Tarotica Read online

  “The coast of North Carolina, near the Outer Banks.”

  “Cool. As soon as I eat and pull myself together, I’ll get back to you.”

  “Sure, okay. I’m about to take a ferry out to one of the islands, so reception could be iffy. If we don’t connect, I’ll just phone later.”

  “Later, then. Have fun.”

  * * *

  Аfter a short boat ride from the historic town of Beauport, Miranda debarked on Shackleford Banks. She pulled the brim of her pink baseball cap down low on her forehead to shield her face from the sun’s burning rays. Slinging her straw tote bag over her shoulder, she set off down the beach in search of the wild horses. Her tourist brochure said the herd had descended from horses brought from Spain four hundred years ago, who supposedly swam from shipwrecked vessels to this desolate, nine-mile-long island.

  She took off her sneakers and waded in the warm surf. It caressed her feet like a gentle massage, so different from the ocean in New England, where even in August the water remained bitterly cold. Mid-August already. It’s hard to believe my vacation is almost over.

  The sun beat down on her shoulders, testing the strength of her SPF 50 sunscreen, as her mind cycled around to Eli. I wish he were here to enjoy this with me. She imagined him cooking breakfast in the California apartment she’d never seen. Do men really make pancakes for themselves? Most single guys she knew gobbled down cold cereal or warmed up leftover pizza for breakfast. Once again, she wondered if he had a girlfriend in Napa as she recalled the image she’d seen in the crystal of the woman with the dark curls sucking his fingers.

  Miranda kicked at the water angrily. She pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. No signal, damn it. Shoving the phone back in her bag, she contemplated her relationship with Eli. The possibility of something long term between us is slim to nil, she admitted. Even if he’s not involved with anyone else, we live on opposite coasts. Long-distance romances never work out. She flashed back to her meeting with the tarot card reader in Santa Fe and wished she’d asked more about their future.

  Pushing thoughts of Eli from her mind, she began scouring the beach for shells.

  Miles of pristine sand stretched before her, sparkling white beneath the blazing sun. She spotted a conch shell partly buried in the sand and dug it out, but it was broken. After more than a dozen fruitless tries, she found one intact. Turning it over in her hand, she mused, it looks like a pussy with its blatant pink opening. She nestled the shell in her tote bag and continued walking. Next she snagged a sand dollar, then another. Carefully she wrapped them in Kleenex and added them to her bag.

  Before long, she’d left the other the tourists far behind. She sat down on a dune and pulled a bottle of water from her tote bag. After resting a while, she ate the sandwich she’d brought along and gazed out across the water. Sunlight danced on the gray-green waves. Wind ruffled her hair. It’s so peaceful here. Again, her thoughts returned to Eli.

  Wouldn’t it be fun to make love here on this beach? Miranda recalled the shooting stars she’d seen above Lake Michigan and the wishes she’d made with her girlfriends. Maybe I should just confront him outright. Clarify things. If he admits he’s involved with someone, I’ll cut my losses and move on. No sense wasting affection on someone whose interests lie elsewhere.

  She climbed to the top of the dune and scanned the rolling landscape for wild horses. Far in the distance, she spotted a group of six or seven grazing. She turned to look in another direction and saw several more, but they, too, were a long way off.

  Overhead, the sun beat down harshly. No trees cast shadows to shield her from its glare. A swim in the ocean would feel good right now. Wish I’d brought my swimsuit. She walked down to the water’s edge. There’s nobody around for miles, she rationalized, scanning the beach. What the hell? Quickly she stripped off her shorts, T-shirt, and underwear, and raced into the surf. The soothing water embraced her as she breast-stroked leisurely through the rippling waves. It’s not exactly cool. Still, it’s refreshing.

  She rolled over on her back and floated a while in serene silence.

  After fifteen or twenty minutes, she swam back to shore. Standing naked, staring out at the sea, she let the warm wind air-dry her body. She held her arms out parallel to the ground, the way the cormorants back in New England spread their wings to dry them.

