The White Magic Five & Dime (A Tarot Mystery) (18 page)

The Devil. Strength. Justice.

“What can I say? There it is,” I told Marsha. “You’re shackled by your fear, just like the Devil’s prisoners on his card. But you’re stronger than you think. Use that strength, and the result will be justice. Balance. Karma. Things as they’re supposed to be. So happiness isn’t beyond you, you just have to reach for it. Does that answer your question?”

Marsha nodded. She still looked awestruck, shocked.

“Athena always read things so differently, though,” she said. “She’d talk about patience and finding the willpower to persevere and helping Bill grow into his own inner peace. I see a lot of the same cards, but the way you talk about them…it’s not the same at all.”

“Different contexts lead to different interpretations,” I said.

My mother’s “context” being the need to keep another sucker on the hook.

I kept that to myself.

“The important thing is that the reading makes sense to
you
,” I said. “And it sounds like it does.”

“Yes. My god,
yes
!”

“Good. So do you think it’s something you could act on?”

“I hope so. Eventually. When I’ve had more time to think about it. But I really don’t have any money. Any. I never have and I never will. Bill always tells me my only skill is…well. Anyway, I can’t go to my family for a million reasons and I’ve lost touch with whatever friends I ever had and I can’t just run away with nowhere to—”

“
Hey
. Marsha. You believe in the cards, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do.”

“And what did they just tell you?”

“That I have the power to change my life. I just have to use it.”

“There you go. Focus on that, not the things that’ve been holding you back.”

Marsha sighed and stared off at the big crystal ball on top of the bookshelf nearby.

She mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear.

“Excuse me?”

“I said it’s not just the money. That’s not the only reason I’m scared.”

“I know.”

Marsha said nothing.

“Look,” I said, “I’ve been dealing with a lawyer here in town. Anytime you want, I’ll walk you down to his office and have him talk you through your options. He can help you prepare yourself before you take the next step.”

Marsha turned away from the crystal ball. “The next step?”

I moved my gaze to the gray smudge under her eye, then the flushed bump on her forehead.

Marsha moved a hand up toward her mouth.

I hadn’t noticed till that moment, and I only had another second to see it, but her lower lip looked a little swollen.

“I should get back,” she said through her palm. “Sometimes Bill calls during the day. If I’m not there to answer…”

Marsha stood up.

I stood, too.

“Let me give you a ride.”

“No, no, that’s okay. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I have to go over to the high school anyway.”

“The high school? Why?”

“The website says there’s a wrestling match this afternoon, and I’ve taken an interest in the team.”

Marsha looked puzzled and a little perturbed.

I guess thirtysomething women aren’t supposed to take an interest in high-school wrestlers.

“It’s really the coach I want to see. Victor Castellanos,” I said. “His mom sort of fixed us up.”

Marsha looked slightly less puzzled.

“So you’re going on, like, a blind date?”

“In a way.”

Victor Castellanos wouldn’t see it coming, that was for sure.

“Thanks for
the ride,” Marsha said as we drove to her house. “And the free reading.”

“My pleasure. It’s the least I could do for one of Mom’s most loyal customers.”

“Still no breakthrough with the investigation?”

“No, but there are a lot of leads. I’m sure one’s going to pan out sooner or later.”

A block went by in silence.

“Am I a lead?” Marsha said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“I know what you’ve been wondering.” Marsha stopped and took a deep breath before she could say it. “Did Bill kill Athena? The answer’s no, Alanis…though I almost wish he had.”

Marsha slapped her hands over her mouth as though trying to shut herself up a moment too late.

“I’m sorry! I know that sounds awful! But
someone
did it, and at least if we knew it was Bill you’d have some peace, and he’d be taken away, and then I’d get some, too. But I didn’t lie to the police. He really was with me when Athena was murdered. He won’t let me out of his sight at night, so he was always in mine. That’s the simple truth. Bill didn’t do it. You don’t have to waste any more time on me.”

I believed her, which made Marsha Riggs a dead-end. I had nothing to gain from her anymore.

“Thanks. I appreciate your honesty,” I said. “You’re right. You were a lead. But not now.”

I looked over at Marsha. She was watching me with eyes big and sad enough for a cartoon puppy.

I put a hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze.

“Now you’re just a friend,” I said.

I’m old
enough to remember the phrase “gag me with a spoon” from its heyday. And back then, it might have run through my mind at a moment like this. Yet I didn’t feel spoon-gagged, even though I’d just thrown myself into treacle deep enough for the Hallmark Hall of Fame.

What was wrong with me?

I was giving empowering tarot card readings I actually kinda-sorta believed. I was declaring friendship with virtual strangers. What was next? A hug? A quick trip to Spencer’s for a
hang in there!
poster of a kitten dangling from a branch?

Cynicism and sentimentality don’t mix. People like me don’t do schmaltz. I felt off, unsettled, not myself.

Then again, I’d
never
felt like myself. You’ve got to have a self for that. And all I had where that was supposed to be was this: “I am not my mother.” Which meant I was still defining
me
based on
her
, of course.

Well, screw that.

When I dropped Marsha off, I gave her a hug.

