort of thing, but I do believe that I have sort of a sixth sense about when people are in trouble. Dad says it’s really just keen attention to detail combined with a quick mind. My best friends, Bess and George, usually just call it a crazy hunch. I don’t know how to explain it myself, but when I feel it, I’m hardly ever wrong. And I was
feeling it now—it had hit me as soon as I’d seen that man staring toward the police station with that sad, worried expression on his face.

Just then the chimes above the door tinkled. A short, rather plump man with neat but sparse brown hair had entered the shop. I immediately recognized Harold Safer, the owner of the local cheese shop who lives a few blocks from me.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Safer,” Lucia greeted him warmly. “Have you come for a reading?”

Mr. Safer smiled. “I have indeed,” he said. “I have an important question about my shop, and it’s worth stepping out for a moment for some otherworldly advice. I’m trying to decide whether to branch out into buffalo-milk cheese. The last time I was in New York, I noticed it was all the rage in the more exclusive cheese shops there. Oh, hello, Nancy.”

“Hi, Mr. Safer.” I smiled at him. He’s always been one of my favorite neighbors. Aside from cheese, his life revolves around his two great passions: sunsets and Broadway musicals.

“Nancy, you’d like to try buffalo-milk cheese, wouldn’t you?” Mr. Safer asked me. “It wouldn’t be too weird for you, would it?”

Lucia winked at me. “That could be the answer to your problem, Nancy,” she said. “You could get your father some nice, exotic buffalo-milk cheese for his
birthday. That’s something he doesn’t have already, right?”

I laughed and stood up, carrying my teacup over to the side table. “Excuse me,” I said. “I’d better get going and leave you two to your reading. Lucia, you just reminded me that I still have some important shopping to do.”

“All right,” Lucia said. “Thanks for stopping in and keeping me company, Nancy.” She sounded cheerful and seemed to have forgotten all about the incident we’d witnessed out in the street. But I hadn’t forgotten.

After quickly inviting both of them to my father’s birthday party, I headed for the door. “Thanks for the tea, Lucia,” I added. “I hope I’ll see you on Thursday night. You too, Mr. Safer. And good luck with the buffalo cheese thing.”

After leaving Lucia’s shop, I wandered down the block, glancing into store windows as I passed. But my mind wasn’t really on shopping anymore. I was distracted by what I had seen before, though I wasn’t quite sure why. It was like the little scene kept nagging at my mind, almost calling out to me.…

I blinked, suddenly realizing that someone really
was
calling out my name. Turning around, I saw Bess and George jogging toward me.

“It’s about time you heard us,” George panted as she skidded to a stop in front of me. As usual, she was
dressed in casual, sporty clothes that matched her boyish nickname. She ran a hand over her close-cropped dark hair and scowled at me. “We’ve been shouting at you for the past three blocks.”

Her cousin Bess, a pretty blonde with sparkling blue eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion, rolled her eyes. “Don’t exaggerate, George,” she chided. She glanced at me. “Seriously though, Nancy, what’s with you? We thought you’d gone deaf or something. Didn’t you hear us?”

“No,” I admitted sheepishly. “Guess I was thinking about something.”

The cousins exchanged a glance.

“Uh-oh,” Bess said playfully. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

“Okay, spill it.” George folded her arms over her chest. “Did you find yourself another mystery, Nancy?”

I giggled. My friends knew me way too well.

“I’m not sure it’s really a mystery,” I told them. “Not at the moment anyway. Right now it’s just something weird I saw a few minutes ago.…”

I started to fill them in on what had happened outside Lucia’s shop. As I was describing the woman, I suddenly gasped and interrupted myself.

“I’ve got it!” I cried. “I just remembered who she is—Heather Simmons!”

Bess blinked. “You mean the woman who’s been talking about running for mayor?”

I nodded, pleased that I’d finally identified the woman. I didn’t know her personally, but I’d seen her picture in the
River Heights Bugle
—the local newspaper that happened to be published by my boyfriend’s father. Ned often worked for his dad at the
Bugle
during summer vacations, and that year he’d written several stories about the upcoming mayor’s race. Although actually, as he liked to put it, it hadn’t looked like much of a race until recently. He’d also mentioned to me that Heather Simmons’s husband, Clay, had taught a class he’d taken at the local university the semester before.