Tempest in the Tea Leaves (9 page)

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard about you,” he said. “You’re that fortune-teller from the city who bought the old Victorian down at the end of Shadow Lane, aren’t you?”

“That would be me. It’s nice to finally meet you.” I held out my hand.

“Likewise.” He shook my hand, looking at me curiously.

My mother sniffed sharply, implying a dual meaning with that one simple gesture: (1) I had the right to remain silent, and therefore I
should
when referring to my recent “troubles,” and (2) I was being rude by not introducing them promptly.

“Forgive my manners, Doctor. These are my parents, Vivian and Donald Meadows. They’re visiting for a little while.”

“
Doctor
Donald Meadows.” Dad shot me a frown and then shook Dr. Wilcox’s hand.

Dr. Wilcox got to his feet. “
The
Dr. Meadows, as in world-renowned cardiologist?”

My father puffed up his chest. “One and the same. What is it you specialize in?”

“Oh, I dabble in internal medicine. I run a small family practice in the center of town. Nothing noteworthy like you.”

Dad clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short, my boy. Any form of medicine is a fine career. Your life has purpose.” He tossed me a meaningful look. “Someone could learn a lot from the example you’ve set.”

“Please, won’t you all join me? I often dine alone. It would be nice to have company for a change.”

“Why, that would be lovely,” my mother said. “What do you say, Sylvia?”

Dr. Wilcox wore a confused expression.

“It’s Sunny, and I say absolutely.” My eyes locked onto the doctor’s as I added, “I’m sure we can find something to talk about.”

And I had the perfect topic in mind.

My mother ordered the Horiatiki salad and red wine. She sipped daintily and nibbled at the tomatoes, olives, and feta cheese while avoiding the hot peppers and red onion with a downward turn of her lips.

My father ordered roasted lamb with potatoes and a Manhattan. He took a swig of his drink and ate the cherry, then precisely cut his lamb into pieces as though he were performing surgery. It was fascinating and creepy at the same time. Once again I wondered how I could possibly have sprung from their loins.

I ordered the moussaka and an iced tea. I chugged my tea, then dug into the layered eggplant and spiced meat with gusto. The creamy béchamel sauce dripped down my lip, and I licked it off, much to my parents’ horror.

“So tell me, Dr. Wilcox, where is Mrs. Wilcox?” my mother asked, dabbing at the corners of her lips.

“Oh, there is no Mrs. I’m quite single.” He cut his meat the same way my father did, and I almost blurted out,
Gee, I can’t imagine why.
I shuddered. It had to be a doctor thing.

My dinner hit the bottom of my stomach with a thud, and I gaped at my mother as her intentions finally sank in. Oh, yeah. She had a calculating gleam in her eye that I’d seen countless times in the past.

“Really,” my father boomed right on cue. “Now isn’t that a coincidence? Our Sylvia here is single as well.”

Dr. Wilcox’s eyes widened larger than the saucers beneath my teacups. He looked as horrified as I felt, thank God!

I sighed, a nasty headache forming in my temples, then stilled as a thought came to me. “Having twins is so scary,” I finally said, setting my utensils down and rubbing my now aching stomach.

“Excuse me?” My mother’s face paled whiter than her porcelain veneers. She dropped her fork as her eyes slowly lowered to my midriff.

“The thought of going through something like that alone is even more terrifying, don’t you think?” I wiped my hands on my napkin and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, still rubbing my stomach. Acid indigestion was only the beginning of my problems.

“Tw-Twins?” my father managed to say seconds before he downed the rest of his Manhattan.

“So, you’re pregnant?” Dr. Wilcox asked. “Who’s your doctor?”

I waved my hand in the air. “Not me, silly.” I held him captive with my eyes. “The librarian. And by twins I meant the twin tumors she had.”

“Good heavens, Sylvia, don’t do that to me again.” My mother fanned her cheeks with her shaking hands. “Do you know the scandal that would have caused?”

My father flagged down the waiter and ordered another drink while wiping the perspiration off his brow. “Scandal? I’d be ruined.”

“For God’s sake, you two. I’m nearly thirty, and we aren’t living in the Dark Ages.”

Dr. Wilcox’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “How did you know about Ms. Robbins’s medical condition? That information is private.”

Thankful for the interruption, I focused on the doctor and simply said, “The tea leaves told me.”

My father muttered something under his breath, then grabbed the waiter’s arm as he walked by. “Make my drink a double.”

“Tea leaves?” Dr. Wilcox smirked. “I didn’t realize they could talk.”

I breathed slowly and deeply, striving for patience. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard comments like that. “When I read Ms. Robbins’s tea leaves, I saw twins. At first I thought that she was pregnant, but then I realized the twins were twin tumors. My visions are always accurate. They just sometimes take a bit for me to interpret correctly. She was upset and rightfully so. I can’t imagine discovering news like that. She seemed so alone. I heard she had no family around here, pretty much spending all her time in the library. I don’t know how she had the energy or how no one discovered she was ill.”

The smirk left the doctor’s face, a sober expression taking its place. “I can’t discuss Ms. Robbins’s appointment because of doctor-patient confidentiality, Miss Meadows. You should know that, given your father’s occupation.”

“Exactly, Sylvia.” My father shot me a disapproving look. “You know better than that.”

All I knew was that I was still a suspect, and I would pretty much do anything to get to the truth and solve this case. I leaned in close to the doctor and plastered the most innocent expression on my face.

“I’m just saying no one should have to go through something like that alone. It’s just not right having no one there for you.” I shook my head sadly.

The doctor’s jaw hardened as his beeper went off. He checked it, then abruptly stood. “I’m sorry for the interruption, but I’m going to have to cut dinner short. It was very nice to meet you all, and I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.” His eyes cut to mine once more, and then he was gone.