As a
general rule, you can’t stroll into a school and start scoping out the students and teachers. But a game changes things. You could walk into the gym carrying a flamethrower, and as long as you look normal and have breasts and wear a smile, everyone’s going to assume you’re just another mother anxious to show some school spirit.

I was still on the young side compared to the genuine bona fide wrestling moms, but the people who noticed didn’t seem to mind. I got more than one long look from the boys doing stretches in their wrestling tights. I hoped for their sake none of them had a MILF fetish. Given what they were wearing, it was going to show, and that’s the kind of picture you definitely don’t want in the yearbook.

Any of the wrestlers could have been Matt Gorman, so it would’ve helped if one had tipped me off by throwing kisses to Clarice. But she wasn’t in the bleachers, although half a dozen other girls were.

Sad that Matt’s girlfriend wasn’t there to cheer him on. Or maybe sad wasn’t the word for it.

It was a lot easier to figure out who Victor Castellanos was. A man about my age was talking to the Berdache team, and he was wearing the classic gym teacher uniform (as
Grease
and
Porky’s
had defined it for me, anyway): gray sweats, running shoes, whistle around the neck.

He pulled the look off pretty well, to judge by the way some of the mothers were eyeing him. The guy probably needed cougar repellent at PTA meetings. He had thick black hair, chiseled features, a lean build, muscular arms and legs.

It was the arms that interested me. And what he could probably do with them.

He clapped his big hands twice, apparently wrapping up a pep talk, then turned and headed for the visiting team. A quick handshake with the opposing coach and the match would begin.

I cut him off.

“Mr. Castellanos? Excuse me. Can I have a moment?”

“Of course.”

He gave me an anything-for-the-moms smile even as he stole a peek at his wristwatch.

“My name’s Alanis McLachlan. I’m Athena Passalis’s daughter.”

The smile disappeared.

“I’m in town to wrap up my mother’s affairs,” I went on, “and I heard through the grapevine that you had some sort of complaint about Mom. I just wanted to let you know that, if there’s any truth to it, I’ll try to do the right thing.”

Castellanos cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.

“
If
there’s any truth to it you’ll
try
?” he said.

I nodded with all the obliviousness I could muster.

“I will do my utmost to make an effort to see what I might be able to do,” I said. “Assuming your little beef with Mom is valid.”

“My
little bee
f
? Look, you—”

Castellanos managed to stop himself before he said the kind of thing that would’ve gotten one of his students a quick trip to the principal’s office.

“Now isn’t the time for this,” he grated out.

Yeah. Exactly. Which made it the perfect time.

If you want someone to lose their cool,
Biddle used to say,
do it when the heat’s already on
.

Castellanos turned to go.

“I understand,” I said to his back. “Maybe I’ll catch you over at Verde River Vista sometime.”

Castellanos whirled around.

“Excuse me?”

“I said maybe I’ll see you at the nursing home. I stopped by yesterday to talk to your mother. I hear you’re a real regular.”

Castellanos looked like he wanted to start the wrestling match right then and there, Hulk Hogan–style. Pick me up, twirl me, and throw me. Or maybe smack me over the back with a folding chair.

His gaze shot past me toward his students, then ricocheted left and right into the stands on either side of the gym.

He resisted the urge to go Rowdy Roddy on me, which was a disappointment. I’d have traded some broken bones for an incriminating freak-out.

“Are you
trying
to piss me off?” Castellanos said.

“What? Oh my goodness, no! I’m trying to do the responsible thing. I’ve been looking for the jewelry Lucia supposedly gave my mother, but I haven’t found any of it yet so I’m not sure what to think.”

“Maybe it’s just not around to be found anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

Castellanos gave me a look that was fifty percent anger, fifty percent contempt, and one thousand percent
done
.

“It’s time to start the match. I have to go.”

He started away again.

“One more thing,” I said.

He glanced back without turning his body toward me. Beyond him, I could see someone else walking up to the other squad’s coach, her hand out for a shake.

Principal Little. She hadn’t noticed me. Yet.

I didn’t feel like explaining why Julie McCoy of the Sedona Lions Club was now Alanis McLachlan of the Stalking Castellanoses Club.

I gave Castellanos two thumbs-ups and a grin.

“Go, BHS!” I said.

I spun on my heel and walked off.

After a dozen or so strides, I peeked over my shoulder. Little and Castellanos and the other coach were talking to each other. None of them were looking my way.

I stopped by the Berdache wrestlers. Most were still doing stretches and trying not to stare at my chest.

“Which one of you is Matt Gorman?”

The biggest kid on the squad raised his hand. He had short blond hair and pale blue eyes and a confused look on his face.

“Me,” he said.

“Feeling good about today’s match?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Good. My name’s Edna Garrett. I’m a scout from Arizona State. We’ve had our eye on you, young man. Don’t let us down.”

“Uhhh…okay. I won’t.”

“Great.” I gave the rest of the team another thumbs-up. “Good luck, guys. There’s hope for you, too.”

I left the gym and got in my car and headed for the White Magic Five & Dime. I wasn’t sure what to make of Castellanos, but there was plenty to be made from Matt Gorman.

Eight words from the kid’s own mouth—that was all I needed to hear to know that Clarice was lying about the night my mother died.