Murder, Take Two. Carol J. Perry
the cards, River completed the layout and the overhead camera revealed the first six cards in the form of a cross and four more in a vertical row beside it. All the cards faced up. River touched the second card, which she’d placed across the priestess card.
“The Three of Swords,” she said. “You see rain and clouds in the background, and a heart pierced by three swords. In the Kabbalah, this card sometimes represents a sorrowful mother.” She looked toward the camera. “You’ve already told me you are concerned about your son. Are you fearing a separation?”
A softly spoken “Yes.”
“Next we see the Ten of Wands. A man is shown carrying ten wands, each of them flowering. It is a heavy burden, but the man plods on toward the beautiful city in the background.” River smiled. “It seems as though the load is more than he can manage, but your son is brave. His plans have been disrupted, but he still struggles onward.”
A stronger voice. “Yes.”
The overhead camera activated as she touched the next card. “The Knight of Pentacles, reversed,” she said. I squinted, leaned closer to the screen. The card showed a man on a horse. A knight in armor, he wore a red tunic and red gloves. The camera once again focused on River. “Perhaps there’s a man with dark hair, dark eyes in your son’s life. That man is careless with money. Not always trustworthy.” She moved on. “Here’s the Eight of Pentacles. This man—perhaps your son—is working at a trade, a profession. He’s in the apprenticeship stage of what is to come. He earns less money than he hopes for.”
“He deserves more. He’s earned it.” The caller’s voice was louder.
“The Wheel of Fortune is your next card. It’s reversed too. For the time being, there’ll be setbacks in your plans. You will need courage, but eventually, things will be so much better.”
“You think?”
River smiled. “I think.”
The Six of Wands was next, showing a man on horseback. “This is good news, caller,” River pronounced. “A victory is ahead. Perhaps in the field of arts and sciences. Does that make sense?”
“It certainly does. But when does the victory come?”
The next card was not a pretty one. The Four of Swords showed a knight lying on a tomb. River spoke quickly. “It’s not a card about death. It’s sometimes about a temporary exile, though, a separation from the familiar. There will be a change back to normal activity in the future.”
“But you don’t know when?”
River moved through the rest of the reading fairly quickly. I understood why. She was on a schedule involving commercial breaks, station IDs, and the start of the movie. The remaining cards covered some information about putting one’s house in order, more changes of plans, the appearance of an interesting-sounding blonde woman, but nothing indicating a set time for victory or normal activity, which the caller seemed to want. Not surprising. River wished the woman and her son courage and love and golden white light and moved on to a message about Lorelei’s love magic candles at Crow Haven Corner.
O’Ryan and I watched the start of the movie and another card reading. This one involved safety of possible travel abroad and the advisability of hiring a dog sitter while the family was away as opposed to a boarding kennel. The cards indicated that it would be safe to travel and that the dog might prefer staying at home. I felt drowsy, and O’Ryan was already asleep, showing a total lack of interest in the comfort of dogs.
I turned off the TV and lay awake for a while thinking about the nameless, birthdate-less, worried mother, fearing separation from a son, who thought he should earn more money, who was involved with the arts and sciences, and whose plans had been disrupted. And who does the Knight of Pentacles represent? Is he the mysterious editor? The ghostwriter?
I decided that first chance I got I’d ask River about that knight. And maybe I’d ask River’s call screener, Therese Della Monica, if she’d recorded that sad mother’s number. Just in case.
Chapter 9
I sat down for breakfast in Aunt Ibby’s kitchen—still nothing much in my refrigerator—when my phone dinged. A text from Roger Temple announced that he and Ray would be in Salem on Wednesday night. “The twins will be here tomorrow,” I told my aunt. “It looks like Cody’s about to be formally charged with the crime.”
“Oh dear. That doesn’t sound good,” she said. “I’ll talk with Rupert and the Angels and see what they’ve learned so far that might be helpful.”
I smothered a snicker at the casual way she mentioned “the Angels,” and spread homemade strawberry jam onto a thick slice of sourdough toast. “Did you see Scott Palmer’s interview with Chief Whaley on the late news? About the knife?”
“I didn’t, but it’s in this morning’s paper. Strange.”
“Sure is. At least we know the murder weapon wasn’t Cody’s letter opener,” I said. “But why would one of the professor’s kitchen knives turn up in his office?”
Aunt Ibby sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “I know my kitchen knives have turned up occasionally in the break room at the library,” she said, “when I’ve baked a birthday cake for someone and brought a knife along to cut it.”
“I hadn’t thought of anything like that,” I said. “It probably isn’t the murder weapon anyway.”
“If it is,” she pointed out, “it could have Samuel Bond’s blood on it somewhere. Bloodstains are pretty hard to get out.”
“They should be through testing it by now. We’ll probably know today whether it had prints or blood or birthday cake or anything interesting on it.”
“There wasn’t anything about it on the morning news,” she said, “but I saw your report on the candy store. Made me hungry for chocolate.”
“I need to go shopping,” I said. “I’ll pick some chocolates up for you. Need anything else?”
“I’ll give you a list. I want to get some of those sardine-flavored treats for O’Ryan, and I’ll need a few things if Roger and Ray want to get together with all of us on Wednesday evening.”
“Oops. Hope not. Pete and I have tickets to the Sox game. The twins will probably want to spend time with their sister anyway.”
“Of course. Maybe I’ll have the Angels over and we can work on the case.”
I smiled, thinking of Pete’s book title—Nancy Drew and the Case of the Murdered Professor. “Good idea,” I said. “See if they have any ideas about who the editor is. Jot down your grocery list, and I’ll see you after work.”
* * *
It was such a pleasant day that I thought about putting the top down on the Corvette, but decided against it. Maybe on the way home I would, though. Salem can be lovely in late spring/almost summer. Pleasant weather, and the traffic isn’t too bad before the annual influx of tourists begins in earnest.
I pulled into my parking space, locked the car, and took a couple of deep, refreshing breaths of salt air. For me, that works as well as one of those energy drinks. I skipped the elevator and climbed the metal staircase, wondering what Rhonda’s white board would offer for my day.
“Glad you’re here a little early,” Rhonda said. “Scott’s out with a sore throat. So you and Francine are kind of doubled up with his assignments as well as your own.” I didn’t question that. Wasn’t even surprised. Mr. Doan would be happy if everyone did double jobs every day. As it is, almost everyone at the station wears more than one hat. My job is sometimes like that of a substitute teacher. I’ve subbed for Scott many times, and he’s done the same for me. I’ve answered phones for Rhonda, done investigative reports on short notice, and once even filled in for Wanda the Weather Girl.
I looked at the white board and