Chapter Two

  That evening, I called Murray and told her about our trip. “Can you feed the cats for me?”

  “Of course,” she said. She was quiet for a moment and I could tell there was something on her mind.

  “What’s going on? I can sense you’re upset.”

  “You reading my mind again, O’Brien?” she asked, but she didn’t correct me.

  I waited. Murray was a taciturn woman, but she’d open up when she was ready. She had been chief of police for the past five years, and the job weighed heavily on her shoulders at times. She had always seemed both proud of her achievement and unnerved by it.

  “We lost Lane today. I just had to tell his wife.”

  The words echoed in my brain. “Oh, Murray.” I wasn’t that familiar with Ted Lane, but I knew he had a family and several kids. I had met him and his wife at an open house that Murray and Jimbo threw two years ago. The Lanes had been an agreeable couple, though I doubted we were ever destined to be good friends. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Just asking helps…” She paused. Murray was usually a lot quieter than me—or Harlow—but she always came through. “Would you be able to make me a batch of that chamomile blend that you brew?”

  I nodded, then—realizing she couldn’t see me—I promised to blend up a batch and drop it off the next day. After a moment, I added, “We’ll be moving out after we get back. I dread living in an apartment, but…when it’s done, we’ll have a gorgeous new home that Joe can fully use.”

  “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” Sometimes Murray could be blunt and to the point. “Em, I know you’re having trouble with this, but you have to grieve and then get on board. You have to face facts: your life has changed. It will never be what it was. What’s the hardest part about moving for you?”

  I thought for a moment. When Murray called me out on something, I had learned to listen. We were good for each other that way. I was a bit more of an enabler, but when I saw her making a mistake, I pointed it out to her, too.

  What did bother me about moving? It wasn’t like this was the house I’d grown up in, or the house I’d had Miranda and Kip in, even though they’d grown up here for the most part. So what was bothering me so much?

  “Well, Miranda and Kip grew up here. I’ll miss those memories.”

  “Yes, but you’ll always have those memories. And you’ll be next door, on a bigger lot in a brand-new house. Also, it’s not like you’re selling the house to a stranger. I’m buying it. You know we’ll take care of it.”

  I worried my lip. “I know you will. I guess…everything’s changing at once, Murray. Kip will be gone by next week. He got the job with Nintendo, so he’s moving down to Redmond to live with three other young men in a condo. They’ll all be working in the same division. So my baby…well…he’s not a baby anymore. I didn’t think I’d fall for empty nest syndrome, but…”

  Miranda had moved out when she was eighteen too. She had graduated from high school a year early and started college when she was seventeen, but I wouldn’t let her move to the dorms until she was eighteen. Now, she was a grown woman. At twenty-two, Randa had just finished her first year of graduate school at the University of Washington. Much to my surprise, she had come out some years ago and was engaged to an equally quirky but wonderful woman named Chess.

  So…we really were empty nesters. Seven years ago, Joe and I had tried to get pregnant, but that had come to a screeching halt when the doctor gave us the news that I was headed into perimenopause and my body was no longer producing enough eggs to even give us a good chance at having another child. So we talked about it, and decided that IVF wasn’t an option, given how hard it could be on the body and how expensive. And while we loved the idea of adoption, we decided that we’d just accept that it was going to be the two of us. We didn’t regret the decision.

  “With the accident, and having to move, and my children are grown up, everything feels like it’s hitting at once. I’m overwhelmed.” I let out a sigh, realizing that all I wanted to do was cry.

  “I can hear it in your voice. I think the week at Harlow’s will do you good. Just breathe…take a lot of walks in the fresh air, and let everything settle.” She paused and I could hear someone in the office with her. “I have to go, but I’ll see you later.”

  I said good-bye and decided I might as well wash up the dishes I had used for making the cookies. As I picked up the sponge, I realized these were the probably the last cookies I was going to bake in this house. And with that, I burst into tears, crying as silently as I could, while I washed the dishes and wondered if I was going a little crazy.