We’d be seeing each other soon, all right; he just didn’t realize how soon.

 

 

“Come on, Tink, what’s taking so long? We need to leave,” Detective Stone said as I opened my front door bright and early the next morning. His thick dark hair was still slightly wet, the ends curling up a smidgeon. He wore a light blue dress shirt under a fawn brown sports coat with no tie. The top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a tanned throat, neck, and face. I took in his five o’clock shadow barely covering his jagged scar and settled on his full lips. It wasn’t like he was drop-dead gorgeous, so why did he do funny things to my insides?

Those same full lips turned down at the corners. “You having another spell, Tink?”

“Apparently so,” I snapped, and raised my eyes to his. “Please shake me when I get like that because I’ve obviously lost my mind.”

“Well, hurry up and find it, would ya? We’re late.”

“Hang on for two seconds. I can’t leave without my phone in case the vet calls.” I kept searching through my bag but couldn’t for the life of me remember where I had left my cell.

“The vet? Why, is that demon cat of yours sick?” He scanned the inside of my house before he stepped across the threshold.

I paused. “He’s not a demon—at least I don’t think he is—but he definitely
is
different.” The corners of my lips tipped up slightly. “Special,” I added, then scowled at Detective Stone. “And don’t look so excited over the thought of Morty being sick. He’s not sick. I just want to make sure he’s up on all his shots and healthy.”

“Whatever.” The detective glanced at his watch. “Hurry up or the doc’s waiting room will be full and he won’t have time to talk to us.”

I bit my lip, struggling to remember where I’d left my phone. Suddenly a muffled voice started shouting,
Butthead calling, Buuutthead calling.
My eyes bugged and I bolted over to the couch to snatch my phone from between the cushions. The voice grew louder, repeating the phrase over and over until I silenced my phone. Feeling my cheeks flush hot, I turned around and forced a smile.

He held his phone in his hand, his eyes springing wide. “You set
that
as my ringtone?”

“Accidentally.”

“How does someone accidentally set a ringtone?” He looked me over in disdain. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to tell time.” I thrust out my chin. “Full waiting room, remember? I thought you were in a hurry.” I scrambled past him out the door and climbed in his car, refusing to speak until we arrived at Wilcox Family Practice.

Just as we’d thought, Dr. Wilcox’s office was packed. It was standing room only until the door opened and the doctor walked a little old lady out. An old man who I was guessing was her husband stood to join her.

“I’m telling you, Doc, there’s something wrong with me. I’m sure I’m dying. And if I’m not actually dying, then I’m for sure in danger of getting murdered. The streets aren’t safe. What if that maniac tries to kill me?” The frail little lady wrung her hands together, her hair slightly blue and teased out as though trying to hide its natural thinning, and her reading glasses tilted crooked on her nose.

“Mrs. Sampson”—Dr. Wilcox patted her thin, bony shoulder—“I assure you that you are fit as a fiddle. Your exhaustion simply has to do with age. Try to get some rest. Isn’t that what retirement is about?”

“Bah, retirement is for the birds,” Mr. Sampson said. “Come on, Maude, I told you there ain’t nothin’ wrong with you. You’re just a hyper-complainer is what you are. Never happy unless you got some aches and pains to nag about.” The old man stood tall, thrusting his relatively stocky build forward. He slapped his chest. “You don’t hear me complaining. Spent half my life working in that steel mill. Probably spend another ten years before I’ll get to retire. Sorry for wasting your time again, Doc.”

“It’s all right, Bernard. Just get her home safe.” The doctor squeezed his shoulder and then stopped short when he saw Detective Stone and me. “Nurse Doolittle, push my appointments back by a half hour. Something important has come up.”

Mrs. Sampson broke free of her husband, showing a surprising burst of strength for such a little thing. “Detective Stone, you must catch this monster.” She placed her hands on his cheeks and lowered his head to within an inch of hers as she stared hard at him with wild, crazed eyes. “I’m in danger. I can feel it in my bones, and I’ve seen it in the stars. Stars don’t lie.”

Mr. Sampson gently took his wife and peeled her off the detective. “Sorry ’bout that. Them stars is all in her head. She gets dizzy once in a while, thinks she sees things. You know how it is.”

“She’s fine, Bernard,” the doctor interjected. “People often get a little confused as they get older.”

He nodded once and then whispered to his wife as he led her out of the office at a fast clip.

“She must be related to you,” the detective said to me as he rubbed his jaw, watching the woman leave the office. “Crazy as a cuckoo bird,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that.” I smirked. “You’re a regular riot, you know that?”

“Gee, I didn’t know ‘buttheads’ could be funny.” His eyes met mine, and he made a face. “Thanks.”

“Ooooh!” I stomped my foot, drawing the stares of several patients in the waiting room, but I didn’t care. The man was a brute.

“Follow me, Detective,” Dr. Wilcox interjected, shooting me a confused look. “Miss Meadows?”

“Captain Walker made me his partner,” I explained.

“Assistant,” Detective Stone grumbled, all teasing aside, then pushed past me into the doctor’s office.

“He’s a little touchy about the details.” I followed suit.

The doctor joined us, closing the door tightly. He sat in his chair behind his desk, and a serious expression settled over his features. “Ms. Robbins was a remarkable woman. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“I agree.” Mitch took a small notebook and pen out of his suit coat. “So where were you the night of the murder?”

The doctor sat up straight and choked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, Doc. Detective Grumpy Pants hasn’t had enough coffee yet.”

“I’ve had plenty of coffee. The doc has small feet and access to digoxin. You do the math.”

“Ah, but what motive could I possibly have?” asked the doctor.

“Unrequited love.” A calculating gleam entered Mitch’s eye as the doctor’s face paled. “Small town, Doc.”