She flashed me an ingratiating smile. “George is a big fan of yours. He asked if he could come along with me and meet you. He’d like to stay and ask you some questions about the tarot, and I thought that you wouldn’t mind since that’s your area of expertise.”
Harlow had been right, damn her. I glanced over at George, who had edged up behind Cathy’s right shoulder. He blinked. Behind the round lenses of his glasses, he looked for all the world like a belligerent owl.
Shit. My inner alarm clanging, I homed in on his energy for a moment, then quietly withdrew. No . . . George himself wasn’t dangerous, but there were disturbing ripples in his aura and regardless of his last name, I didn’t think he was as nice as he pretended to be. “Uh, I’d rather not—”
George suddenly came to life. “Please, let me stay, just for the afternoon? I’ve always been fascinated by the occult and when I found out that Cathy knew you, I wondered if I might entice you into a discussion about the tarot. ESP and the tarot have been pet studies of mine since I was fifteen and I think I’ve got what it takes to be a professional psychic. I’ve studied J.B. Rhine’s experiments and read all of Hans Holzer’s books and Edgar Cayce’s work. I’ve even seen ectoplasm once at a séance that my best friend’s sister conducted and I’m trying to learn remote viewing—”
Eager to shut him up, I held up my hand. “All right, all right. Just slow down, okay?” I flashed Cathy a look that said I’d like to send her someplace nice and hot. She blushed. Royal the cameraman leaned against the door, obviously enjoying the show.
“George, listen to me,” I said gently. “I don’t study ESP or psychic phenomena, so I really don’t think I’m going to be much use to you. See, I’ve read the cards since I was a little girl and I learned all my traditions from my grandmother. These things are all just part of my everyday life.”
His expression fell so hard that I thought he’d break his jaw. “You mean you won’t talk to me?”
Cathy stiffened and I knew that if I said no, she’d find a way to make me regret it. For some reason, she’d taken this runt under her wing. I looked back at George, who could have passed for a basset hound on a sad day. What the hell. How bad could one afternoon be?
“Oh all right. If you want to discuss the tarot, I suppose you can stay, but please, don’t bother me with questions while I’m waiting on customers, okay?”
The moment I acquiesced, Cathy made a beeline for the door. “Now that that’s settled, Royal and I have to interview a few other business owners along Main Street. Thank you, Emerald. George, we’ll meet you back at the station.”
She and Royal took off out the door faster than a greased pig on speed, and as I watched them go, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just been scammed. I had to pat myself on the back, though. This was the first time she’d left the shop on her own volition.
I turned back to George. He held up the metal briefcase, the eager smile on his face a little too bright. “I want to film you while you’re reading the cards for somebody. I’ve got my video camera right here.”
Whoa! Since when had I agreed to that? “Slow down there, partner. No cameras. Any reader worth her salt maintains strict confidence for her clients. That means you can’t listen in, either.”
He scrunched up his face, his chin jutting forward. “But that way I could study your technique better.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen.” I straightened my shoulders and put on my best face. “You’ll have to be content with just asking your questions.”
Pouting, he swung around, jostling the nearest display table as he did so. He jerked away, but only managed to destabilize it more. I dove, trying to steady it before disaster struck, but was seconds too late. The table tipped, sending two delicate and expensive rose-patterned teapots smashing to the ground. Four of the baskets I’d so lovingly prepared went flying, their contents skittering across the floor. Miniature jars of honey and jelly rolled everywhere, a few of them breaking and spilling their sticky contents all over the tile.
“Jeez! Please, be careful!” I stared at the remains, rubbing my brow. Oh yeah, headache looming on the horizon, prepare for attack. “Well, these teapots are history. You wait here while I sweep up these shards. The last thing I need is some customer cutting herself on them.”
A cloud of gloom settled over his face. George waved at the mess on the floor. “I suppose you expect me to pay for those?”
Cinnamon, who had been watching this debacle from behind the counter, brought over the whisk, the dustpan, and a wet cloth. She shooed me away and proceeded to clean up the scattered bits of teapots and the honey that oozed along the floor.
After thanking her, I turned back to George. “You break it, you buy it.” I pointed to a tasteful but firm warning tacked on the wall that informed customers of just that fact.
He rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”
I added up the total amount of broken wares. “The damage comes to $152.80.”
“Jeez,” he said, flinging three fifties and a five on the counter. “They’re just teapots. What’d you do? Pay the queen of England to hand paint them?”
I took a deep breath, counted to five, and then let it out slowly. “Listen to me. I agreed to answer some questions on the tarot. I didn’t agree to any filming, or to having my shop disrupted, or to putting up with rude behavior.” I rested my hands on my hips, staring him down.
He frowned, but shrugged and held up the video case. “Whatever. Can I put this somewhere safe?”
“Give it to me,” I said, and took it into my office. When I returned, he was fiddling with his miniature tape recorder.
“Can I at least tape-record your answers?”
Already weary of the battle, I capitulated. “Fine, but only when we’re alone. When I’m helping a customer, you back off. And I want a copy of those tapes after you’re done. And for goodness sake, please, don’t break anything else! Some of my inventory is far more expensive than you can probably afford and I’m not about to take a loss on it.”
As he followed me to the counter, I began repairing a couple of the baskets that had received only minor dents. I could refill them and mark them on sale because of the scuffs and dings. As I worked, I tried to pin down George’s energy. When I reached out, it was like poking the Pills-bury Doughboy. His ego was all puffed out of shape, as if he truly believed he had all the answers in life. I figured him for twenty-two . . . maybe twenty-four at the most. At any rate, George was like a number of young men who hadn’t learned to see beyond their hormones. I sighed. I had better things to do than cater to a spoiled brat.
The day proceeded to go from bad to worse. After I finished helping Tansy Brewer find the right teacup to replace a broken one from her set, George cornered me near the alcove where I read tarot.