  The next day, I headed down to the Chintz ‘n China, where Cinnamon was waiting for me. She had come a long way from the young woman whose boyfriend had been tossed into jail, leaving her high and dry to fend for herself and three little toddlers. Now thirty, she had put herself through accounting school while working for me, and she and her three children were thriving.

  “Yo, Emerald! How are you doing?” Cinnamon was going through purchase orders. We were waiting on a new order of china to come in from England.

  Even though I had kept the shop relevant—we offered free wi-fi, served a variety of coffee drinks along with tea, and we had branched out into serving bistro food as well as just pastries and sandwiches—I still had a wall of teapots and china cups for sale.

  I asked Fred, one of our baristas, to make me a quad-shot mocha, then heated up a cheddar sausage muffin and carried them over to the table in the corner where Cinnamon was sitting. We had an office, but during the early morning, we liked working in the main shop where we could watch the people go by.

  In seven years, Chiqetaw had grown. We now had a Traymart—a massive superstore—on the outskirts of the city, and instead of five thousand people in the town, we had around eight thousand. But the pace of the town was still leisurely, and I stared out the window, grateful I lived here. The sun was out, sparkling down on the city streets.

  “We’re in for a warm summer,” I said, sitting down next to Cinnamon.

  “Um hmm, I think so too.” She paused, then a smile broke out on her face. “You want some good news?”

  “I’d love some good news,” I said, biting into my sandwich.

  “Sales are up the past quarter, and we’re ahead on loan payments for the expansion.” She pushed a sheet of numbers over to me and I glanced over them, surprised by how well we were doing.

  “You’re right, those are good figures. And they’ve been holding steady for the last three months. Let’s hope the third quarter looks as good. I’d like to give the waiters a raise if we can.” I tried to pay my employees a decent wage. The cost of living had hit Chiqetaw like just about every other town, though we were still a far cry from Seattle’s prices.

  I took a long swig of my mocha, then said, “Can you run the shop next week? Joe and I want to go visit Harlow for the week.”

  Cinnamon nodded. “It would do you both good to get away. Go on, take as much time as you need. I can handle it.”

  Grateful to work with someone I could trust, I glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine, and my first tarot client was scheduled for nine-thirty. I signed off on the payroll checks, then told Cinnamon I’d be back in fifteen minutes.

  The Herb ‘n Leaf shop was a magical supply shop. They had opened about three years back, and the owners were eclectic witches. They sent a lot of clients my way for tarot readings, and in turn, I recommended them as often as I could.

  Merry, one of the owners, waved as I came in. “We just got a new batch of crystals. My husband checked out the company and they practice ethical mining. I have a piece that you will love.”

  I had just intended on buying the herbs I needed for Murray’s tea, but at the word “crystals” my ears perked up. “Oh? I’d like to see.”

  I followed her into the back room. “I can’t stay long. Can you fill this order and drop it over to the shop today? Or I can pick it up after I leave work.”

  She glanced over the herbs. “I’ll ask Pauline to bring these by the shop as soon as she can this morning. Here it is,” she said, stopping at a table where there were a number of crystal balls, along with crystal points. I had a beautiful crystal ball a friend named Maeve had given me, a year before she passed, and I didn’t feel the need for another. But one of the spikes was just humming with energy, so loud I thought I could actually hear it.

  “That one—that’s the one you wanted me to look at, isn’t it?” I pointed to the four-inch quartz spike. It was fractured inside in so many places that it looked like a spider had built a web inside.

  “I thought you’d be able to pick it out!” Merry broke into a wide grin. “I wasn’t even going to set it on the shelf till you had a chance to look at it, because every time I held it, I could hear your name.”

  I nodded, picking up the crystal. A shiver of energy rolled through my body, and the budding headache I’d had vanished. “I love this. How much?”

  “I’ll give you what would be wholesale price—$24.”

