The Moor (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #11)(53)

“—the energy is strong,” Sabina continued. “There is both great light, and great darkness.”

“Any Mediterranean cruises on the horizon?”

Sabina ignored that, and flipped over the first card, which showed a woman sitting on a throne much like herself.

“The High Priestess,” she murmured. “A strong card. It could signify your position, as head of your family; wife, mother, giver of life.”

“General dogsbody,” Leonie mused, with a smile.

“It could also signify mystery,” Sabina’s husky voice continued. “Things around you are not what they seem. You must use the guiding forces to find a pathway through the darkness.”

“Interesting,” Leonie said, playing along. “And the next one?”

Sabina’s hand hovered over the second card and, when she flipped it over, her hand stilled. Her eyes strayed up, to look at Leonie’s belly.

“What?” she asked, sitting up in her chair. “What is it?”

Sabina let the card fall onto the table.

“Death.”

Leonie’s hand flew to her stomach.

“W-what does it mean?”

Sabina licked her lips.

“It does not always mean physical death,” she said, but there was concern behind her eyes. Leonie saw it. “It could mean something more symbolic, such as a change in your life.”

Leonie nodded vigorously.

“Like the birth of a new child?”

Sabina hesitated for a fraction too long.

“Yes, it could mean that.”

She flipped her veil back and reached out to collect the cards up.

“Wait! You didn’t do the last one,” Leonie said, grabbing her wrist. “At least finish the reading.”

“Look, this is just a lot of hocus,” Sabina said. “It’s been more than ten minutes, anyway—”

“They can wait.”

Sabina sighed. She knew that look on her friend’s face; she’d seen it many times before.

“Fine, if it means all that much to you,” she muttered, and hoped it would be something light.

But, when she flipped over the next card, her stomach fell, and she began to wonder whether the cards were Leonie’s, or her own.

For there, written in bold text beneath a set of hand-drawn scales, was a single word:

JUDGMENT





CHAPTER 28


As Charlie O’Neill strode across the entrance of the circus arena and told the evening crowd to “Roll up, roll up, for the greatest show on Earth!”, Phillips, MacKenzie and Samantha set up a production line in the kitchen, to clear away the dinner dishes. Phillips washed, Samantha dried and MacKenzie put them away.

“Don’t you ever use the dishwasher?” Sam asked.

“Nah, it’s more fun this way,” Phillips replied, handing her a plate, which she dried carefully. “How was your day, today?”

“It was great!” the girl exclaimed, and made MacKenzie smile. “We went to get some clothes—do you like my new top?”

She turned, dripping soap suds on herself, and Phillips made a show of admiring the new red hoodie decorated in a pattern of small gold stars.

“Lovely!” he exclaimed. “Do you think they have one in my size?”

The little girl giggled, but MacKenzie wasn’t altogether sure he was joking.

“No, you’re too big. Then, we went to the beach at Tynemouth. Didn’t we, Mac?”

“Mm, aye, we did,” MacKenzie said, taking the plate from her before it could smash to the floor in her excitement. “We can go back another day, if you like.”

Samantha grinned, but Phillips cast his wife a searching look. It was easily done, but they couldn’t start making any promises they might not be able to keep.

He cleared his throat, absent-mindedly scratching the end of his nose with a wet rubber glove.

“Ah, you know, Sam, I was chatting with DCI Ryan today,” he began. “We were wondering if you might feel up to having another chat about what you remember.”

There was a short silence in the kitchen, which he regretted, but it was unavoidable.

“I guess you haven’t found anything yet?” Samantha deduced.

Smart kid, MacKenzie thought, taking the cutlery from her.

“We’ve spoken to everybody, we’ve checked over every detail we can find about your mum when she was alive,” Phillips said, gently. “The problem is, nobody is coming forward and nobody seems to have seen anything.”

He decided not to mention their theory about her father, or her uncle, for the present.

“Except me,” Samantha whispered.

And at least one other person, he thought.

“Do you want me to come down to the police station again and see if I can remember anything new?” she offered. “I’ve been trying, but I just keep seeing the same things.”

“Actually, we had a bit of an idea,” he said. “We know this man called Alex, who’s a psychologist. He—”

“I don’t want to speak to anybody like that,” she said, defensively. “I’m not crazy, you know.”

MacKenzie almost laughed.

“Of course, you’re not,” she said. “He wouldn’t be thinking any such thing. What Frank is trying to tell you is, Alex has some very special skills. He knows how to hypnotise people and help them to remember things they’ve forgotten.”