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She hesitated and then said, “I know you’re closed today and I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m in desperate need of help and I don’t know where else to turn.”
I frowned. “The rangers—”
“I’ve talked to the rangers. They suggested I come here.”
“And if that doesn’t speak of a complete turnaround in attitude when it comes to witches,” Ashworth murmured, “I don’t know what does.”
“There’s been a problem between rangers and witches?” Monty asked.
“You could say that,” I replied, and then returned my gaze to the woman near the door. Aside from the color of her aura, my “other” senses weren’t picking up too much in the way of information, but that might have simply been because she was standing too far
away.
“What kind of help do you need? A reading? Or something else?”
She hesitated again, her gaze sweeping the three men and her expression uncertain. She didn’t want to air her troubles in public, I suspected.
“Would you like to come into the reading room and discuss it more privately?” I said.
Relief crossed her expression. “Yes.”
Great, Belle said. Leave me to entertain Monty, why don’t you.
Well, he did fancy you when he was a teenager. Maybe you could rekindle the feeling.
Her mental snort ran down the line, loud and derisive. Rekindling is not on the cards. The only thing he wants to do right now is to strangle me.
Obviously, black forest cake is not a path into his good books. We need to try something else next time.
A statement that suggests we’ll be making a habit of annoying him.
I rather suspect we might. I picked up my coffee and rose. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Mrs.—?”
“Dale. Alice Dale. And no, thank you.”
I motioned toward the reading room at the rear of the café, then glanced at Monty. “I’ll see you tonight—around seven?”
He nodded, his gaze suggesting I had better come up with some answers at that point or there’d be big trouble.
But trouble was going to hit either way—of that I was sure.
I turned and followed Alice. The reading room was the dedicated space we used for psychic readings; we also created the various charms we sold within the café—and the stronger ones both Belle and I now wore full-time—within it. While the café as a whole was fully protected against magical attack, the spells surrounding this room had been specifically designed to stop arcane forces from entering without permission, or attempting an attack during a spirit reading. Not all the souls Belle talked to were benign.
The air sparkled briefly as I entered, a sure indication the spells were active and ready. A simple wooden table sat in the center of the small room, and around it were four mismatched but comfortable wooden chairs. A large rug covered the floor, and bright lengths of material were draped across the ceiling. They not only provided the otherwise drab room with some color, but also hid the spell work etched into both. I motioned Mrs. Dale to the nearest chair, then lit a candle, closed the door, and sat down opposite her.
The flickering light lent the other woman’s features a warmth they didn’t otherwise have. I crossed my arms and leaned my forearms on the table—a position that protected my hands from accidental touch. “What would you like me to do, Mrs. Dale?”
“It’s Miss, but please call me Alice. Mrs. Dale is my mother’s preferred address.” A sob escaped. She drew in a deep, somewhat shuddering breath, and then added, “She—Mom—said she’d call me back last night, but I haven’t heard from her and it’s not like her to do that. I just know something is wrong.”
“I take it you’ve been over to her house?”
She nodded. “I have a key, just in case. She wasn’t there, and her purse and car are missing.”
“Is it possible she’s gone out again and has simply forgotten to call you?”
Alice began shaking her head before I’d even finished. “As I said, she wouldn’t do that.”
I frowned. “Did she mention going anywhere the last time you spoke to her?”
