Two of a Kind (Fool's Gold #11)(42)

She’d planned ops before. She’d been responsible for moving millions of dollars’ worth of equipment, not to mention soldiers, planes and boats, but nothing had prepared her for what it was like to be facing her first festival in Fool’s Gold.

“I can do this,” she told herself as she stood in the center of her office. She was strong. She was smart. She was not going to start hyperventilating. If she did, she might pass out, and hitting the floor would likely cause some kind of injury.

Focus on your office, she told herself. She liked her office. It had lots of windows and commercial grade internet connections, and everything was organized the way she liked. She’d put Pia’s massive Rolodex into a database and then downloaded it to her tablet. She had access to more information than any president before 1990.

Neutiquam ero. I am not lost.

Right. Because she wasn’t lost. She knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. She would keep breathing and everything would be fine. She was sure of it.

* * *

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND.”

Felicia smiled politely and pointed to the map. “Your booth is here.”

The tall, dark-haired woman in jeans and a T-shirt with a tarot card of the Magician glared at her. “I can see what’s printed on the page. I’m saying I don’t understand because that’s not my spot. I have the same spot every year. It’s over there, by the corn dog stand. I get a lot of business from people eating corn dogs. No doubt they’ve guessed that hideous, processed meat is going to kill them so they want to find out when their life is ending. I can help them with that.”

She moved her lips in what Felicia thought might be a smile, but it was hard to tell. It looked a little like a snarl, too.

“I’ve moved your booth,” Felicia told her.

“Move it back. People come looking for me. I need to be where they’ll find me.”

“They’ll find you very easily.” Felicia did her best to appear patient, even if she was getting frustrated by the woman’s obvious lack of vision. “You’re now going to be on the way to the park. People will pass by you as they go listen to the band playing. They’ll be able to sit and enjoy your reading without having to juggle their corn dogs. You’ll get more business.”

The woman put her hands on her hips. “I want to be by the corn dog stand.”

“That’s not possible. Rather than having the food scattered throughout the festival, I’ve created a food area. There’s no room for your booth there.”

“This is stupid. Where’s Pia?”

Felicia thought about pointing out that if the woman was as psychic as she claimed, she would have known her booth was moving before she got to Fool’s Gold. But she knew saying that wouldn’t help. “I’m in charge now.”

“She quit?” The tarot reader shook her head. “Figures. You get one person in a job who knows what she’s doing and she leaves. Now I’m stuck with you.” Her gaze narrowed. “You know I can put a curse on you, right?”

Felicia thought about the fact that she’d been trained to disarm an assailant in less than three seconds, but knew physical violence wasn’t an option. Or her style.

“I’m sorry you’re disappointed by your new booth location. I hope you’ll at least try to make it work. According to my calculations, you should have thirty-two percent more traffic, and that will translate into an increase in revenues.”

“Whatever,” the woman muttered and stalked off.

Felicia drew in a breath, determined not to let a single difficult incident color her view of her new job. Change was often met with resistance. By the end of the long weekend, the vendors would see what she’d done was a good thing.

“Hey, you that Felicia person?”

She turned and saw a big guy wearing a short-sleeved shirt with the name “Burt” on the pocket.

“Yes.”

“I’ve got the extra Porta-Potties you ordered, but I can’t put them where they go. There’s some guys building a stage or something.”

“Right. The Porta-Potties are going to be in a different location this time. In fact, in several.”

The man groaned. “Seriously? You’re doing this to me the afternoon before the Fourth of July. Where’s Pia?”

* * *

“IT’S EYE-CATCHING,” Isabel said, sounding doubtful. “The colors are bright, and the pictures turned out really well.”

Consuelo stared at the cheerful yellow booth framed with red, white and blue balloons. The sign would draw attention, she thought, staring at the large letters asking: “Do you want to marry one of my sons?” Two twenty-four by thirty-six-inch pictures of each man graced the front of the booth. Denise Hendrix sat at a desk in the shaded space, several photo albums on the surface, along with a stack of applications.

“It would scare the hell out of me if I were Ford or his brother,” Consuelo said.

“Kent,” Isabel said absently. “The other brother is Kent. He’s a math teacher. And he has a kid.”

Kent had the same dark hair and eyes as Ford, but his expression was gentler, Consuelo thought. There was something about his easy smile that drew her to his picture.

“Divorced?” Consuelo asked.

“Yes. I don’t know the details, though. Her name was Lorraine. When she took off, Kent handled it badly. Pining for her, because men are inherently stupid. Anyway, he moved back here and got a job at the high school. He’s smart enough and nice, I guess. A good guy, but you know, not very interesting.”