Trouble in the Tarot (6 page)

Cole’s skullcap hung from her rearview mirror. Jo liked her cars big and her men bigger. Cole was about as big as they came with a buzz cut, tattoos, and muscles galore. His wife had died on the motorcycle he’d been driving, and Jo had helped him learn how to love again. If anyone deserved happiness, it was them.

“Speaking of relationships, how is everything going between you and Cole?” They’d started dating just over two months ago and seemed really happy. I couldn’t help but be a teensy bit jealous. I could be where they were right now if Mitch hadn’t left town. “Things seem to be moving right along for you guys.”

Jo chewed her bottom lip, looking hesitant.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Not exactly. In fact, everything is perfect. I had planned on telling you at breakfast, but then you were so frustrated and upset over your situation with Mitch, that I didn’t think the timing was right.”

“Timing for what?”

“To tell you that Cole and I are engaged.” She glanced at me quickly and then stared back at the road.

“That’s fantastic,” I said with enthusiasm and meant it. “I’m sorry for being such a downer.” I touched her arm. “I really am happy for you both. With all he’s been through, and you too, I am just thrilled. Truly.”

She smiled in relief. “Thanks. We just figured we know we love each other, and life can be so short. Why wait?”

“Have you decided where you’ll live?” I asked. Jo rented an apartment above her bar, and Cole owned a small house. But it was the house he and his first wife had shared.

“He’s going to put his house up for sale, and we’re going to start hunting for a place of our own. I’d love something on the outskirts of town with lots of land for kids and maybe a dog.”

“That sounds great, Jo. I’m sure you’ll find the perfect spot. Rosemary’s Realty does a fantastic job. When’s the big date?”

“Well, I don’t know diddly about planning a wedding and neither do my sisters, but the nice thing about coming from a big family is that we have tons of relatives. Also, I don’t have time to plan a wedding since summer is my busiest time of year. My cousin is going to come into town to help me. She’s a party planner, so she can pretty much work from anywhere. I really want a fall wedding. It’s such a pretty season.”

I did a double take. “Wow, that’s quick. Will that give you enough time to plan a wedding?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Jo radiated happiness. “I just want to be married, already. I don’t need anything big or fancy. Besides, Zoe pulls off miracles all the time.”

I couldn’t help getting caught up in her excitement. “I’m sure it will be perfect.”

“It will be…if you agree to be my maid of honor.” She glanced at me with misty eyes. “You really have become my best friend.”

My eyes welled up as well. “Awww, that is so sweet. And you’re my best friend, too. I can honestly say I’ve never had a friend like you before moving to Divinity. I would be honored to be your maid of honor. Just tell me what you need, and I’m on it.”

“I’ll leave that to Zoe. Like I said, I have no clue what needs to be done when it comes to weddings, and I only plan to do this once. Sean’s the best man since he and Cole have gotten pretty close. I’ll hook you both up with Zoe when she gets here. She’s a little quiet but really sweet.”

“Sounds good,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot of Mini Central Park and stopped and stared, “but
that
certainly doesn’t look good. What on earth is going on now?”

“I don’t know, but I have some time to kill before I have to open Smokey Jo’s to the lunch crowd. Let’s go find out.”

Granny Gert and Fiona Atwater were in yet another heated argument at the auction tent. Both were dressed in slacks and blouses, making them look sophisticated
and proper in their own ways, but their actions suggested otherwise. As Jo and I drew near, their shouts grew louder.

“Great jumping juniper, Hazel. What in blue blazes were you thinking?” Granny asked, rosy cheeked and all aflutter.

Hazel Kissinger was in her sixties and part of Granny’s sewing circle. A quiet woman with brown curly hair and small glasses perched on the end of her upturned nose, she was the chair of the auction and in charge of what items were to be included in the raffle.

“I’m so sorry, Granny, but a few more mishaps have happened. And now several auction items have gone missing. There was a hole in the back of the tent like someone had cut right through it.” I made a mental note to look into that as well. Hazel wrung her hands as she continued. “I just figured the more the merrier. After all, isn’t the point to raise as much money as we can to help the Animal Angels?”

