Skeletons in the Attic (A Marketville Mystery Book 1) (10 page)

I pulled a pen and a black Moleskin notebook from my purse. “Let’s start.”

Randi laid the cards out in the order of the list my mother had left for me. “There are hundreds of tarot spreads,” she said, “but let’s assume that your mother used this particular five-card spread to read the cards. I personally find it to be a very useful spread when trying to decide a given course of action. Card one represents the present. Card two, the past, or past influences that still have effect. Card three represents the future. The fourth card reveals possible reasons or factors behind any decisions. Card five shows the possible results from taking a given course of action.”

I wrote everything down in my notebook as follows:

1) III: The Empress—The present

2) IV: The Emperor—The past

3) VI: The Lovers—The future

4) The Three of Swords—The reason

5) XIII: Death—Possible results

“So what does it mean?” I asked after I’d made my final notation.

Randi caressed the cards gently, then closed her eyes and began to hum. After a minute or so, she reopened her eyes and shook her head. “I could be wrong, Callie, but while these cards may represent the five card spread I mentioned, it’s just too pat.”

“I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?”

“I think it’s possible that these cards were given to your mother, or perhaps mailed to her, probably one at a time, since she has listed them in order. If they had been sent all at once, it’s unlikely that she would have paid attention to the order and written it down.”

I pulled out my cocoa butter lip balm. “You’re saying someone sent her these as individual messages, possibly with a death threat?”

“I can’t say with any certainty, and I wouldn’t want to suggest a death threat without other corroborating evidence. However, I believe someone with only the most basic knowledge of tarot sent them. The fourth card, for example, doesn’t seem to fit as an obstacle, but it’s more than that. The cards just seem too…structured. I think the sender was someone who took the visual images, and the names of the cards, literally.” Randi leaned over the cards, closed her eyes again for a brief moment, then nodded, as if answering some voice in her head.

“Yes, that’s definitely the communication I’m receiving.”

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. It was one thing to listen to some rigmarole about tarot cards, but subliminal messages from outer space were an entirely different matter.

Subliminal message aside, what if Randi was onto something? What if someone—possibly Reid, the giver of the locket—had sent or given my mother the cards? What did it all mean? Would it provide a clue to my mother’s disappearance? I was mulling everything over when Randi spoke again.

“Shall we look at the cards in that way, Callie? As if someone sent them as a message?”

I looked at Randi, so soft-spoken, ethereal, sincere.

“Why not?”

Randi started with The Empress. “The woman depicted in the card has flowing blonde hair. Do you know if your mother had long blonde hair?”

I thought of the four seasons photographs. “Yes, she did.”

“Okay. Notice how she is wearing a crown with twelve stars. This is meant to represent the twelve signs of the zodiac, making the Empress the Queen of Heaven. In other words, she is much revered.”

“The gown she’s wearing, it’s very loose,” I said. “Is the Empress pregnant?”

Randi smiled warmly. “How very astute of you, Callie. This is subject to individual interpretation. Some people believe the Empress merely represents motherhood, while others believe she is with child. So in this case, either may be true. Was your mother pregnant when she left?”

My head flipped back so quickly I almost got whiplash. Pregnant?

Did I have a sibling out there? “My father never mentioned it, and since no one has found a body, alive or otherwise, I don’t see any way of finding out.”

“Fair enough. Let’s look at the second card, the one representing the past. The Emperor.”

I took in the long, white beard and stern facial expression of a man sitting on a throne. He wore a crown and a flowing red robe. “He looks old and very…authoritative.”

“Yes, it’s easy to see him as someone who rules with an iron fist. It’s possible the Emperor may signify a person’s actual father. What was your mother’s relationship like with her father, your grandfather?”

“I’ve never met him, so that may give you some idea. My understanding is that her parents disowned her when she was pregnant with me. She was seventeen.” I thought about it. “Perhaps the first card signifies her pregnancy with me.”

“That’s certainly one possibility.”

In other words, so was the possibility my mother had been pregnant when she left. “Tell me about the third card, The Lovers.”

“In the Rider deck, the couple depicted is Adam and Eve standing before the tree of life and the tree of knowledge. They are not the fallen lovers we have learned about from the bible, but rather as a model of an ideal relationship.” Randi pointed to the angel hovering above them. “Here the archangel Raphael unites and blesses them.”

“Do you believe these lovers are my mother and father?”

Randi shook her head. “I don’t. Your parents were already lovers. If I’m correct in my assumption that these cards are meant to depict the traditional five-card spread, then this card represents the future, and whoever sent the cards was Adam to your mother’s Eve.”

I looked at the darkness of the next card, the Three of Swords. It depicted a red heart with three steel blue swords driven through it, storm clouds overhead, rain in the background. “It looks like the lovers didn’t have a happy ending.”

