Serious Moonlight(105)

Walking briskly, I left the store and stopped near the Swami fortune-telling machine to inspect the envelope. It had my name written on it, and it was sealed.

I impatiently ripped the side off the envelope and puffed it open to peer inside. When I tipped it sideways, a card spilled onto my palm. It was . . .

An Elvis not-a-penny fortune card.

I flipped it over and read the text:

I see that you will have a chance meeting with a dark stranger who will reveal great secrets to you. If you collaborate, a bold and dashing adventure will be in your future. But beware of perilous pitfalls that lead to ruin. It takes a level head and determination to survive a run through the gauntlet. In great attempts, it is glorious even to fail, because in conflict you will find common ground together.

This was the same fortune! My fortune! Maybe not the exact card, because this one had crisp corners, unlike mine, which got bent when I jammed it into the frame of a bedroom mirror. And there was something else: the word “gauntlet” was circled in red with three more question marks.

Crazy emotions pinballed around my chest. Embarrassment over my stupid sex-gauntlet proposal at Green Gables. But also a shimmering, distant hope that he was acknowledging our private joke for a good reason.

And there were other clues on the card. When I squinted, I could just make out a few words written in tiny print at the bottom.

Moonlight Diner. 8 p.m.

Did this note mean eight p.m. tonight? That was almost two hours from now. I flipped the card over several times and peered into the envelope but found no other information.

Was I going to follow the card’s direction?

How could I not?

Trying not to hang too much hope on any of this, I decided to go ahead and walk to the Moonlight. I holed up in our usual booth and ordered tea from one of Ms. Patty’s nieces who by some miracle I had never met. Then I used not only their free Wi-Fi and restrooms, but also the peace and quiet to think. Perhaps I did too much thinking, because I may have fallen asleep. But I didn’t beat myself up over this. My doctor said managing narcolepsy was never going to be easy, so I should get used to losing a few battles now and then. But by the time it got closer to eight, I was fully awake again and began watching the door like a hawk.

And watching and watching . . .

Eight came and went. No Daniel. No nothing.

WAS THIS ALL AN ELABORATE SETUP?

“Get it together, Birdie,” I mumbled to myself, blowing out a long breath.

I crossed my legs and brushed up against something under the table. When I bent to the side to peer underneath, I found not only my childhood crayon drawing of Ms. Patty, but also a note taped to the grain of the particle board. I ripped it off and quickly scanned more scrawled handwriting: Ride the blue horse.

My eyes darted around the diner. No blue horse here. Nothing outside, either. At least, none that I could remember.

I stared out the diner window, scanning the sidewalk, and noticed a blue Mustang idling loudly at the curb. Blue horse! But it wasn’t Daniel in the driver’s seat—it was Joseph, from work.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice said behind me.

I swiveled in my seat to face the bright red hair of server Shonda—aka TONY THE TIGER, according to her name tag today, taking off her coat, as if she was on her way to clock in or had just been on a break.

“You’re supposed to get a ride from that guy in the Mustang,” she said, pointing out the window. “That’s what your lovebird tipped me to tell you. There was a note or something?”

“I just found it. Thank you!” I quickly left cash on the table for my tea, scooted out of the booth, and strode outside to the Mustang.

Joseph ducked his head to me through the window and gestured for me to get inside. I opened the passenger door and slid into the seat while the engine rumbled. “Hey,” I said. “I’m supposed to get in the car with you. Sorry I’m late. I didn’t find the note in time.”

“No worries,” he said. “I’ve only been here a few minutes. Had to drive around the block a few times to snag this parking space.”

“What now?”

He checked his rearview mirror as I put on my seat belt. Then he put the car in gear. “Now you refrain from asking me where I’m taking you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Just a hint?”

“Daniel wanted you to wear a blindfold, but that’s a little too kidnappy for my tastes, so just keep your eyes down, yeah?”

That was hard to do. And after a couple of blocks, I gave up. We were headed out of downtown as a purpled twilight fell over the city. I asked Joseph a rapid-fire series of questions, trying different angles to get him to spill the beans about this mystery hunt that Daniel had arranged, but he was buttoned up tight.

We sped down Second Avenue and turned north on Broad. After a couple of blocks, Joseph stopped at a red light and discreetly texted someone. When I asked if that was Daniel, he merely said, “You’ll see.”

I went through a dozen possible scenarios in my head, trying to figure out where we were going. Seattle Center was on the left, along with the opera house—something I wished I could forget—and then Joseph was taking a quick turn into a driveway marked with a valet-parking sign. We went around a fountain before coming to a stop. A middle-aged African-American woman in a blazer waved at us.