A Scrying Shame (16 page)

Arie didn’t think it was working.

She tuned back in when Riann brought up June Shaw, Marissa’s wedding coordinator.

“I know Marissa thought she was wonderful,” Riann said. “But she always had an attraction to maternal figures. She wanted one, I mean. A mother. Hers was . . .” Riann stopped picking at her cuticles long enough to waggle her finger in circles by her temple—the universal she-was-nuts sign.

“Is that the only reason Marissa liked June?”

“Well, June seemed to know what she was doing, but there’s no way I could stand all her fluttering around. And she’s always smiling. She gets on my nerves. Nobody can be that happy. And then there was that thing with the cake decorator . . .”

“What happened?” Arie didn’t really care, but she was running a Google search for a remote, nonhumid, sandless tropical beach resort with lots of shops and a “really great” golf course.

“It was ridiculous,” Riann blathered on. “I don’t really know the details, but the cake decorator totally flaked out. There was this whole scene. Like I said, I don’t really know, but of course
I’ll
never use her. Anyway, June recommended the decorator in the first place, so what does that tell you?”

Since the story was completely devoid of details, it hadn’t really told Arie anything. But it did give her an idea. Unfortunately, Riann seemed intent on getting her money’s worth out of Arie, and she didn’t have time to pursue it.

More to the point, Arie still wasn’t clear about what her actual duties entailed. She would have to pin Riann down—and immediately regretted that particular thought as a very unwelcome image of “Master” Dick wearing assless black chaps and holding a leather whip arose in her mind.

“Okay, then,” Arie said quickly. “What other appointments do you have? Lunch dates? A standing salon appointment, maybe? Do you have, like, a personal trainer or something?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. We’re finally on the same page. I see Evan, he’s my trainer, at the gym four times a week.”

“Four times a week?” Arie’s voice had squeaked with incredulity.

Riann laughed. “If I don’t take care of my body, nobody else will. After all, I’m . . . twenty-nine, if you can believe that.”

Arie didn’t.

“My body isn’t merely my temple,” Riann continued. “It’s my savings account and retirement plan. Have you read Marissa’s book? We called it
Rich Bitch
for a reason. It was my idea, you know. All of it. In fact, I practically wrote the whole thing. But anyway, you should really get it.”

Riann’s eyes narrowed to green slits, and one of her feet jiggled back and forth, churning the air in tight little arcs.

Mood swing.

The nanny responded. “It sounds really awesome. I bet the retirement thing was from you, right? You came up with that?”

“I sure did. Not that she gave me any credit for it. She didn’t even dedicate the damn book to me, and she should have.
Everybody
said so.”

Placating didn’t seem to be working too well, so Arie got back to business. “So, this Evan. You said four times a week. Is that right? Should I put him in the calendar for you?”

“Of course. That would be perfect. Put him down for, like, four days. But not before eleven. I don’t like waking up early. Oh, and I have a nutritionist, too. I don’t remember when I’m supposed to see her, but she always calls the night before. Oh! And date night. We can’t forget that. Di—” She cleared her throat. “I mean, Richard takes me out every Friday night. He makes the reservations, so you don’t need to worry about that. But we’ll need to put together an outfit in the afternoon so that I look absolutely flawless.”

“Retirement plan,” Arie said.

“You’re damn straight.”

Chad didn’t show up until right before Arie was ready to leave, and he brought a friend. He was a bit younger than Chad and Riann, around Arie’s age.

Riann seemed surprised and a little put out at the addition.

“Mitch, what a surprise. It’s good to see you.” The words were right, but the delivery flat. “I thought you were bringing Wyatt?”

With a start, Arie remembered his name from the wedding program that had slipped from Marissa’s book. Mitch and Chad shared the same last name—Atwater. Brothers, maybe? Or cousins?

At Riann’s unwelcoming welcome, Mitch blushed and dropped his eyes to his feet. Chad put his hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “Wyatt couldn’t make it, so Mitch agreed. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have come at all. I’m not really socializing these days.” 

Arie could believe it. Chad’s eyes were red-rimmed, and he walked as though carrying his body was a burden. Riann took him by the hand and led him into the living room where she’d had her first reading.

