The bells over the screen door tinkled and Margaret Files bustled in. My boyfriend’s aunt, she was the only family he had around these parts. She had retired from her job as a file clerk several years ago, and had been coming for tea almost every day since I opened the shop. Like clockwork, she scheduled a tarot reading during the last weekend of each month.
“Emerald! You’re looking so pretty today. That sun-dress matches the green of your eyes perfectly.” She gave me a big hug and planted a petunia-pink kiss on my cheek. I discreetly wiped off the lipstick, grateful for her support. She never made any mention of the fact that Joe was ten years younger than I, and seemed genuinely happy that I was involved with her nephew. “The store looks absolutely lovely, like a painting.”
I escorted her to the tearoom. “Have you heard from Joe?” It had been a long week. Joe was at a conference for EMT’s in Portland, Oregon. Though he’d called before bed every night since he’d been gone, I missed the scent of his woodsy aftershave and the feel of his arms curling around me as we fell asleep.
Margaret sighed. “Of course I have. He’s a good boy, Emerald, but sometimes I wish he’d cut the apron strings. He phoned last night right when I had the hand of a lifetime. I told him to call back later. It isn’t every week that I get a chance to shoot the moon, and Leticia and Iris were hopping mad.” She rested her hand on my arm. “You should join us, dear. Sometimes Iris isn’t feeling up to snuff; she has angina, you know. The girls wouldn’t mind if you sat in for her.”
I knew all too well about Margaret Files and her pinochle club. On the surface, they seemed like a nice, genteel group of older women who got together every week for cards. In reality, they played cutthroat pinochle for higher stakes than I could afford, and they played to win. Since no men were invited, and tea was served instead of beer, they had decided that what they were doing wasn’t gambling, but when push came to shove, their strategy made cockfighting look tame. I didn’t have the stamina to keep up with them and I knew it.
“Margaret, you know I’d be outgunned in an instant. I’m about as good at gambling as I am at keeping out of trouble.” I gave her a wink and she giggled.
“So tell me when my nephew is due home?” She zeroed in on the platters of cookies and cakes, then lifted a lid on one of the soup vats to give it a good sniff. Today we were serving gazpacho and chicken noodle, as well as a selection of turkey and cream cheese sandwiches.
“Sunday night. I miss him.” I straightened the stack of napkins, then rearranged a platter of cookies, trying to squelch a sudden flood of longing. Joe had wormed his way into my heart, all right, and his being gone left me lonelier than I wanted to admit.
She kissed me on the cheek, then settled at a table with her food and a book. “I don’t know if you realize just how sweet he is on you, my dear. He always talks about you. Now go on back to your other customers; you don’t have to fuss over me. I’ve got my petit fours and my tea and my latest Danielle Steel novel to keep me busy. I love the juicy parts, don’t you?”
I winked at her. “A woman after my own heart. Okay then, if you’re comfortable, I’ll talk to you in awhile.”
Cinnamon could handle the few customers milling in the shop, so I slipped outside to catch a breath of fresh air. Golden sunlight flickered through the trees standing guard along the sidewalk; it glinted off parked cars and reflected in the row of shop windows that lined Main Street. The city had planted them years ago, interspersing benches and flower boxes between the tall, smooth trunks. The snakebark maples provided shelter in summer for pedestrians strolling along the main boulevard, and in the winter their bare branches twinkled with hundreds of Christmas lights, shimmering along the snow-shrouded streets.
I perched on the bench directly in front of my shop and leaned back, closing my eyes to avoid looking at the white lines marking the crosswalk just a few yards away. Back in April, one of my tarot clients had met his untimely end between those two white lines, thanks to a hit-and-run driver who sped through the red light, clocking a good forty miles an hour. The image had stuck in my mind and offered up an instant replay every time I looked at the intersection.
“Yo, O’Brien, wake up!”
I knew that voice. “I’m asleep. Go away.”
“Come on, wench. It’s almost noon and you promised we’d talk.”
I opened one eye to stare at the familiar face. Yep. There stood Jimbo Warren, decked out in full leather and studs, towering over me. I didn’t see the monster he called his “Sugar” anywhere. “Where’s your chopper?”
He jerked his head toward Chiqetaw’s downtown parking lot and I could tell he wasn’t up for small talk. I still found it difficult to believe that this giant of a man and I had started out as enemies. Over the past few months, his drunken bouts had tapered off and he’d actually taken to stopping by my shop for a bag of cookies or an honest-to-goodness cup of tea.
“As I said on the phone, I need your help.”
His sober expression got me moving. I stretched, then motioned for him to follow me into the shop. As we navigated our way through the display tables, several of my customers tossed us questioning glances. I returned their looks with a gracious nod, but Jimbo added a little half-bow with a flourish, his eyes twinkling.
“Morning, ladies,” he said in an easy voice. “I trust the day’s being kind to you?”
Flustered, they tittered back a few daring responses and one of them—I think it was Elvira Birmingham—positively beamed. I forced myself to keep a straight face. Oh yeah, women loved bad boys all right; especially the prim and proper matrons of the town.
I led Jimbo to the table I kept reserved for shop personnel and offered him a seat. Jimbo eyed the chair. The delicate scrolled backs were aged with a green patina, and the smooth leather seats belied their strength. “You sure that bitty thing’s gonna hold me up?”
“It might look dainty but the framework is solid iron; it won’t bend under the weight of a sumo wrestler.” I motioned for him to sit down. “I’ll get us some lemonade and cake.” After I brought the food and drink back to the table, I settled into my own chair “So what’s going on?”
He hesitantly perched on the cushion and swigged down his lemonade. He set the glass back on the table, staring at it for a moment before speaking.
“I told you that one of my buddies has disappeared.”
I nodded. “Scar, right?”
“Yeah. Scar’s been hanging around Klickavail Valley for the past four years. Now he’s up and vanished. Nobody’s seen him for a week. He wouldn’t just wander off like this, O’Brien. I know something’s happened to him.” His lip twitched.
A biker who’d vanished spelled “road trip” to me. Or “jailbird.” “I assume you’ve talked to the police and to his other friends?”
Jimbo grunted. “Scar’s old lady hasn’t seen him since Friday—a week ago today—and that’s the last time I saw him, too. Seems Traci came into town to buy groceries. Scar told her he was going to head over to my place. When she got home, the lock on their trailer was busted and the place was trashed. Every drawer had been tossed. A real mess. I went up there and looked around. Whoever did it was searching for something and I don’t think they found it.”
“Thieves?” I asked.