“I find it interesting that this is also the only card from the Minor Arcana, if only because it serves to illustrate that whoever sent the cards went through the entire deck of seventy-eight with some thoroughness to select just five.” Randi’s long fingers traced the swords. “In tarot, this card represents sorrow, deep sadness, and heartache. What interests me the most are the three swords. As if the unhappiness is shared, not just by the sender and your mother, but by a third party.”

“My father?”

Randi lifted her shoulders ever so slightly. “Perhaps yes, and perhaps no. That is certainly a good guess.”

It was time to address the final card, which depicted a cloaked skeleton riding a white stallion—a dead king lay beneath the horse, as if trampled. “What about the Death card?”

“The one card everyone who has a tarot reading fears, although not always with good reason. The card itself is filled with symbolism. The dead king signifies he who resists change. The bishop in the right hand bottom corner symbolizes facing death without fear. Beside him, a young woman looks away, as if suddenly aware of her own mortality, while a small child looks up, holding a flower, innocent and free from fear. There’s a shining sun in center right, beyond stone gates. On the left we have a small Egyptian boat on the river. The Egyptians believed death was a transition from one state to another.”

“So there are many meanings?”

“Hmmm. No, not many meanings. The Death card does represent the end of something, possibly even physical death. The imagery allows us to view the same circumstance in different ways.” Randi gave me a sympathetic smile. “I know you came here for answers, Callie. I don’t have them.”

“You told me a lot more than I expected.”

“That was easy,” Randi said, laughing. “You expected nothing.”

I grinned. I had to admit that she had me there. “Well, thank you anyway, for your time and your expertise. I suppose my next step is to find out who sent the cards, though I don’t have any idea how I’m going to be able to do that.”

Randi turned serious, her eyes filled with concern. “You have a long journey ahead of you, and you won’t be able to make it alone. Along the way there will be people you can trust, and those you can’t. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell the difference. Sometimes people we initially don’t like become our best allies. Sometimes our best allies turn out to be enemies.”

I thought about the people I’d met so far. Misty Rivers. Ella Cole. Royce Ashford.

I knew that I didn’t like or trust Misty. Ella was a gossip, but there was something about her that I found endearing. Besides, surely she would be helpful if handled with caution. As much as I hated to admit it, I really wanted to be able to trust Royce. But could I? I looked into Randi’s lapis lazuli eyes, bit my bottom lip, and nodded.

“I’ll be careful.”

Randi didn’t look convinced. “May I recommend something?”

I nodded.

“The store sells smudge sticks made of dried white sage. I recommend you purchase one and smudge Sixteen Snapdragon Circle to cleanse the house of any negativity. It will go a long way to protecting you while you live there.”

I thought about the coffin and the skeleton in the attic. Cleansing the house of any negativity sounded like a fine idea, though I wasn’t convinced something called a smudge stick was the answer.

“I’ve never heard of a smudge stick.”

“Smudging is a First Nations tradition. I always recommend a candle flame to light the smudge stick, since it may take a little time to get the stick smoking. Once the stick is alight with flame, blow it out so that the smudge stick is smoldering, not burning. Then you will go throughout the house, room by room, waving the smudge stick and chanting something along the lines of, ‘I am removing all negative energy and replacing it with positive energy.’ Be sure to hold the smudge stick over a fireproof container to keep the ashes from falling on the floor. Most importantly, smudging must be done with care and the utmost reverence. Consider your intention carefully before you smudge and hold it clearly in your mind while you perform the ritual. When you are finished, bury the smudge stick on the property.”

I left Randi with a promise to smudge Sixteen Snapdragon Circle, made my way down to Sun, Moon & Stars, and handed the breathy-voiced clerk ten dollars for what looked to be nothing more than a bunch of twigs wrapped in twine.

Skeletons and coffins. Tarot cards and twigs.
Seriously, dad, whatever did you get me into?

The smudging ritual took about thirty minutes and left the house with a faint odor reminiscent of marijuana. Not that I’d ever been into pot, outside of a couple of tries in high school, but the sweet smell, that I remembered. I opened all the windows to air the place out, knowing Royce would be over within the hour for our shopping trip. I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to explain smudging.

As always, he was prompt, ringing my doorbell at two o’clock Wednesday afternoon. He’d even managed to arrange for the roofing company to come on Friday.

The excursion dissipated any lingering doubts I might have had about him. Wherever we went, everyone seemed to know and like him. Our last stop was a big box retailer with an extensive selection of kitchen and bathroom cabinets and countertops, including several custom options. It was clear the women who came to help us had a major league crush on him. He seemed oblivious to it all, which made me ratchet up my ‘don’t fall for this guy’ armor all the more. The last thing either of us needed was a fling gone sour with our next-door neighbor.

