“Fuck you, Spellman.”
“Charming as ever, Linda.”
“Kiss my ass.”
“I’d never be able to afford to.”
She slammed down the receiver.
Marty called her back. “Do you think we can behave like adults now? Or is that out of the question?”
She didn’t answer.
“All I want is to do is ask you a few questions.”
“Why the hell should I bother talking to you?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question, Linda.”
He heard what sounded like her pushing back her chair and closing her office door. “What questions?” she asked.
“Not over the phone,” Marty said. “In person. How’s 4:00 sound?”
“Forget it,” she said. “I’m working a big case. Gotta be here. Gotta be now.”
He had no time for this. He’d have to be blunt. “I can’t exactly hand you a check over the phone or in your office, now can I, Linda?”
She went silent for a moment, then cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “My birthday isn’t until next month. But what the hell? I haven’t eaten lunch, so let’s make it the earliest dinner New York has ever seen. Where do you want to meet?”
The Tarot Cafe was in the partitioned basement of an old warehouse on Prince Street. Owned by three psychic sisters from Flatbush, the cafe served imported coffees and herbal teas, ginseng extracts and mushroom shoots, exotic-looking desserts and homemade breads, soups, sandwiches, as well as glimpses into their clients’ futures.
It was through Gloria that Marty came to this narrow, dim place that often smelled of patchouli oil, and it was through Gloria that he had met the three sisters Buzzinni-Roberta, Carlotta and Gigi.
Not a superstitious man, Marty had come to view the Buzzinnis’ psychic powers as little more than a gimmick that had turned into a comfortable career of tea leaves and tarot cards, face readings and character analyses. Gloria, however, swore by them. “They’re good,” she said, after her first visit. “One of them held my hand and told me I have two daughters. Another read my cards and learned that I paint. They said I’m going to be famous.”
Now it was Gloria who was saying that.
Roberta Buzzinni, his favorite of the three sisters, had taken the cafe’s reins while Carlotta and Gigi worked to open their new satellite cafe on Christopher Street.
She was seated at the rear of the empty cafe shuffling a deck of cards when he stepped into the quiet gloom. She looked up at him with raised eyebrows and immediately cut the deck, drew the top card and held it as high as the hair on her head. “This,” she said, smiling, “is your future.” She looked at the card and her smile faltered. She drew the next card and her frown deepened.
Amused, Marty threaded his way through the many tapestry-covered tables and wispy, gray-blue slips of incense smoke. Today, the cafe smelled of tomato soup and myrrh. “That bad?” he asked.
Roberta buried the cards at the bottom of the pile and put the deck away. “What the hell do I know?” she said. “I’m just a psychic.” She stood up and enfolded him in heavy arms. “Where have you been?” she asked. “We’ve missed you.”
“I’ve been working,” he said. “What else?”
“I can feel your bones,” she said, squeezing him. “You’re not eating. You’re too thin.”
“It’s all muscle, baby.”
“Yeah,” she said, stepping back. “Kinda like me.”
He gave her a kiss on the forehead and inhaled the sweet scent of plums in her thick, curly black hair. “Sorry it’s been so long,” he said. “But I did stop by three Sundays ago. The place was closed.”
“We had a little fire in the kitchen,” Roberta said as they sat down. “Carlotta saw it coming two weeks before it happened, but couldn’t zone in on the exact date. Gigi and I tried like hell to tap into it, but our own Information Superhighway was on the fritz. Too much static in the summertime-too many souls buzzing in and out of our lives. But the fire turned out to be great. No one got hurt and we got a new kitchen out of the blaze, courtesy of Fabrizzi’s Insurance. Gigi’s in heaven. No more rats!”
Marty laughed. “How’s the new place?”
“Opening next month. And wait until you see it. Spirits speak to you in there. The place is brimming with energy.”
“Just be careful who you tell that to.”
“What are you talking about? I’m telling everyone.”
“How are you?”
“Fatter than ever, but happy as hell. It’s you I’m worried about. Where have you been? Two months I haven’t seen you. Gigi was asking for you the other day. I told her I didn’t know anything, which surprised all of us because, you know, I tend to know things without knowing how I know them. Gloria disappeared years ago, but you, you hung in there. You came to see us. You cared. Then, poof! You’re also gone.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now, so you might as well eat. I’m feeding you. Lotta made a tomato soup this morning that’ll make you cry. It’s on me.”
“Bring tissues.”
“You’ll need them.”
She got up from the table with a bit of a struggle. She was a large woman with hips like barrels and breasts so heavy they rounded her back. She pushed sideways through the swinging set of kitchen doors and returned a moment later with soup, bread and chilled herbal tea on a wooden tray. “Enjoy,” she said, placing the food in front of him. “There’s more where that came from.”
He knew better than to argue. He started to eat and became aware that she was studying him.
“You’re giving off a helluva lot of energy, sweetie, and that either means you’ve met someone, or you’re working a new case. I think it’s both, but let’s start with the new case.”
Marty spooned soup and evaded the subject. “I meant to tell you that I’m meeting someone here.”
“I knew that,” Roberta said, sitting in the chair opposite him. “Now, give me your hand.”
“Let’s not start that crap, Roberta.”
“Just give me your hand,” she said. “I had a bad feeling when you came in. I need to make sure of a few things.”
“I’m not superstitious.”
“Neither am I,” she said. “Just gifted. So, humor me. Something’s off.”
Reluctantly, Marty gave her his hand. Roberta held it for a moment, then turned it so the palm faced the tapestry-covered ceiling. She closed her eyes and massaged the soft center with her thumb and index finger. She was silent for a moment before she spoke. “This new case of yours,” she said. “It’s not what you think.”
Marty sipped his tea.
Roberta’s forehead creased with thought. Her dark eyebrows stitched together and became one. “You’re in over your head. You’re being lied to. You’re in danger and you don’t even know it. Someone’s not what they seem.”
“Few people are,” Marty mused. “Take Gloria, for instance.”
“No,” Roberta said, looking at him. Her eyes were serious. “Don’t be flip. I drew the Death card when you came in. You’re at risk. I’m sure of that. For once in your life, listen to me. It’s possible you might not come out of this alive.”
Marty tried to pull his hand back, but Roberta hung on.
“Three women,” she said. “One of them loves you, one of them resents you, the third is keeping secrets from you. They’re in danger, too, but only one knows it and she doesn’t care. She’s got murder in her heart. She wants someone dead. I don’t know if it’s you, but you’re involved. She might kill you.”
She released his hand.
“You’ve got to listen to me,” Roberta said. “This is real.”
At that moment, the front door swung open and Linda Patterson stepped inside.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Linda Patterson was not the woman Marty remembered from two years ago.
Dressed casually in beige linen pants and a white top, her light blonde hair just reaching her shoulders, she moved toward Roberta and Marty with the air of a professional, which was a radical difference from the last time he’d seen her.