  I smiled, not wanting to set the crystal down. “I’ll take it. But I’m not paying you wholesale. What’s the retail price?”

  Merry hemmed and hawed but finally said, “If I put that baby on the shelf, I’d be charging $60 for it.”

  “Add it to the bill for the herbs, please. I really do have to run.” I winked at her. “You were right. There’s no way I would leave that here, chancing it might sell. Can I take it with me?”

  She nodded. “Go! Read for your client. I’ll send Pauline over as soon as she’s put together your order.” She shooed me off and I jogged back up the street to the Chintz ‘n China, just in time to meet my client.

  Two readings later and I was already regretting that I had booked two more. The first client had been easy enough. Joe’s aunt, Margaret Files, was twenty-five years older than Joe’s mother, who had been a menopause baby. Margaret had just turned eighty-five and we had thrown her a fantastic birthday party. She had been coming to me for readings since before I met Joe, and we had always gotten along.

  But my second client had been another matter. In the 1980s, Lani Wilson would have been called a soccer mom. But for all intents and purposes, she was pretty much just an upper-class Bellingham social climber, who was entitled enough to think that she shouldn’t pay for my services because she didn’t like the answer I gave her. I had ceased being a pushover years ago, thanks in part to Joe, who encouraged me to stand up for myself.

  While I let Lani leave with her money, I also gave her a firm warning that she was persona non grata in my shop. I didn’t usually refund readings unless I actually couldn’t read the cards right, but I didn’t like Lani and I didn’t want her money.

  I had a break until one, when I had booked my third reading, so I wandered over to the grill and put in an order for a turkey sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. At that moment, Pauline darted into the shop.

  “I have your order here,” she said, holding out the bag of herbs.

  “Let me get my purse.” I ducked into the back and set the herbs down by the crystal on my desk. I pulled out four twenties, retrieved enough to pay for the herbs and crystals, and returned to the main shop. I was just about to hand her the money when the bells on the shop door jangled and I looked up to see someone I thought I’d never see again.

  Roy. My ex-husband. I hadn’t seen him in six years, since he moved to California to pursue life as a high-powered software mogul.

  I absently handed Pauline the money and murmured a thank-you before I moved around her to slowly approach him. He was older and looked tired, his strawberry-blond hair was thinning, and his once-trim waistline had definitely expanded by a few inches.

  Roy had been an abusive husband, a rotten father, and an all-around miserable human being, but for a while, it looked like he was going to try to put things right. He had gotten himself into rehab after I helped prove he was innocent of committing a murder, and I thought things might work out so that he could be a part of his children’s lives again. But then he pulled up stakes and moved, and the only contact we had was the child support checks he sent. He sent me a lump sum every year—just the check. Nothing else. No birthday cards or gifts for the kids, no calls to them. Nothing. The day Kip turned eighteen—three months back—all communication had gone to radio silence.

  As I approached, I noticed his clothes looked grungy and disheveled. I stopped just out of arm’s reach—Roy had a temper and I’d learned the hard way to wait at a safe distance until I gauged his mood. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I decided to let him start the conversation.

  “Em…” he paused. “I don’t know what to say. I ran over what to say a dozen times on the way here, but now…I don’t know what to say.”

  “That seems to be your MO,” I said. “So, are you back in the area for good?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was going to stay with my parents but they sold the house and moved into a condo and they told me I can’t stay with them.”

  I waited. Something was coming, but I wasn’t sure what, and I had the feeling I wasn’t going to like it when it arrived.

  “I need to find a place to stay,” he said again, slurring his words.

  I sighed. He was off the wagon again. I could smell the booze the minute he opened his mouth. And who knew what else he was on?

  “Well, you can’t stay with me, Roy. Joe and I are…” I was about to tell him about the accident but then something stopped me. A little voice inside said, That’s not a good idea. Don’t do it. I had learned to trust that little voice so I just shook my head. “Why don’t you rent a room at the YMCA and sleep it off? I’ll call you a cab.”

