Sapphire Nights (Crystal Magic Book 1)(18)
He watched her brow furrow and a cloud of uncertainty cross her face. The woman had secrets. He intended to spend a little of his time ferreting them out. He figured the missing persons file would be on his desk, but he already knew what he’d find in that, and it wasn’t Sam.
“Nothing that I know of,” she replied, before hurrying off to take someone’s money at the cash register.
“Look for Cass,” Harvey said urgently, just as Dinah appeared with his egg.
Dinah set the plate down and looked as grim as her perpetually cheerful red lips could manage. “Cass is in trouble,” she agreed. “Look where Sam was last.”
Well, hell, so much for his day off.
Chapter 7
After the lunch rush, Dinah counted the cash drawer, peeled off several bills, and handed them to Sam. “You’re a powerful draw, hon. Reckon you earned your wages today. Go have some fun, smell some flowers.”
Sam had been questioned by every local who’d stopped by the counter. She felt as if she’d earned her wages just fending off questions about her past. She’d finessed the queries about the skeleton so she said nearly nothing and drew the conversation back to the person asking. That performance alone was worthy of actor’s pay.
Relieved that she had a little more cash to get by on until her brain started working again, Sam shoved the bills into her pocket. “I need to plant Tullah’s flower pot. Do you mind if I dig out some of those alyssum volunteers you have in yours?”
“No idea what an alyssum is. Mariah planted that thing. Take what you like. Go over and see Amber, get your cards read, see if she’ll give you some of her pretty flowers.” She nodded at the planter across the street spilling over with lobelia, geraniums, salvia, and marigolds.
Sam would rather not have her cards read, but if that was what she needed to do to dig around in that planter, she’d bite the bullet. She was itching to pinch back the geraniums and salvia and thin out the marigolds. The purple lobelia were too gorgeous to touch.
In last night’s computer session she’d learned she couldn’t do much of anything about her lack of driver’s license without her birth certificate or other government identification. She didn’t even know what state she’d been born in. So if she wanted to use the computer again, she’d either have to borrow a bike or risk driving without a license.
Early afternoon and the sun was shining brilliantly as she crossed the street. Tourists poked around in the shops, but there was no line waiting beneath the squat wooden building with a Tarot Reader sign. A bell rang overhead as she entered. The shop was lined with candles, boxes of aroma therapy bottles, herbs, crystals, and other accouterments of the trade. Sam didn’t know what her previous persona had thought about woo-woo tricks, but she suspected a person with a scientific background wouldn’t approve. Having no memory certainly opened up one’s mind.
She stopped to admire an abstract oil painting in bold blacks and reds. Delicate line drawings of human figures disappeared into the inferno of color. Dante’s vision of hell?
“I’ll be right out,” a feminine voice sing-songed from the back.
“It’s just me—Sam. Dinah told me I should stop by and take you up on that tarot reading. If you’re busy, I can come another time.”
“I’m just dusting. Come on back! This time of day is always slow.”
Amber was a striking woman in her early thirties. She wore her dark auburn hair covered in a turban that left ringlets hanging around her ears. Sam suspected she wore the off-shoulder, ribbon-bedecked white gypsy blouse and colorful skirts because her round figure looked good in them, not just because of her profession. Maybe one led to the other.
“I’ll fix us some tea. Dinah probably half-worked you to death. You need to be off your feet a while. Have you ever had your tarot read?” Amber bustled about, pulling tea leaves from a cabinet, filling an electric kettle, cleaning old leaves out of a colorful tea pot.
“No, can’t say that I remember it,” Sam said. She thought it might be bad karma to lie.
“Well, it’s not an exact science. It’s all about interpretation. The really good readers like me have a psychic connection with the cards and the client. But a lot of it also relies on you and what questions you have in your mind when we cut the cards. So think about what you’d like to know.”
“What I’d like to know?” Sam drifted over to a counter where boxes of beautifully illustrated cards were displayed. The list of what she’d like to know was endless.
“Most people ask about their love lives or their financial situation. The cards are specific to the person. We can’t predict world peace or anything universal. Some of the cards will produce a general prediction of the future, if you’d like that.” She poured the boiling water over the leaves.
“Could we ask about Cassandra?” Sam didn’t want anyone looking into her personal business. She was terrified of what they’d see. Not that she expected anything from pieces of painted cardboard, but the idea made her twitchy.
“We could, in relation to you, perhaps. That works better. Want to choose a deck?”
“They’re all so beautiful. The artwork is exquisite.” Sam admired the various decks Amber had scattered over a tablecloth. “This set is grim though.” She pointed to one with haunted houses and eerie moons and witches on broomsticks. The style seemed similar to the artwork in the front room.