At their entrance, Dick left his trains to say hello but excused himself immediately and fled to his own office. Arie envied his escape. In the face of Chad’s sadness, she felt awkward and like a complete jerk for deceiving her way into his acquaintance. She’d wanted admission into Marissa’s inner circle, but she hadn’t prepared herself for how she’d feel when she got there.

On the other hand, this was murder.

Riann arranged it so that Arie sat next to Chad on the couch. She herself sat in the armchair next to it, her face alight with excitement. Mitch hovered by the train display, seemingly entranced, until Riann caught his eye and pointed at a decorative chair against the wall. He showed a little spirit by dragging it across the rug until he was technically part of the group, but he avoided his hostess’s eyes. She scowled for a moment at the drag marks in the carpet, then turned her attention back to Chad.

“I’m so glad you came,” Riann said again. Although she had folded her face into the appropriate consoling expression, her eyes glittered with excitement or some other emotion. “Kelli told me that you’re isolating yourself again. I know it’s hard, but you have to get out more. Marissa wouldn’t want you shutting yourself off from your friends.”

It occurred to Arie how often people seemed to know what the dead person’s wishes might be. And how often those wishes seemed to match the speaker’s.

Riann finally introduced Arie to Chad and then told him about her new personal assistant’s special gift. At the look on his face, she hastened to reassure him.

“No, really,” Riann said. “This is on the level. Arie knows things about Marissa that she wouldn’t have any other way of knowing. Listen to her.”

They all turned to look at Arie. Chad didn’t bother hiding his skepticism. Mitch, ignored, continued sitting in silence.

Arie’s mind went blank.

“Uh, I wasn’t really expecting . . . I mean, I’m not prepared. I didn’t even bring in my crystal ball.”

Chad snorted and started to rise. Riann waved him back down, but his readiness to leave was all too apparent.

“What about tarot cards?” Riann asked. “Could you use those?”

Arie thought about her last experience with the tarot and shuddered. “I don’t think so. I don’t really—”

“Listen,” Chad said. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Riann. But this is—”

“Wait. It’s out in my car. I’ll go get it.”

Chad had difficulty stifling his impatience.

“I’ll make you a drink while Arie gets set up,” Riann said. “She’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

“It’s a little early for drinks, isn’t it?” Mitch spoke up.

Nobody answered.

As Riann hurried into the kitchen, Arie turned to Chad. “I know this probably seems really weird, but it’s not a scam. I promise.”

“Not to be rude, but that’s exactly what a scammer would say. But anyway, I’d make a lousy target. Marissa didn’t leave me her money. And I didn’t expect her to, either. So if it’s a payday you’re looking for, you’re wasting your time with me.”

Arie hurried to her car and made it back precisely as Riann returned to the living room carrying two cocktail glasses filled with amber liquid. She set one on the table before her and handed one to Chad.

Mitch and Arie got nothing.

She’d apparently spilled, leaving a wet spot on her left boob, turning the pale yellow blouse as transparent as Saran Wrap. Of course, Riann had chosen that day to go braless.

Flustered, Arie quickly looked away and discovered that Chad had also tuned into Riann’s inadvertent peep show.
It was inadvertent, wasn’t it?

Arie wasn’t so sure, especially when Riann bent over as she set the glass on the table in front of Chad.

Returning to her armchair, Riann sat with perfect posture, her nipple swinging like a pointer between her guests.

Arie tried hard to avoid looking directly at it—her—but she did notice neither Chad nor Mitch put up a huge struggle to do the same. In fact, Mitch had perked up in direct proportion to Riann’s . . . perkiness. But after all, they were men, and presumably, they liked nipples.

How am I going to concentrate with Riann waving her nipple all over the place?

Arie took a deep breath, then another as she stared into the depths of the red orb. For several long moments, nothing happened. As Arie was starting to fear that nothing would ever, the ball began to glow.

The white light flashed.

Chad’s face, mottled red with anger, is mere inches from my own. He’s screaming so loud my ears ache, and spit lands on my cheek. How can he do this to me? Can’t he understand why I need him to sign the prenup for me?

Flash.

The knife slices through the air toward my face, cutting. I duck. I feel a blow on my upper shoulder like a fist hammered into me. Get away! If I can . . . get to the . . . get to the bathroom. Lock the door. Another blow, this time on my lower back. I stumble into the wall, bounce off, and make it to the bathroom. I slide on the tiles. My hands slip on the doorknob. That’s my blood. There’s so much. How can there be so much?

