Tempest in the Tea Leaves (3 page)

And he let me.

“Tell me now! Please, I have to know. You have to help me!” A woman with long auburn hair half falling out of its updo barged through my front door at 5 P.M. Monday evening, a gust of wind and snow swirling in on a cloud of crystals behind her. She stood there, staring at me all wild-eyed in her disheveled dove gray suit, looking on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “What do you see?”

A psycho crazy lady, I wanted to say, but I could tell she was seriously upset. Something told me those words would push her right over the edge. I pasted on my most comforting smile and said, “It’s okay, calm down.” I hurried to close the door, shutting out the frigid evening temperatures. January in upstate New York could be brutal, and this lady hadn’t even worn a winter coat. It looked as though she’d simply walked out of her house in a panic, and in the dark, no less. “Why don’t you come warm yourself by the fire and tell me how I can help you?”

“Y-Your sign says Sunny’s Sanctuary. Is that you? Are you Sunshine Meadows, the fortune-teller?” She stood rigid in the same spot, wringing her hands.

If this was Crazy Lady’s idea of calming down, I was a little alarmed to find out what the rest of my customers would be like. “Slow down for both our sakes. Don’t make me pull out my Valium.” I winked, only half kidding.

Crazy Lady did
not
look amused.

“All righty, then. Yes, I’m Sunshine Meadows, but everyone calls me Sunny.” I’d only been here just over a week, yet people already knew my name and what I did for a living. I’d call that a success. “And you are . . . ?” I asked, gently taking her arm and carefully guiding her into the front parlor.

“Oh, sorry. I’ve had a rather rough week.” She held out her hand. “My name is Amanda Robbins, and I’m the town librarian.”

We shook hands, and then she sat down in a high-backed chair. She stared into the fire, reflecting on something that obviously troubled her, judging by the frown lines surrounding her mouth. I sat in the matching chair, giving her a moment to gaze into the crackling orange and yellow flames until she calmed down a bit.

Morty wasn’t the only thing keeping me here. Something about this mystical town called to me, as though the universe was telling me this was where I belonged. The people here needed me. I peeked at my troubled guest and knew in my gut the universe was right.

“Yoo-hoo, Ms. Robbins, you in there?”

She looked at me and blinked.

“Ah, there you are. Good.” I gave her a cheeky grin. “Now, why don’t you tell me what has you so upset?”

She took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you, but I’ll pay you whatever you want. Please, you have to read my fortune and tell me what’s going to happen to me.” Her chest began to heave again, and there went those fidgety hands.

So much for calm. “Okay. Keep in mind the more relaxed you are, the clearer my vision will be.” She nodded once and took a shaky breath as I stood up. I was determined to put her at ease however I could. “Come with me.”

“Y-You do your readings in this house?” She looked around a little warily as though just now realizing where we were. “Don’t you find it . . . you know . . . creepy?”

“Of course I do my readings here. I live here.” I took in the same walls that had freaked her out. “I don’t find this old house creepy at all. I find it comforting.” The pipes groaned, the walls creaked, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “No worries,” I said to Ms. Robbins. “The house has more bark than bite, I’m finding out.”

The librarian yelped, lifting her feet off the floor. “What was that?”

“Don’t mind him, that’s Morty.” I picked the pristine white cat up off the floor and deposited him on the couch. “He was here when I moved in, all alone with no collar. I guess he’s decided to let me stay.” I gave him a stroke and then sat back down.

“I’ve never seen a cat so white with eyes so black before.” She shivered as Morty kept his cold, dark stare focused on her.

“I know, he’s kind of intimidating, but he has a way of growing on you.”

She shivered. “I don’t know about that.”

“He won’t bother you.” I shot Morty a look that said,
Be good.
He twitched his lips, making no promises. Shaking my head with a half smile, I met the librarian’s eyes as I said, “Follow me. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

She followed me without saying a word into the room I’d set aside specifically for my fortune-teller business. Parting the strands of crystal beads, we entered my sanctuary.

“Oh my. It’s rather charming . . . and unexpected.” Ms. Robbins’s lips parted slightly as she scanned the small, cozy room, her flowery perfume mixing with the scent of my aromatherapy oils.

I’d painted the walls a soft, pale blue meant to relax the seeker while the seer—that would be me—reads his or her fortune. New age music poured quietly out of the speakers, a tropical fish tank bubbled away in one corner, a fireplace popped and crackled in the other, and various green plants and herbs were scattered about. Constellations covered the ceiling in a dazzling imitation of the universe, and when I dimmed the lights, they glowed—my favorite part. And last but not least, my fortune-teller paraphernalia sat on shelves in the other corner.

“Please sit down,” I said, pointing to the old-fashioned tea table in the center of the room. When she sat, I plopped down across from her and reached out. “Put your hands in mine.”

She swallowed loudly. “O-Okay.”

“Good,” I said in encouragement. “Now close your eyes and breathe deep, letting your body relax from the top of your head down to your toes.”

When she did as I told her, I closed my own eyes and breathed slow and deep until I went into a meditative trancelike state. About ten minutes into the process, I felt the librarian relax, and just like that, I knew which psychic tool would work best on her. It always happened that way for me.

“Tea leaves.” I squeezed her hands and let go.

“Excuse me?” Her eyelids fluttered open.

“Certain psychic tools work better on certain people. You, my dear, are a tea leaf sort of girl.” I nodded once with conviction, then got up and went over to my supply shelf.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Because I need you to be accurate.”

“Trust me. I’ve always had a gift of seeing into the future. I’ve simply found certain tools enhance my visions. I’ve never been wrong before.” I bypassed my crystal ball, tarot cards, pendulum, and astrology and palm reading charts and finally found my special batch of homegrown tea leaves.