  Suddenly, Miranda sensed someone watching her. She turned around to face a half-grown bay colt about ten feet from her, pawing the sand. When she held out her hand to him, the shy colt backed away.

  “What a beauty you are,” she said softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

  The colt tossed his head, without taking his liquid, dark eyes off her. She inched toward him; he held his ground. Slowly, she took a few more baby steps. The colt stood still.

  “Will you let me pat you?” she asked.

  The colt tossed his head again and snorted.

  Behind her, Miranda heard a click. Turning in the direction of the sound, she saw a balding middle-aged man holding a digital camera.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she said angrily.

  Startled by the change in her voice, the colt trotted away.

  She threw up her hands, exasperated. “Oh shit, now look what you’ve done.”

  “Sorry,” the man apologized. “You looked so pretty, standing there with the horse. Like Lady Godiva befriending her mount. I couldn’t resist.”

  Miranda grabbed her shorts and T-shirt and pulled them on, shoving her underwear in her tote bag. The man checked his camera.

  “Want to see your picture?” he asked.

  “You’ve got one hell of a nerve.”

  The man laughed. “Yeah, I know. If it’s any consolation, your face doesn’t show.”

  “If you had any decency, you’d erase the damn thing.” She jammed her baseball cap on over her wet hair.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to see it, at least?”

  Miranda’s curiosity got the better of her. “Oh, all right.”

  She walked to the man’s side and peeked at the image in camera. Hmmm. It’s really good. The guy’s got an eye.

  He handed her his business card. Scanning it, she noted the name of a national magazine under his own. “If this picture turns up in print or online, I’ll sue you, I promise,” she threatened.

  He grinned at her, as if calling her bluff. “You should be so lucky. If you give me your e-mail address, though, I’ll send you a jpeg.”

  A mischievous idea popped into her head. She dug into her bag, pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen, and scrawled Eli’s e-mail address. “How ’bout sending it to my boyfriend? It’ll make him wonder.”

  * * *

  The B&B’s back porch overlooked a garden of old roses. Miranda was sitting on a wicker settee, enjoying their sweet aroma and drinking iced tea when her cell phone rang.

  “How was your trip to the island?” Eli asked her.

  “All in all, very satisfying. I saw some wild horses, collected shells, and went swimming in the ocean.” If that photographer e-mails him the nude picture of me, he’ll see for himself. “What have you been up to?”

  “Working, mostly.”

  “On Saturday?”

  “Grapes don’t stop growing on weekends.” He paused so long, she thought the call had dropped, before asking, “Miranda, did you tell anyone we were going to New Orleans?”

  “I don’t remember. I might have said something to one of my girlfriends. Why?

  Was it supposed to be a secret?”

  “I’m still trying to figure out how those Frenchmen knew where to find me.”

  Miranda finished her tea and set the empty glass on the floor, swinging her bare feet up onto the settee. “Did they? You said yourself you couldn’t be sure the two guys who accosted us in Jackson Square were the same ones who attacked you in San Francisco.”

  “True.”

  “How can you even be sure they were French?”

  “When we started
running away I heard one of them say ‘Arretez les.’ It means

  ‘Stop them’ in French.”

  “Half the population of Louisiana speaks French,” she pointed out. “It’s more likely they were local thieves bent on robbing a couple of tourists.” I never told him about the scene I saw in the crystal. He’d probably think I’m nuts.

  After another long pause, he said, “You may be right.”

  “Have you run into any more problems since you’ve been back at work?”

  “No. Surprisingly, it’s been pretty quiet so far.”

  “Good.” She checked her toenails and thought, I really need a pedicure. “Look, Eli, I’m not discounting your theory. But if a competitor wanted to get you out of the picture to keep you from revealing what you know, wouldn’t they have tried again by now?”

  “You’ve got a point,” he admitted, letting the subject drop. “So where are you headed next?”

  “Home. I can’t believe my vacation is almost over.” She switched the phone to her other ear. Okay, time to find out where things stand between us. I need some clarity.

