relationship she’s had.”
Lana Lamar was an antique and art critic who wrote a column for a number of syndicated newspapers. She’d been married twice prior to marrying Elton, her third husband. They’d lasted fifteen years, so far. Lana believed she was beautiful beyond words. She wasn’t. Nor was she objective and fair-minded, as she liked to claim. In truth, she was hypercritical of everything. Nothing cut the mustard. How did I know her so well? Whenever she wasn’t working, she was at the athletic club using the StairMaster, which happened to be my machine of choice. Side by side, we would step for an hour. Lana was more than happy to talk about herself. The last time I’d run into her, she’d recited her latest review to me: Without a doubt, Betsy Brahn’s work adds up to a big ego trip. The last time I saw a painting as deluded as Miss Brahn’s witless work, I was ten. Seriously, Miss Brahn, have you no one who will say this to you? Stop. Now. Quit painting. Spare us all. Find another career. The harshness of her words had nearly knocked me off my machine. Lana had found it amusing.
“What did Lana do this time?” I asked, offering a darling set of miniature fairy signs to Didi. One read: Fairies love to read.
“Ooh, I adore this.” She set it in her basket.
“Lana,” I pressed.
“She bought a second home. In Lake Tahoe.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t following why that upset Didi. The more Lana traveled to her second home, the less we would all see of her. Good riddance.
“Uh-uh, not okay. She thinks that because she won’t be here as often, she deserves an exemption when it comes to the pickleball championship.”
For eight years, Lana had been the reigning champion. Years ago, she trained for the Olympics as a long distance runner until a bout of mononucleosis benched her. Ever since, she had striven harder at everything she does. Tennis. Racquetball. Weightlifting.
“What kind of exemption?” I asked.
“You know Sport Zone has rules and regulations about how many rounds one has to play in order to compete in any competitive sport.”
“Yes.” I might have been a newbie, but I understood the rules. Even though I never wanted to compete, if I were to do so, I would have to wait an entire year before I’d qualify, and in any given season, I would need to compete a minimum amount of six times to maintain my competitive status.
“Well, she doesn’t want to comply with the rules. She believes she should be able to compete no matter what. No minimums. No qualifications. End of story. ‘Once a champion, always a champion,’ ” Didi chimed, mimicking Lana’s strident voice. “No strings attached.”
“Give me a break.”
“I know, right? Did you know the name Lana means child? That about sums it up.” Didi picked up a ten-inch-tall Schleich Griffin knight. He was clad in white-and-blue robes and holding an ice bolt and awesome spear. “I love this guy.”
“He’s pretty incredible but too big in scale for what you’re planning.”
“I could just buy him and put him on my bookshelf, couldn’t I? Next to my voodoo doll.”
“Let me guess. The voodoo doll is for Lana?”
She let rip with a rollicking laugh. “I made it on my trip to New Orleans. We went to a graveyard...”
As Didi reminisced, Fiona flew to me. “Psst. Courtney.” She hovered nearby, her green wings working hard, blue hair shimmering, her silver tutu and silver shoes sparkling in the sunlight that filtered through the overhead skylight. She whispered, “Didi is really negative. She needs something to lighten her up.”
Didi stopped talking and tilted her head. She was glancing in Fiona’s direction, but I was certain she couldn’t see her. Negativity made it difficult for anyone without innate ability to perceive other beings.
“So what are you going to do about Lana?” I asked Didi.
“Block her at every turn, which means she’ll lash out.”
“She wouldn’t hit you—”
“There’s no telling what she might do. I’ve seen her attack other women. It’s not pretty. Don’t worry. I’m prepared. I’ve got my weapons.”
“The voodoo doll?”
“And other tools of the trade.”
That sounded ominous.
“The pen is mightier than the sword.” Didi raised a finger in the air to make her point.
“Oh, I see. A poem.”
“A dastardly poem to strike fear in the hearts of enraged souls.” In addition to running the athletic club, Didi did live readings of her poetry at Harrison Memorial Library.
“Will you read it aloud?”
“Perhaps I might.” Didi cackled. “Plus I have