Clarity (4 page)

“What is it?” Perry asked.

“Madame Maslov,” I said, rolling my eyes. “A new psychic in town.”

Mom pointed at the newspaper like it was a dirty, filthy thing. “A full-page ad! Full! Page!”

Perry took the paper from my hands and read it over. “One Eighteen Rigsdale? That’s right down the street. Hey, that’s where Andrea’s Book Shoppe is.”

“Was,” I corrected.

That spot was prime real estate, right on the boardwalk. A couple months ago, the lease price went up and Andrea couldn’t afford it anymore, so she retired. I remembered my mother feeling so bad for her.

“First, Andrea lost her location and now this con artist, Madame Maslov, snapped it right up,” Mom said.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions about whether she’s legit or not,” Perry said.

“She claims to see the future,” I said, shaking my head.

This wasn’t good for business. First of all, people would much rather hear about their futures than listen to what we do, which is tell them something they already know. Second, it wasn’t possible to see the future, so this Maslov person was definitely a scammer. And anytime someone is scammed by a psychic, they generalize from that point on that all psychics are fakes. Scammers bring us all down.

“Let’s not panic,” I said, trying to prevent a complete Mom
breakdown. I widened my eyes at Perry and tilted my head toward Mom, telling him to work his magic.

He caught on quickly, laying a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to head over to Staples and have the copy center make a bunch of color flyers for us. Then I’ll distribute them around town, ask some people to display them. We can’t afford a huge ad like this, but we can do a five-dollar-off coupon on the flyer.”

“Five dollars off?” Mom was teetering on the edge.

“It’s only temporary,” Perry continued. “We’ll put a two-week expiration date on it. Just to boost business in the short-term. we haven’t lost any clients to this Madame Maslov yet and we have to nip it in the bud before it starts.”

Mom nodded slowly, clearly thinking Perry’s idea over. The phone rang and Perry jumped up to get it.

“Readings by the Fern Family,” he said. “No, we don’t.” He frowned. “Oh, are you sure?” He paused for a long moment. “Okay then, good-bye.”

He turned around slowly. “Our three o’clock has cancelled.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because we can’t see the future and Madame Maslov can. They cancelled with us to schedule with her.”

Mom threw her arms up into the air. “That’s it! I’m going to see Phil.”

“What can he do?” Perry asked.

“I don’t know!” Mom yelled, grabbing her car keys off the hook on the wall and tearing out the door.

Perry looked at me. “I’ve got to get those flyers made. Will you go with her? The last thing we need is for Mom to go crazy and cause a scene at the town hall.”

I agreed and caught up to Mom, sliding into the passenger side of her Prius a moment before she started backing out of the driveway.

Phil Tisdell was a longtime friend of my mother. He’d worked many jobs in town over the years and was now elevated to town clerk. Phil had a little crush on my mom, and watching her put lipstick on in the rearview mirror made me think she was planning on using this fact to her advantage.

“I don’t understand why you felt it necessary to come with me, Clare. I don’t need a babysitter.”

I was about to deny babysitting as my intention, then remembered Mom could read minds and had probably plucked that very word from my thoughts on the car ride over. I shrugged. “I’m just trying to help, Mom.”

I followed her up the concrete steps to the heavy wooden door of the town hall. The building had to be over a hundred years old. On the outside, it had the look of a church that had been renovated into something else. All the town offices were housed inside. A large annex was built onto the east side of the building about ten years ago and that contained the police station.

We marched up a flight of stairs and into the office of the town clerk. Phil was seated at a desk strewn with papers, both of his hands atop his bald head in frustration.

“I’m up to my eyeballs in dog license problems here,” he called out.

“Okay, I can come back later,” Mom said.

Recognizing her voice, his head snapped up. “Oh, Starla Fern! I didn’t know it was … um, if I had known it was you that walked in … um … what can I help you with?” He ended his bumbling run-on with a wide smile.

Mom sashayed over to the desk, her long skirt billowing, her pink blouse perfectly fitted to her frame. I couldn’t blame Phil for having a thing for her. She looked fantastic for forty. She kept in shape. Her fiery red hair had only a few strands of gray and fell over her shoulders in loose curls as she leaned over the desk.