“Well yes, but not by accepting something they spent all day making while we were in church,” Granny countered. “Especially when the Sewing Sisters already donated this beautiful quilt for the auction.”

Granny was never judgmental. Fiona showing up in town had her acting like a completely different person than the one I had grown up with.

It turned out the Knitting Nanas had made hundreds of granny squares and put them together to make an afghan for the raffle on Saturday. Granny and Fiona started arguing about whose merchandise was of better
quality. They picked on everything from the color choices to the stitch patterns used to the amount of time it took to create.

“A quilt and an afghan are not the same thing. I think they both will fetch nice prices. Can’t we just all get along?” Hazel pleaded, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“I agree,” Ophelia Edwards said. She was a Knitting Nana, also appearing to be in her sixties with long, bright, hippy-style, orange-red hair and clothes to match. She’d made it clear to everyone in town that she didn’t much care for Fiona, and she thought this whole competition was ridiculous. “This is certainly
not
the vacation I signed up for.”

“Oh, hush up, you. Gertie and I aren’t through with each other yet,” Fiona snapped.

“Ladies, ladies, what’s all this fuss I’ve been hearing about lately?” Captain Grady Walker joined the growing circle. He was a tall, impressive-looking man in his late sixties with a bald head and neatly trimmed goatee. Granny had taken a shine to him the moment she set eyes on him, even though she was a decade older.

“Why, Captain Walker, it’s lovely to see you.” Granny fluttered her eyelids. “How’s that cookie jar of yours these days? Are you in need of a fresh supply?” She leaned forward and whispered, “You know there’s a cookie for darn near everything.”

“Why, that’s good to know, and I do believe I am in need of more cookies if it’s not too much work. Thank you, Granny.” His smile reached his eyes.

“Oh, fiddlesticks, it’s no work at all.” She waved her hands about. “Anytime.”

Fiona looked from Granny to the captain and back to Granny, and the biggest brightest smile I’d ever seen her don spread wide across her rosy cheeks. Granny’s smile dimmed, and her brown eyes narrowed to a devilish dark chocolate.

Oh, Lord, that couldn’t be good.

Fiona stepped between them and held out her hand. “Captain Walker. I’ve heard a lot about you. I don’t believe we’ve formally met. My name is Fiona Atwater.”

The captain smiled kindly and shook her hand. “Much obliged, Ms. Atwater. I have to say I’ve heard lots about you as well.”

“All good I hope.” She twittered, smoothing her strawberry blond hair behind her ear.

“Mostly.” He chuckled.

“Well, it’s no fun being
all
good, now is it?” she snickered.

“Depends on just how bad you plan to be,” he said gently. “The sewing circle has put a lot of work into this carnival. I would hate for anything negative to put a damper on that. You think you can be somewhat good?”

“You have no idea just how good I can be.” She poked him in the arm.

“Glad to hear it.” He tipped his hat and then turned to Granny. “And, Granny, you think you can make an exception and let both items be auctioned off for the sake of Animal Angels?”

“I suppose so.” She scowled at Fiona and then turned her own bright smile on the captain as she finished with, “Since you asked so nicely.” Her eyelashes fluttered about, faster than a hummingbird’s wings. I was afraid she would go cross-eyed if she didn’t stop.

“Though I’d wager my cookie jar the Sewing Sisters’ quilt will fetch a better price than the Knitting Ninnies’ afghan,” she just had to add.

Ignoring her jab at Fiona, he said, “Wonderful. Now that we have that settled, I’m off to BB’s Baked Goods’ tent. Bernadette Baldwin makes the best apple turnovers in the county. Darn sweet tooth is going to be the downfall of me yet.”

“I make a scrumptious cake,” Hazel interjected, but the captain didn’t seem to notice she was alive.