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She took a deep breath. “When I get back, I’d really like to have you come visit me. I’d like to show you around New England.”

  “I’ve never been to New England.”

  That’s not exactly a yes. “Eli, do you have a girlfriend in Napa?”

  “No, there’s nobody special.”

  “It’s just, well, it’s been fun hanging out together, when we weren’t running from bad guys, that is. I like you. I hope we can see each other again.”

  “I like you, too. When I’ve straightened things out here, we’ll work something out. I hear Salem’s the place to be on Halloween.”

  * * *

  After he hung up, Eli kept hearing Miranda’s words ringing in his head: “Half the population of Louisiana speaks French.”

  Giselle’s from Louisiana, he reminded himself, remembering the hint of an accent that lingered in her speech. He flashed back to last night when he’d caught her going through his desk drawers, and her response when he told her he’d given the Mort Jaune report to Troy: “Mon dieu.”

  He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. For several minutes he channel-surfed, trying to find something worth watching, and eventually gave up. The only people I told about my trip to New Orleans were Coyote and Giselle. He switched off the TV, leaned back in his chair, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. For the umpteenth time he asked himself, Who had the opportunity to plant diseased vines in our fields between three and four years ago? And who bore a grudge against Meditrina?

  Pieces of the puzzle slid together in his mind’s eye, forming a clear picture. He shook his head, wondering how he could’ve missed seeing what lay right in front of him.

  Eli, you’ve been thinking with the little head instead of the big one.

  Card 20: Judgment

  For several long moments, Eli stood silently at the threshold to Troy Aransas’s office, staring at his boss’s back while Troy tapped away on his computer keyboard.

  Finally he rapped on the open door and went in.

  Troy spun around in his leather chair. “Hey, Eli. How’s it going?”

  “I need to talk to you. Is this a good time?”

  “Sure, sure.” Troy motioned for him to sit.

  “Mind if I close the door?”

  Troy smiled an uneasy smile. “Must be serious.”

  “It is.” Eli shut the CEO’s door and pulled up a chair.

  “Coffee?” Troy offered.

  “No, thanks.” Eli crossed his right ankle over his left knee, trying to decide where to begin. I’ve rehearsed this speech a dozen times and still can’t think of an easy way to break it to him. Might as well just spit it out. “I know who destroyed Meditrina’s vines.”

  “Oh? Which one of our French competitors did it?” Troy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the antique oak desk that had been his father’s when the old man ran the business. “I hope you have enough information to back up an accusation. If you’re right, the shit’s gonna hit the fan internationally.”

  Eli shook his head. “It wasn’t one of our French competitors. Although that’s what I thought initially.”

  “You’ve found out more since you sent me that report?” Troy shifted his position, as if he were having trouble getting comfortable in his expensive, ergonomically designed chair. “Good, that’s good.”

  “Have you talked to Giselle Constant since she’s been back here?”

  Troy frowned. “Well, yeah. Why?”

  “Giselle planted vines infected with the Morte Jaune in Meditrina’s fields before she went to Texas to work for Coyote Fortuna. She acquired those diseased vines during the trip you took to France together three and a half years ago.”

  “She told you that?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “How did you figure it out?”

  “That’s a long story.”

  Troy inhaled a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He picked up his coffee cup and held it between his hands for a while, as if drawing comfort from its warmth, before drinking. Eli studied his boss’s demeanor carefully, observing the subtle shifts in his expression. The lines between Troy’s eyebrows deepened, the corners of his mouth sagged. His head dipped slightly; his shoulders slumped.

  “I suppose you know about our affair, too?”

  Eli nodded. “It wasn’t a very well-kept secret, Troy.”

  Troy shrugged.

  “Poisoning the vineyard was Giselle’s way of taking revenge because you wouldn’t leave your wife for her, right?”

  “So it seems.”

  Watching Troy’s reaction to the news—sadness and resignation, instead of surprise or outrage—Eli suddenly realized it wasn’t news at all to his boss.