Flash.

“Holy, holy, holy. The blood cries to Me.”

We’re fighting. I push him off, and he stumbles against the tub. I can get away. I know I can. I run for the bedroom. My phone. Where’s my phone? Oh God—he’s right there! He grabs my hair. We fall. He’s on top of me, and I can’t get up, and he grabs my throat. I can’t . . . it . . . he . . . hurts.

Arie tried to force her mind—or whatever it was that had joined with Marissa’s memories—to pull back, to look at Marissa’s attacker. To
see
him. But as soon as she regained control of the experience, she lost the vision.

When Arie came back to herself, she was on her knees in front of the table, slick with sweat. She gripped the crystal ball with both hands and shook so hard, the stand chattered on the glass tabletop.

Mitch had dropped to her side and had his arm around her shoulders. He tugged her back up to the couch where Arie promptly burst into tears.

“I don’t know why you won’t tell me where we’re going,” Chandra said. She hadn’t eaten yet, and she tended toward irritability when her blood sugar fell.

“Like you told me where we were going when you dragged me to Walynda’s? Relax. We’re not even going to have to lie this time. You’re going to thank me.”

An idea had come to Arie when Riann had been talking about June, but after the episode with Chad and the vision, she hadn’t been sure she would feel up to going through with it. After thinking about it, she realized it would be a good distraction. It would also be an opportunity to put Chandra in the hot seat for once. Too tempting.

“Can we at least stop at for something to eat?” Chandra whined. “I’m starving.”

“You’re not starving. You had three cookies before we left.”

“Why are you talking like a nanny?”

Arie pulled into the next Subway they came to. The nanny-thing was starting to worry her.

Twenty minutes later, they reached the outskirts of the city. Arie used her phone’s GPS and made a series of turns that deposited them in front of a tan split-level home. Unfortunately, it appeared to be suffering a garden gnome infestation of Biblical proportions.

Across the yard, gnomes had gathered together in conversational groups of two or three. At least a half dozen peered out like ceramic stalkers from under bushes or behind trees. One adventurous risk-taker even balanced on the edge of the brick chimney chase. The majority, however, seemed to be attending the wedding of a handsome gnome-groom and his rosy-cheeked gnome-bride. A white veil had somehow been affixed to her head, and a faded bouquet of daisies was tied with a ribbon to her wrist.

Arie and Chandra stood for a while on the sidewalk, taking it all in.

The side door of the house opened, and June leaned out, waving delightedly. “Yoo-hoo! Over here. We use this door.”

Neither girl was able to tear her gaze away from the gnome-a-palooza.

“That nice lady is yoo-hooing at us,” Chandra said in a distracted tone.

“That’s June,” Arie said. “She’s a wedding planner.”

“Of course she is. Anybody can see that. Does she work with elves and trolls, too?”

Arie shook herself free of a gnome-induced stupor and led Chandra over to June and introduced them.

“Chandra is the head designer for Cake Connection,” Arie said. “Riann told me that there had been some difficulties with Marissa’s cake. I thought if you were looking for a new decorator, it might be beneficial for you two to meet.”

“Oh,” June said with a slight frown. “I thought you said on the phone you had some questions about planning your own wedding.”

“Not my wedding, no. But I’m working part-time as a personal assistant for Riann Foster, and she’s planning hers. I’m helping with that.”

“Ohhh,” June replied. The mention of Riann’s name seemed to bring about conflicting emotions.

Arie understood.

On the one hand, being hired to plan Riann and Dick’s wedding would be a huge opportunity. Dick apparently had boatloads of money and didn’t seem to mind spending it on his little darling. On the other, knowing Riann as well as June must have from working on Marissa’s wedding probably decreased the attractiveness of the opportunity considerably.

Nevertheless, June led the girls into a small dining room repurposed as Wedding Central. On a nearby sideboard, a Pisa Tower of glossy wedding magazines leaned unsteadily, while open boxes filled with netting, crêpe paper rolls, ribbons, and other decorating supplies lined the walls. Two chairs had been pulled out from the table, and each had a stack of purple and pink three-ring binders labeled with clients’ names. A gnome with a maroon preacher’s surplice dangling over his neck lay on his side in the center of the table. A miniature Bible, a strip of black ribbon, and a hot glue gun sat nearby, waiting for their mistress to complete his ensemble.