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A minor miracle in and of itself. I allowed myself a brief moment of inner triumph at the realization that I’d possessed a piece of knowledge Josie hadn’t — right before I said in warning tones, “But don’t tell anyone. Corinne’s keeping it on the down-low because she doesn’t want her boss to know she’s thinking about quitting her job.”
“My lips are sealed,” Josie said, sounding somewhat wounded, as if she couldn’t imagine why I’d think she might start spreading that particular piece of gossip all over town.
Because she couldn’t see me, I permitted myself an eye roll. I didn’t dwell on the subject, however, but only said, “And I talked to Jennifer Espinoza and I asked Chuck about Susan Laughlin, but he doesn’t seem to think she’s a very viable suspect. So right now, I’m pretty much back to square one.”
“Maybe it’s time to try other things,” Josie suggested.
By “other things,” I knew she meant consulting my Tarot cards, or the pendulum, or my crystal ball. And actually, I’d considered doing that very thing as well. But Sunday and Monday had been hectic, and I’d thought I’d try other means before resorting to my divining tools.
To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure how much help they would even be. They were very good for providing directions, for giving the sorts of hints I needed to push my intuition in the direction it needed to go, but rarely did they come out and say directly that it was Colonel Mustard in the drawing room with the candlestick.
Still, since I seemed to be running out of leads and the dead man himself hadn’t been much help, I knew I’d have to try at some point.
“Already on my list,” I said cheerfully. “If it’s quiet in the store today, I might try then. Otherwise, I’m not sure when, since Calvin’s coming over for dinner and I’ll be cooking as soon as I close up shop.”
“Oh?” Josie said, her tone bright with interest. “He’s been coming over a lot, hasn’t he?”
“When I’m not at his place,” I replied without missing a beat. Calvin and I had made a point of not hiding our relationship, and so I didn’t see any reason to dance around the issue now. “We kind of timeshare.”
That remark made her chuckle a bit. “I’m so glad to hear it. I knew I had a feeling about you two from the moment you met.”
I’d had a feeling, too, although at first, I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Hazel had warned me that the San Ramon Apache tended to stick to their own, and she’d been telling me nothing but the truth. At the time, it had felt safer to hold back, even though all my instincts had informed me there was something very special about Calvin Standingbear.
And here we were more than six months later, everything still going strong. Of course, I had no idea what the situation would be like after I met Calvin’s parents…and I definitely wasn’t going to say a thing to Josie about that particular dinner date. She’d find out soon enough as it was.
“He’s a great guy,” I said, and left it at that.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I won’t keep you. I have some clients coming in at nine-thirty. But I just wanted to let you know that you may have to resort to supernatural means to find this killer, since all our earthly witnesses aren’t being any help. ’Bye!”
She hung up then, and I set down the phone and picked up the spoon for my neglected yogurt. I reflected it was a measure of how much Josie had accepted me that she didn’t seem at all concerned about asking me to use my psychic gifts to track down this killer.
And I really had to hope they wouldn’t fail me…or Danny.
* * *
Unfortunately, Tuesday at the store was sufficiently busy that I really didn’t have the opportunity to break out my Tarot cards or my pendulum. It seemed enough people were interested in communing with the dead on that particular All Souls Day that I did a brisk business in Tarot decks, crystal balls, and other means of divination, along with various books that offered instruction on their use.
In a way, I thought that was good. I’d felt sort of unsettled and twitchy all day, although I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why. Was it simply that I’d been prevented from performing my Samhain ritual, and so some part of me recognized I hadn’t gotten the chance to ground the energies which ran wild at this time of year?
Maybe. All I knew was that I was glad to escape to my apartment, where the warm, savory aroma of themachaca— shredded Mexican beef — I’d had cooking in the crockpot all day surrounded me as soon as I entered the place. Even Archie seemed somewhat entranced by the good smells, since he was loitering in the kitchen rather than sleeping in the office or living room when I arrived.
“What are you making?” he asked.
“It’s a kind of spicy beef that I use for filling in tacos or burritos or enchiladas,” I explained as I lifted the crockpot lid and poked at the meat inside with a long fork. It practically fell apart at the touch, telling me it was ready to be rolled into enchiladas. “Calvin’s coming over for dinner, so I thought I’d make something fun, since it’s the Day of the Dead.”
“The what?”
Maybe I would have smiled at his ignorance, but I could see why he hadn’t heard of the holiday. Although Globe definitely had a small and prosperous Mexican-American population, it wasn’t the dominant culture in the area by a long shot. I doubted there wereDía de los Muertosparades or carnivals or anything else here, unlike the huge celebrations that took place on L.A.’s Olvera Street every year. Probably they had similar festivities in Phoenix, but Globe felt a very long way from Arizona’s center.
“It’s a Mexican holiday to honor one’s ancestors,” I explained. “People decorate the headstones and grave sites of family members, and they also dress up and wear face paint that looks like skulls, orcalaveras.There are parades. It’s fun.”
Judging by the sideways look Archie gave me at that explanation, I could tell he wasn’t entirely sold on the idea. And I supposed — from the outside, anyway — it might seem kind of odd to celebrate death in such a way. Honestly, though, I thought it was all very healthy. Death came to all of us…well, except cursed cats, apparently, since Archie had to be going on a hundred years old at this point…and better to make it bright and colorful and out in the open rather than hidden behind closed doors.
“Anyway,” I went on, “I just wanted to do something in observance, so we’re having a Mexican dinner. And I’ll put somemachacain your bowl before I start making the enchiladas.”
This offer didn’t seem to mollify the cat very much. “I hope it’s not too spicy,” he remarked. “Spice doesn’t agree with me.”
Why did that not surprise me? But I told myself not to be too harsh on Archie — as a transplant from Illinois who’d come here in the late 1940s, he probably hadn’t had much opportunity to build up a tolerance for such things.
