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"Your lifeline is strong and well-defined," Autumn told her, her voice low and soothing. "It speaks to your determination and resilience. You have faced many challenges, but you have always found a way to persevere."
As Autumn spoke, Sheila's thoughts raced with memories of her past—the grueling training sessions, the relentless pursuit of perfection, and the crushing defeat that had shattered her dreams. It was all there, etched into the lines of her palm.
"Your head and heart lines are close together," Autumn continued, her fingers brushing gently over Sheila's skin. "This shows a constant struggle between your emotions and your intellect—a desire for balance that often eludes you."
Sheila swallowed hard, unable to deny the truth of Autumn's words. She had always been a fighter, driven by ambition and a need to prove herself. But beneath that fierce exterior lay a vulnerable heart, still reeling from the loss of the one person who had meant the most to her.
"However," Autumn said softly, her eyes meeting Sheila's with a knowing look, "I see a great deal of sorrow in your past. A loss that has greatly affected you."
The words made Sheila's stomach twist, and she couldn't help but snatch her hand back. "I think that's enough," she said, her tone clipped. "Your turn now. What can you tell me about those tarot cards?"
"Very well," Autumn said, her demeanor still calm and patient. "Which cards?"
"The Hanged Man and Death."
Autumn nodded, growing contemplative. "The Hanged Man represents suspension or letting go, while Death signifies transformation and change. Whoever left those cards at the crime scene likely wanted to send a message about their own metamorphosis—or perhaps even the transformation they believe their victims will undergo."
As Autumn spoke, Sheila found her mind racing with new theories and potential leads. But even as she tried to focus on the case, she couldn't shake the eerie feeling that had settled over her since she'd walked into Moirai Mysteries—an unsettling reminder of just how far she'd ventured from the world of facts and logic she knew so well.
"Tell me, Sheila," Autumn continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the other woman's face. "Do you believe in fate?"
Sheila hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden question. "I...I don't know," she admitted, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of her own thoughts. She'd always been a firm believer in hard work and determination, but there was something about the world of intuition and psychic phenomena that she couldn't quite dismiss out of hand.
"Most people don't," Autumn said with a small smile, clearly not surprised by Sheila's answer. "But sometimes, fate has a way of making itself known when we least expect it."
"Right," Sheila replied, not entirely convinced but unwilling to argue. It was clear that Autumn was trying to draw her into a philosophical conversation, perhaps to win her over, but Sheila had other priorities. Her mind raced, searching for a way to gather more information about Autumn—and potentially find evidence that could help her crack the case.
She cleared her throat suddenly. "Sorry, do you mind if I use your restroom?"
"Of course not," Autumn answered graciously, gesturing toward a door at the end of the room. "It's just down the hall, second door on the left."
"Thanks," Sheila muttered, rising from her seat and heading into the hallway. The walls were lined with shelves housing various crystals, candles, and books on the supernatural—a far cry from the sterile environment she was used to at the police station.
As she carefully made her way down the corridor, she spotted a partially open door near the end. The faint glow of a computer screen illuminated the darkened room, revealing an office that appeared to belong to Autumn. Even from the doorway, Sheila could see that the space was cluttered with papers and paraphernalia related to her work—a goldmine for someone looking for clues about her potential involvement in the murders.
Sheila glanced back toward the palm reading room, ensuring that Autumn hadn't followed her. Then, feeling a surge of adrenaline, she pushed the office door open further and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sheila peered through the blinds, sweat dampening her brow. The hallway was empty, but the silence felt suffocating. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity, and she knew she had to act fast before Autumn grew suspicious of her absence and came looking for her.
"Come on, Sheila, you can do this," she muttered under her breath, trying to gather her courage. With one last glance at the hallway, she retreated from the window and turned her attention to the computer sitting on Autumn's desk.
The desktop computer was a sleek, modern model, its large monitor displaying a serene image of a forest. Surrounding it was an organized chaos of papers, crystals, and candles. The scent of incense lingered in the air, and the room itself seemed to hum with energy. But Sheila had no time to marvel at the atmosphere; she needed to find the password to access the computer.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard hesitantly before she tried a few common passwords – "password" and "123456" – but to no avail. A nagging sense of urgency bubbled in her stomach as she scanned the area for any signs of a hidden password. She rifled through the papers, careful not to disturb their order too much, but found nothing. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for any other possible hiding spots.
"Think, think, think," she whispered, frustration mounting. She opened drawers, flipped through books, and even examined the underside of the desk, but still no luck. Time was running out, and Sheila couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something crucial.
She sat back, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the locked computer screen. She couldn't believe she hadn't found the password yet. Her eyes scanned the room again, trying to find anything that could give her a clue. Desperation clawed at her insides. What if Autumn came back and found her in here?
"Focus," she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths.
As she got up from the chair and started pacing the room, her eyes fell on a small side table next to an overstuffed armchair. The table was a simple wooden piece with a single drawer and a decorative crystal ball sitting on top. It had somehow eluded her attention until now. Sheila approached it hesitantly, curious.
She pulled open the drawer quietly, her breath catching when she saw a small, worn notebook nestled inside. The leather cover was frayed at the edges, and the pages were yellowing with age. It looked like something that held secrets.
"Please let this be it," she whispered, her fingers trembling as she opened the notebook. As she skimmed through the pages, she noticed that they were filled with various passwords for different accounts. Her pulse quickened as she spotted one labeled "Computer" followed by a combination of letters, numbers, and symbols.