  “You knew all along that she introduced the Morte Jaune into our vineyard, didn’t you?” he asked.

  Troy looked up from his coffee cup and met Eli’s searching stare. He nodded.

  Anger surged in Eli’s gut. His fists clenched involuntarily. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, glaring at his boss. “Who hired the goons to take me out? You or her?”

  “They’re Giselle’s brothers.” Troy sighed. “They weren’t supposed to harm you, just scare you off. So you’d stop investigating the whole thing.”

  Eli slammed his fist on the oak desk. “One of her brothers pulled a fucking knife on me. Did you know that?”

  “Hey, you’re okay. Nobody got hurt.”

  “No thanks to you.” Eli stood up and paced back and forth, the length of Troy’s office. Betrayal burned like hot coals in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? We’ve worked together for ten years, Troy. I thought we were friends.”

  Troy held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness. “I love her.”

  “Even now, after she tried to ruin you?”

  “What can I say?” His pained eyes searched Eli’s for understanding.

  Eli flashed back to the nights he’d spent with Giselle, the lust she’d roused in him, and the great sex they’d had together. If Troy’s wife really was an “ice princess,” as Giselle claimed, he could easily imagine how his boss had fallen under the spell of a sultry Cajun temptress.

  “What are you going to do now?” Troy asked.

  The question had so many implications Eli couldn’t comprehend them all. “I honestly don’t know,” he said, and left Troy’s office.

  * * *

  Miranda stopped for lunch at a barbecue joint north of Raleigh, North Carolina.

  She carried her pulled pork sandwich outside and ate at a picnic table in the shade of a huge live oak. It reminded her of the tree where Freeman, the hanging man, lived. When she’d finished, she dug into her oversized purse for her lipstick. Her fingers brushed the crystal from Uncle Bright’s field. Withdrawing the sparkling stone, she balanced it on the palm of her hand. Do you have a vision for me today?

&nbs
p; As she gazed into the crystal, its wisps began to swirl like smoke rising from a candle’s flame. Slowly, they formed into shapes. A wide street with brick sidewalks. On both sides of the street rose elegant, eighteenth- and nineteenth-century mansions. Red, yellow, and copper leaves crunched under her feet as she and Eli walked hand in hand under a clear blue sky. Miranda recognized the scene: Salem’s Chestnut Street. October, her favorite time of the year.

  For several moments she stared into the crystal, until the images faded. Am I really seeing the future? she wondered, closing her fingers around the stone. The crystal had accurately foretold the attack in New Orleans. What about the other visions it’s shown me? Angrily, she recalled the one of a dark-haired woman sucking Eli’s fingers in a vineyard.

  Miranda slipped the crystal back into her purse. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

  * * *

  After his conversation with Troy, Eli sought solace in the fields where he’d spent most of his adult life. Strolling through Meditrina’s vineyards had always brought him a sense of peace. Now, however, he felt himself withering and dying inside, undermined by those closest to him.

  Like these vines.

  He trailed his fingers along the green-gold leaves and touched the ripe, purple grapes, knowing he was saying goodbye.

  Holding his hand open, Eli gazed at the tattoo on his palm. His talisman, his link to Mother Earth and her abundance. I started working in this vineyard right after I finished college. It’s the only real job I’ve ever had. But knowing what I do, I can’t stay on here. What am I going to do now?

  As if responding to his question, a voice in his head said, What do you want to do? He paused and gazed down the long row of vines. Good question. He plucked a grape and squeezed it between his fingers. Letting the juice run down his hand, he recalled his youthful aspirations, things he’d always imagined doing but had yet to achieve.

  Travel to Europe. Write for Wine Spectator. Become a sommelier.

  He considered getting a job with one of the other Napa vineyards. Perhaps he could try Sonoma. It wouldn’t be hard to do. He had plenty of experience and connections in the industry. Somehow, though, his heart wasn’t in it. It’s time for a change.