  “I’m not drunk,” he said, but the smell of booze was overwhelming.

  “You smell like you bathed in beer. You’re soused.” I didn’t want him driving in this condition. It wasn’t safe. I tried to suppress my irritation as I focused on the practical. “Sit down and I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “Thanks, Em. No matter what, you always come through for me.” He sounded sleepy.

  As I steered him to a chair in the corner where he wouldn’t be so obvious, I noticed that his breathing was labored. Something was off, and it was more than him being drunk. I squinted at him, trying to pinpoint what I was picking up on, and an alarm rang loud and clear in my head. I pulled out my phone and called Murray.

  “Roy’s here and he’s drunk off his ass. I think he’s about to pass out. I was going to call 911, but I’m not sure how bad off he is.”

  “Roy’s there? Where are you?”

  “The shop. I—” I froze as Roy suddenly slid off the chair, unconscious. “Crap! He’s fainted.”

  “I’ll call 911. You make sure he’s on his side in case he vomits, so that he won’t choke. I’ll be there in a few.” She hung up and I dropped to my knees beside Roy.

  “You asshole,” I muttered, struggling to roll him onto his side. It wasn’t so easy—he was a big man and he was as limp as a dishrag. “Frank, I need you!”

  Frank dashed over. “What do you need?” He was a lanky young man, straight out of high school, and he was the best barista I had ever hired. He knew his way around an espresso machine, that was for sure.

  “I need to get him over on his side. He’s drunk and if he pukes, he could choke on it,” I said, struggling with Roy’s heft.

  Frank helped, easing Roy over on his side. “Who is this? I don’t remember waiting on him before.”

  “My ex-husband,” I said, frowning. “The medics are on their way.” Just as I spoke, the EMTs pushed through the door. I turned to Frank. “Clear the room. Comp everybody their food and drinks and ask them to leave.”

  He jumped to do as I asked.

  I stepped back to give the medics some room, and as I did so, Murray entered the shop. I stood beside her while the medics went to work on Roy. I recognized both of the EMTs—Joe had worked with both of them. One was Maria Carmen. And the other was Jorge Rodrigues.

  “That’s Roy?” Murray asked, staring at him.

  “Apparently so. He smells like booze, so either he’s off the wagon or somebody threw their drink on him. I thought he was just drunk but now I’m not so sure.” I crossed my arms, watching the EMTs go to work.

  Jorge broke through my thoughts. “Excuse me, Emerald, but do you have any medical information on him?”

  “His name is Roy O’Brien, and he’s my ex-husband. He’s an alcoholic, but he was on the wagon a few years back. I don’t know anything about his health lately, though.” I frowned at Roy’s prone form. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s had a heart attack,” Jorge said. “And it appears to be a bad one. Do you have any contact information for his next of kin? Are you still his next of kin?”

  I stiffened. “Heart attack? But he didn’t seem in pain. He just fainted.”

  “Sometimes that happens. We need to call his next of kin right away. He’s in critical condition.” Jorge shifted from one foot to another. “We really have to hurry, Em.”

  I shook myself out of my shock. “Yes, of course. I have the phone number and address for his parents. Here, I’ll get it for you right away.”

  “Bring it to the hospital. We have to get moving,” Jorge said. He paused, then. “You have kids with him, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You might want to call them. This may be it.”

  I suddenly understood what he was saying. “Oh hell. All right, thanks, Jorge.”

  As they trundled him out toward the medic unit, I turned to Murray. “Crap. I can’t believe this. I need to go.”

  “I’ll meet you at the hospital. Can you drive?” Murray said, reading my eyes.

  “Yeah. I can.” I darted into the back room, where I gathered my purse and phone. On the way out, I motioned to Cinnamon. “I need you to take over now, for the rest of this week, and next. My ex probably won’t make it, and the kids…”