Even so, I couldn’t help but get a warm feeling in my stomach when Royce put his hand on my shoulder as he led me to a display of cabinets. He still had his hand on my shoulder when an attractive woman with shoulder length blonde hair, highlighted to perfection, sashayed toward us in black stilettos. At first glance, she appeared to be in her early thirties, though closer inspection suggested a well-maintained decade older. Judging by her killer body, artfully squeezed into curve-hugging jeans and a cleavage-revealing gray sweater that brought out the dusky charcoal of her eyes, she worked out hard and often. I knew I was being catty, but I couldn’t help but wonder on what or whom.

“Why Royce Ashford, fancy meeting you here,” she said, her voice sweet as maple syrup. “And whom do we have here? A new girlfriend you’ve been keeping a secret?”

“Chantelle,” Royce said, his tone neutral. “This here is Callie Barnstable, Jim’s daughter. She’s moved into Sixteen Snapdragon Circle.” Royce turned to face me. “Callie, meet Chantelle Marchand-Thomas. Chantelle lives across the street, at number eleven.”

“Just Marchand now, Royce, remember?” Chantelle said, tapping him playfully on the chest. I could imagine her nails scratching the surface of his bare chest, trying to raise droplets of blood.

“Sorry. I forgot,” Royce said.

“I dropped the Thomas when my husband walked out,” Chantelle said, looking at me. “No point reminding myself of Lance the loser every day going forward.” She proceeded to size me up from top to bottom, as if conducting some sort of random test. I wasn’t sure if I passed or failed, but she finally summoned up a saccharine smile. “It’s so nice to meet you, Callie, although I’m sure the circumstances could have been better. I understand your father recently passed, some sort of tragic accident. I gather he was some sort of…laborer.”

“He was a sheet metal worker. It’s a skilled trade.”

“I’m sure it is, Callie,” Chantelle said, her tone condescending. “By the way, on the subject of skilled trades, I see you’ve already put our neighborhood handyman to work. I do hope you don’t monopolize all of his time. We single women need to learn to share.” She gave me another swift up and down glance. “At least, I’m assuming you’re single.”

“Guilty as charged, and no worries from my end, Chantelle. I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of Royce’s good nature just because I’m single.” I favored her with a saccharine smile of my own. “I always find
women who play that helpless card a bit sad, don’t you? There’s something about being needy that just screams pathetic.”

Chantelle turned an unbecoming shade of crimson, looked at her cell phone as if it were a lifeline then murmured something about an important appointment.

“I think the ice princess may have met her match,” Royce said with a grin as we watched her strut down the aisle and out of sight.

“I probably should have been nicer. After all, she lives across the road from me. Her husband just walked out on her. That can’t have been easy.”

“Lance left a year ago. From what he told me, they’d been having problems for a couple of years. Besides, she goaded you. You know it, I know it, and Chantelle knows it.”

“Maybe so, but she also has a thing for you.”

Royce burst out laughing. “Me and Chantelle? I’ll admit that she’s lovely to look at, but I’d rather take my chances swimming with sharks. Besides, I don’t go for the high maintenance type, and according to Lance, Chantelle is decidedly high maintenance. Not to mention that Lance is my friend. He may have left Chantelle, but I don’t think he’d be too keen on me dating her.”

I could see his point.

The rest of the shopping was quick and uneventful, at least from a meeting nasty neighbors perspective. We did, however, manage to custom-order cabinets and an island—complete with a cooktop, sink, and built-in wine refrigerator—as well as granite countertops
.

I’ll admit to wincing more than a little when the cashier rang up my deposit and I had to hand over my credit card. Even with Royce’s contractor’s discount, the overall total stung.

We loaded up his pick-up with the non-custom items—sink, drawer pulls and the like—and drove back to Snapdragon Circle. We were just about to pull into the driveway when Royce threw a curve ball. I should have been expecting it, but I’d managed to put it out of my mind.

“My folks have invited us to their place in Muskoka next weekend. Are you up for it? There’s plenty of space. You’d get your own room and everything. When I told my mom about the photographs, she said she simply had to meet you. We can drive up Saturday morning, head back on Sunday morning before the crazy traffic starts up. Reminisce, swim, take a tour of the area by boat. You’ll be amazed at the opulence of some of the properties up there. Places owned by celebrities and professional athletes and corporate
bigwigs. Some of those summer homes, the taxes alone would bankrupt me.”

A weekend away sounded like fun, and being with Royce had definite appeal. Was I up for what I might learn? I wasn’t sure, but I knew that I needed to find out.

“Sure, I guess. I mean, yes, it sounds great.”

Royce leaned over undid my seatbelt. Then he pushed a strand of my ever-escaping hair back behind my ears.

“It will be okay, Callie. You need to find out the truth, right? Or at least try to.”

That was the moment I realized Royce had heard the same rumors as everyone else. That he knew, or at least suspected, the real reason I was here. I wanted to call him on it, ask him why he didn’t say something earlier. What his game was, if he even had a game.

Then I looked into those warm brown eyes, so solemn, so sincere, and silently cursed. My ‘don’t fall for this guy’ armor was fading fast.

And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.