Fatal Fortune

By Elizabeth Delisi

No one in Cheyenne, ND believes in Lottie Baldwin’s psychic abilities; especially not Harlan Erikson, Lottie’s boyfriend, and Chief Deputy in the Sheriff’s Office. When a friend’s husband disappears, Lottie can’t leave it to Harlan. Armed with her courage and her tarot cards, she tries to solve the mystery herself, regardless of who attempts to stop her: Harlan, her friend—or the criminal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Jun 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476498409

Elizabeth Delisi

Elizabeth Delisi is an award-winning author of romance, mystery and suspense, with a touch of the paranormal. She has been an avid reader all her life, and wrote her first story in first grade. She has written novels, short story collections, how-to articles, and has worked as a reporter, columnist, and writing instructor.When she’s not writing, Elizabeth loves to read. She also enjoys working with tarot cards, knitting and weaving, and watching old movies. She collects tarot decks, and antique compacts.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Loss; Chaos; Destruction

November 10, 1980

Harry Larson turned into the rough dirt clearing surrounding the old Cheyenne water tower. He drove in a wide, slow arc, facing the car in the direction he’d come. He wanted to be ready to leave in a hurry.

The headlights shone through the rust-covered legs of the tower, casting an eerie shadow like a huge, misshapen spider waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting victim.

He turned off the lights and killed the engine. Darkness enveloped him. There was no moon tonight.

As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he strained to hear a noise. The roar of a motor, perhaps, or the crunch of tires. But there was nothing; not a sound.

At last he was able to discern vague objects: the silent water tower humped above him; the withered stalks of a November cornfield on one side of the tower; the nameless, leaning tombstones of an ancient cemetery on the other.

Then he saw something familiar in the far corner of the lot. A bulky shape, boxy and squat. It was a car. How long had it been sitting there? He hadn’t noticed it when he pulled into the cemetery or when he’d backed into the spot where his car now sat.

Harry squinted, trying to see better. He thought he could make out a dark figure sitting on the hood. His heart thumped in his chest.

He chuckled nervously, running his hands through his thinning brown hair. His errand was serious, no doubt of that; but he was letting the overgrown cemetery influence him too much. Next, he’d have the figure flapping a monstrous set of bat wings and flying off into the night. Ridiculous.

He opened the car door. The cold North Dakota wind rushed in and surrounded him. He got out and slammed the door, trying to retain some of the heat. His eyes never leaving the still figure, he walked away from his car, his cocoon of safety, into the overgrown back corner of the lot.

He felt the figure watching him as he approached, waiting for him to come close.

Harry was within fifteen feet now. Twelve. Ten. He could still turn and walk away—run, if he had to. He didn’t have to go through with it. If he didn’t say anything, no one else would ever find out.

He thought of Janet. Sweet wife. What would she think of him if she knew? Would she want him to close his eyes, to pretend he didn’t see what was happening right under his nose? Would she put personal safety above integrity?

Then, there was Laura. When she grew up, would she be ashamed to discover that her daddy had been a coward?

Harry squared his shoulders. He’d do what he’d set out to do. He would stop the thing before anyone got hurt.

He stopped in front of the car where the figure remained on the hood. Having decided his course, Harry plunged in. I know what you’ve been up to. I know all about it. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? You didn’t cover your tracks very well.

The figure grimaced. You have more intelligence than I gave you credit for, I admit.

You can’t believe you’ll get away with it. If I found out, then other people will, too. Sooner or later, you’ll be stopped.

I don’t think so. The voice was thick with conceit. I have, as the saying goes, friends in high places.

Do you think they’ll go out on a limb for you? Jeopardize themselves, their careers and reputations, to protect you?

Yes. They have to. They’re in no position to do otherwise. I have certain...information about them. Information that could be very embarrassing, to say the least, if it were to come out.

I see. Harry rubbed his hands together in the frigid night air, stalling for time. That still leaves me. You can’t possibly have anything incriminating on me, and I don’t intend to back down.

There was a short silence. We’re both reasonable people, the figure said at last. I can make it worth your while to keep this quiet. Think of all the things you could do for your family with a large ‘bonus.’ You’ll find I’m very generous with my friends.

Harry waved his hand. No deal. You can’t buy my silence.

The dark figure clenched its fists, raising them to chest level. Then, you give me no choice. You can’t stop me.