In an unnaturally throaty voice she said, “I was hoping you could help me with some permit questions.”

Figuring he’d be more likely to break whatever rules Mom wanted him to break without me there, I slowly backed out of the office. And right into someone.

“I’m so sorry,” I exclaimed, turning around to find myself face-to-face with Gabriel Toscano. The hot son of the new detective. I realized after a few stunned moments that my hands were still planted on his chest from our collision. I brought them down to my sides.

“Sorry,” I repeated, dumbly.

“You okay?” he asked. Long lashes framed his dark eyes. His black hair was disheveled and he wore a T-shirt and jeans, same as yesterday. But as effortless as his style was, it made him look even more like an Abercrombie model.

“Yeah, just clumsy,” I finally replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

I blushed. “With your dad?”

“Yeah. I’m an explorer.”

“Huh?” Was this some slang I wasn’t up on?

“That’s my title. It’s part of a law enforcement training program. I mostly run errands, grab coffee, and follow my dad around, but it’ll look good on my college apps. I want to be a Criminal Justice major. Next summer, when I’m eighteen, I can be a seasonal officer.”

“Cool.” I pictured him in uniform. Let’s just say the picture was … nice. “What are you doing in the town offices rather than the police side of the building?” I asked, trying to sound somewhat professional.

“Oh.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The mayor wanted to talk to my father and me about some stupid idea his son had.”

I held back a pleased smile. The mayor’s son was my ex-boyfriend, Justin Spellman. And by taking a swipe at him, Gabriel had just landed himself on my good side.

“But I’m glad I ran into you,” he added, grinning. “Both figuratively and literally.”

“Really? Why?” I clasped my nervous hands behind my back.

“I wanted to thank you for that tip you gave my father in the restaurant yesterday.”

I perked up. “About Tiffany Desposito? Did your father question her? Was she involved at all?”

“Unfortunately, she wasn’t much help. She did argue with the victim about something petty, but her alibi is solid. She was working at the restaurant all night.” He arched one eyebrow and gave a little half smile as he added, “But even though that didn’t pan out, I will say that watching you dump that soda on her has been the highlight of my week so far. From the little amount of time I spent with her, it seems like that was deserved.”

He’s gorgeous and has taken an immediate dislike to Tiffany. Thank you, universe, for delivering this boy to town.

He shifted his weight as if he was about to walk away, so I blurted out the first question that came to mind to make him stay. “Why would you want to leave New York City to come to Eastport?”

Then I immediately wanted to kick myself because it sounded like an insult. I added, “Not that I’m suggesting that your father downgraded or anything. I love Eastport. I grew up here. It’s beautiful.”
Oh, just shut up, Clare!

He smiled. “Well, word definitely travels fast in a town like this.”

Oh no, he thinks I’ve been asking around about him. Now he’s going to think I’m a stalker.

“We haven’t been in Eastport long, but …” He leaned closer, and I breathed in his scent — a mixture of soap, shampoo, and something intoxicatingly …
boy.
“I like it already. A lot.”

I began to wonder what it would be like to kiss him and had to force myself to stop and think of something else. I
knew I was blushing and by the look on his face, he was enjoying my discomfort.

“See you around.” He began to walk away, then stopped. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Clare.”

“Clare,” he repeated. “Cute.”

My mouth was dry. My heart was fluttering. This was unexpected. After the breakup with my one and only boyfriend, I had pretty much resigned myself to a life of no dating until I got out of this town. But here was this smoldering specimen flirting with me. I was in uncharted territory.

Gabriel waved as he descended the stairs, and I caught a glimpse of the bottom of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt. I tried to guess what it was. Barbed wire encircling his bicep? A gothic rose, perhaps?

Someone cleared their throat loudly, killing my fantasy moment. I spun around and saw Mom standing there grinning like a kid with a secret.

“Did you get anything you can use against Madame Maslov?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, no. She has all the required permits. The address is still zoned commercially. There’s nothing Phil can do.”