“Bernadette, you say?” Fiona muttered, her eyes already scheming up God knew what. “I’ll walk with you,” she said louder, rushing to catch up to the captain. “I heard you were judging the bakeoff, and I’m just dying to tell you all about my lemon meringue pie.” She hooked his arm with hers and shot a parting evil grin in Granny’s direction.

Quincy Turner rushed after the captain, making me wonder what that was all about. I looked twice when Ozzie Zuckerman followed closely on his heels. Something was definitely up.

“All right, folks, show’s over,” I said to the crowd, who finally decided to disperse.

Jo let out a long whistle. “You weren’t kidding
about the drama,” she said to me. “I feel like I’m back in high school.”

“More like geriatric school.” I scoffed.

She squeezed my shoulder. As she turned to walk back to her car, she called back, “Good luck with that.”

Something told me it was going to take a lot more than luck to put an end to the drama. I’d take high school over geriatric school any day.

“That woman is a menace to society, I tell you.” Granny paced in front of me. “The nerve of her. I told you she was set on outdoing me. I make a quilt, so she makes an afghan. I offer to make the captain cookies, and you watch her bring him a pie.”

“Granny, calm down. Your blood pressure.”

“I’m not going to calm down. I’m going to—to—” Her face brightened like a full moon in a cloudless sky. “I’m going to beat her at her own game. And then I’m going to win.” She marched away with a determined purpose to her gait.

Oh, brother. There was no telling what that meant.

4

Monday night and Tuesday had been a bust as far as seeing Mitch went. So I’d snooped around behind the auction tent, and I’d found a pocketknife on the ground nearby. I was keeping a close eye on who might want to sabotage the carnival. Quincy and Ozzy obviously didn’t like each other, while Bernadette and Sam were in definite competition, not to mention the Knitting Nanas and Sewing Sisters were at each other constantly. I could see them tampering with each other’s booths, but I couldn’t see them wanting to ruin the carnival completely. None of them would benefit from that. The question was: who would?

Granny was in a tizzy because Bernadette had started a petition to have the proceeds from the carnival
auction and bakeoff go to Quincy and his Parks and Rec Program instead of Ozzie and his Animal Angels charity. I was surprised because Bernadette was the one who had given Granny the idea to choose the Animal Angels Organization in the first place. Granny said Bernadette was even more ornery than usual and acting just plain odd. I couldn’t help but wonder what had changed her mind.

Not to mention all the Fiona stuff going on had convinced Granny to give herself a makeover. To get a little more hip as she put it. I told her not to worry about trying to look like Fiona, which had sent her over the edge. She made it clear she didn’t plan to look like Fiona; she planned to look better.

Her schedule was off to say the least.

We had no food, no clean clothes, no new bow ties for Morty, and the house was a mess. Because she was frazzled, Morty was frazzled, and that pretty much made it impossible for Mitch and I to have some quality alone time. We’d rescheduled yet again. This time shooting for Saturday night after the carnival auction, out in public for dinner on a
real
date.

No exceptions, no excuses, no more cancelations.

Then Sunday would be the bakeoff, the carnival would end—if I could keep someone from destroying it first—Fiona and the Knitting Nanas would leave, and we could all get back to our regular lives. So much for the Summer Solstice Carnival kicking off the summer with a bang. This week had been sheer torture so far.

And Granny Gert had lost her mind!

She’d tried every fad out there on her quest for self-improvement. I suspected Fiona flirting with Captain Walker had something to do with it. First it was the soap in the bottom of her bed for the leg cramps, which she swore worked like a charm, but I think the result was all mental.

Then for her insomnia she used some qigong—pronounced chee-gung—method of relieving stress and anxiety that first originated from Tao priests in China. She’d said she read about it in a magazine down at Pump up the Volume salon, so it
must
be true.

She would sit on the bed with the heel of one foot resting on the opposite knee and rub the entire bottom of her foot one hundred times with the palm of her hand. Then she would switch sides and repeat. She said the rubbing stimulated energy meridians associated with sleep while the repetition shifted her awareness away from her head so she could empty her mind. Her mind was empty, all right.