“My readings always come true. I admit I sometimes have trouble interpreting them. That’s something I’m working on. But in the end, the true meaning eventually reveals itself.” I returned to the table and set my supplies down. Right next to the lovely ancient china tea set I’d found in Vicky’s kitchen.

“Ready to get started?” I asked.

“More than you’ll ever know.” She exhaled heavily, and I couldn’t help wonder what could possibly be so bad.

“Fabulous!” I tried to inject some positive energy into her gloomy mood. “First I need you to brew the tea.”

“All right.” She glanced around. “Where are the tea bags?”

“Oh, I never use tea bags.” I shook my head. “The bigger the tea leaf, the better the shape. I have my own special batch I put together right here.” I pushed the canister in front of her. “Place the loose tea leaves in this small white cup while I boil the water.”

She did as I told her and when the whistle on my teakettle blew and steam billowed into the air, I brought the kettle over to the table and set it on a hot plate. “Now pour the water into the cup and stir the tea with a spoon as it brews.”

Again she followed my instructions, and I watched carefully. I’d learned over the years that a skilled seer could interpret signs right from the start of the brewing process. For example, if any tea leaves spilled, it was a good sign.

Unfortunately, everything stayed inside the cup.

A sudden feeling of doom saturated me. Not good. I stifled the urge to groan and continued the ritual. She set her spoon on the saucer. “Whoops, I didn’t see you already had a spoon there. Sorry for dirtying a second one.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Congratulations.”

“About what?”

“You’re having twins.”

She gasped. “How’s that possible?”

“Two spoons on the same saucer.” I squinted into the cup and then realized I’d spoken too soon. “Whoops, hang on a sec. It’s not twins I see, but”—I paused and swallowed a gasp—“twin tumors.” I bit my lip. So much for good news. “I’m so sorry.”

She pursed her lips and lifted her chin a notch. “I’m fine, and I trust you’ll keep this confidential. The doctor is the only one who knows, and miracles happen every day. Let’s continue, shall we?”

“I won’t say anything,” I said, hating this part of my job. I cleared my throat. “Okay, then. Drink the unstrained tea and think about exactly what it is you wish to know. When you only have a teaspoon of liquid left, stop.”

She sipped the tea. “Wow, this is surprisingly delicious.”

“Thanks”—
I think
—“but focus. Concentrate on nothing else except what you want to know.”

I continued to watch, her brow furrowing as she drained most of the cup. “Now what?”

“Hold the cup in your left hand and swish three times in a counterclockwise motion. Then tip the cup upside down on the saucer, allowing the excess liquid to drain. Hand me the cup when you are finished.”

The woman did as I requested. I held her cup carefully in my hands, with the handle pointing toward the librarian, and read the pattern of the tea leaves.

Starting at the handle, I worked my way around the cup in a counterclockwise motion from the rim to the bottom. Leaves to the left of the handle represent the past and to the right of the handle represent the future. Leaves at the top of the cup near the rim represent the immediate future while those at the bottom represent the distant future.

I puckered my brow. There were no leaves at the bottom of the cup, but a feeling in my gut told me it didn’t have anything to do with her tumors.

“What’s wrong?” Ms. Robbins asked.

“I’m not sure.” I felt that feeling of doom spread to my every cell. “Let me concentrate and keep looking.”

“Sure,” she said, but from the corner of my eye I could see she was back to wringing her hands again.

Tea leaves provide two sets of patterns. The images that appear in the white space are positive and good, while the images that appear in the tea leaves are negative and bad. I cleared my head, staying focused, and concentrated hard on the shapes before me, so my clairvoyant mind could interpret them correctly.

A single large clump of tea leaves across from the handle indicated there was trouble ahead and someone else was causing it. There was a distinct long white stalk representing a white man. I took that to mean a man was the one causing the trouble.

“What?” she fairly shrieked. “I can’t take it anymore, just tell me.”

“You asked for it,” I muttered. “Brace yourself now. I see trouble ahead. Trouble involving a man.” I squinted harder. “And I see a deer, which means a dispute or quarrel, probably with this man. I also see a flag, which means danger from wounds inflicted by this enemy.”

“Yes, he’s wounded me. He broke my heart, but I wouldn’t call him an enemy. He needs time to come around. He would never hurt me.”

I took one more look into the cup and gasped. “Oh my God, a kettle.” I had never seen this image before in all my years of reading people’s futures.

“A kettle? What on earth does that mean? That he’s going to make me tea, too?”

My vision blurred into tunnel vision, and I stared into the future, looking out of someone else’s eyes. I could feel the anger, feel the hatred . . . feel the panic. Suddenly I was standing in a room full of books, staring down at a woman who was lying on her back, a broken cup on the carpet beside her and blood along the side of her head. I sucked in a sharp breath and jerked, snapping myself back to the present.

“Good Lord, is it really that bad?”

“It’s worse.” I met the librarian’s gaze dead-on. “He’s not going to make you tea.”

“Then what’s he going to do?”

“He’s going to kill you.”

 

 

“Detective Stone, ma’am. Captain said you wanted to speak with me?” the big, dark, brooding hulk of a man said from my doorway at 7 P.M. He had a slightly crooked nose and a long, jagged scar along his square jawline.

I stood there like an imbecile for a minute, trying to find my tongue. He was huge, and intimidating, and I should have been scared to death—but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t call him handsome, but there was something so captivating about him, so mesmerizing. And he smelled amazing. A hint of aftershave, a smidgen of starch, and a dollop of coffee. He had a vulnerability about him that he was trying too hard to hide, simmering just beneath the surface. Like with the librarian, I knew in my gut he needed me. I wasn’t quite sure how, but I was intrigued enough to want to find out.