“Then what are you smiling about?” But as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew. “How long have you been standing there?” I hoped she wasn’t listening in on my impure thoughts about Gabriel.

She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Mom, you have to stop listening! It’s not polite.”

She patted my arm. “Of course, dear. But only if you tell me what his tattoo says after you find out.”

Mom’s one errand on the way home turned into four stops looking for some new shampoo she’d read about on some hippie blog. All natural, not tested on animals, not bottled in any country she didn’t like, squeezed from the extract of some leaf in a mountain somewhere. While held hostage in the car, I entertained myself by devising a plan to empty the bottle and refill it with cheap generic-brand shampoo and wait to see if she noticed a difference. Of course, as soon as Mom returned to the car, shopping bag in hand, she told me not to bother with my childish games.

It’s really no fun having a telepathic mother.

By the time we returned to the house, it was late afternoon. We parked in the driveway and spied Perry on the porch swing, flirting with a girl wearing a bikini top, cutoff shorts, and Rollerblades. Perry was telling a story, his hands waving animatedly, and the girl doubled over laughing, slapping her knee. As we approached, he had turned to the serious segment of the tale. The girl said, “Oh, poor baby,” with her lips turned down, while tracing his eyebrow scar with her finger. I wondered what the story was this time. Saving a Yorkie from a coyote? An old woman from a mugger, perhaps? The true story of his scar involved a rumble with our staircase. The staircase won.

“Where have you guys been?” Perry asked, as Mom and I climbed the porch steps.

“Searching the world for shampoo,” I said. “Who’s your friend?”

“My name’s Jinnie!” she said in a bubbly voice, thrusting her chest out with delight. I guessed she was about sixteen and not a mathlete. “I’m on vacation here with my family and I was just skating past your house and fell on a crack in the sidewalk. Perry helped me with my boo-boo.” She pointed to a scratch on her knee about as severe as a paper cut.

“That’s my brother,” I said. “Saving the world, one girl at a time.”

Instead of a snappy retort, Perry grinned. “There’s a client in the reading room.”

“Why didn’t you say so right away?” Mom asked.

“He only booked Clare.” He grinned again, suspiciously.

“Oh,” Mom said. “Well, I’m going to take a shower and try my new shampoo.”

Mom went upstairs, and I stood outside the closed reading room doors for a moment. It wasn’t all that unusual for only one of us to be booked. Sometimes repeat clients return with something specific in mind and need just me or just Perry. I knocked softly then opened the door with a wide smile, ready to greet my client. That smile quickly turned into a scowl, and I couldn’t stop the words that leaped out of my mouth.

“Hey, douchebag.”

FIVE

I NEVER EXPECTED TO FALL IN LOVE AT SIXTEEN. I figured I wouldn’t even have my first kiss until I went to college with a clean slate, where no one knew me. I never bothered having crushes on the few cute guys at my school — because I knew I was untouchable.

Not because I was ugly. I figured I wasn’t hideous by the way the boys looked at me when the girls weren’t watching: their sideways glances in the hallways, the casual peeks over their shoulders while they pretended to adjust their book bags. But none of them had the guts to stand up to mob mentality and date the freak.

Except Justin. He saw me with his own eyes, not through the judgment of others. He didn’t care what the other kids thought or said. He didn’t mind that I was different; in fact, he later told me it was what had attracted him to me in the first place.

One day last summer, he stopped by for a walk-in appointment, claiming he was curious about the whole “psychic” thing. But really, he’d been curious about me. He’d seen me in school and heard all the talk and instead of being freaked
out, he’d thought it was cool. We started dating and by the end of the summer I was completely charmed by him. Places I’d been to a thousand times before — the beach, Yummy’s, the movies — were much more fun with him. I’d never laughed so much in my life. Though I worried about what would happen when school started. But that was when I saw how brave he was. He stood up to anyone who taunted us and stayed by my side, even though it might have destroyed his own popularity.

But it seemed to have the opposite effect. The guys respected him, maybe for doing something they didn’t have the courage to do. And the girls let up on me, for a little while. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t invited to parties or anything like that, but I wasn’t tortured on a daily basis, either. It was the best time of my life.