Oh, can’t I? Harry shook his head in disgust. When you asked me this afternoon to meet you here, I hoped you’d had a change of heart, and I was willing to support you. I would have stood by you all the way. Obviously, I was wrong. I’ve been a fool.

He turned away and started back toward his own car. The night air was crisp in his nostrils; a light snow was beginning to fall. Though disappointed at the outcome, he felt shaky with relief that the ordeal was over.

He heard a sudden, furtive noise behind him. Harry jumped, started to turn. Before he could see the source of the sound, face his foe, he felt a crushing blow on the back of his head. A million hot sparks exploded behind his eyes as he sank down toward the frozen ground.

For a moment, Harry lay motionless. The quiet night air was full of unwonted sound: heavy footsteps; muffled rustling; the jingle of keys. The car door slammed and tires spun. Above it all, he heard his once pounding heartbeat slowing as his body relaxed. The last thing he saw was the car’s red tail lights fading into the distance. And then eternal blackness overcame him.

CHAPTER ONE

A Friend Seeks Advice

Lottie Baldwin turned with a sigh from her bedroom window with its monotonous view of leaden skies and swirling flakes. Something inside warned her today would be a doozy.

She knew from experience there was little she could do to avert whatever unpleasant events the day brought. The best thing she could do was wait and try to roll with the punches.

She walked gingerly down the narrow, steep stairs, promising herself for the hundredth time to have a handrail put in, and turned into the kitchen. She rinsed the teakettle, then filled it and set it on the stove to boil. Tea had soothing properties; it seemed she would need them today.

When her tea was made, she went into the dining room. Setting her mug on the table, Lottie retrieved her tarot cards from her desk drawer and slid the cards from their emerald green velvet bag. She might not be able to avert the day’s events, but there was no reason she couldn’t use the powers she possessed to prepare herself for what those events might be.

She shuffled the cards to remove any trace of influence from the last reading. She placed her significator, the card that represented her, in the center.

Then, she dealt the cards into the five-pointed star pattern she’d devised. She found the pattern excellent for revealing the day’s general happenings.

The Queen of Pentacles appeared first. That could mean one of several people, but the most likely candidate was Janet Larson.

Janet was Lottie’s closest friend; the only female friend she had, in fact, in Cheyenne. Lottie had met Janet while waiting tables in a cafeteria at the college Janet attended in Brooklyn, and they’d struck up an instant friendship. Two years after graduation, when a serious affair of Lottie’s had ended, she felt she needed a change of scene. Never one to do things by half-measure, she packed up her belongings and moved to Cheyenne.

Most of the townspeople had been turned off by Lottie’s flamboyant charm. She was an oddity in the small farming community. If her personality were the only unusual thing about her, she might have eventually won acceptance. But almost everyone viewed her psychic powers with disbelief, disapproval or outright fear. Many people sought her prophecies under cover of secrecy, but no one came openly. A fortune teller was more than Cheyenne could handle. But Janet had welcomed her with open arms.

Lottie turned the next card, the Hermit, and laid it beside The Queen of Pentacles. A friend would seek Lottie’s advice and counsel. That had to be Janet. The only other person in town who was more than civil to Lottie was Harlan Erikson, and he was sure he knew it all. Though he was willing to take her love and affection, he wouldn’t ask for her advice. Like the seekers of late-night predictions, Harlan only took advice that was veiled in shadowy suggestion.

Next, she turned up the King of Swords. Analytical, logical and incorruptible, the card suited Harlan perfectly. He would play an important role in the events to come.

Trying to elicit more information about the advice-seeking friend, Lottie turned up the next card, the Ten of Swords. Treachery; a stab in the back. Was Janet in danger? Or perhaps Janet’s husband Harry, or their daughter Laura? The idea seemed ludicrous, yet Lottie had learned to trust her interpretation of the cards. Most often she was correct.

The final card revealed was the Three of Swords. It foretold heartbreak, betrayal, perhaps death.

Lottie became alarmed. Janet was willowy and frail, and it appeared she was in for a very rough time. What the problem would be, Lottie couldn’t determine. But it was obvious Janet would turn to her for help, and she had to be prepared.

She gulped down the rest of her tea, then gathered up her cards, shuffled them and replaced them in the green bag. She took her mug to the kitchen and rinsed it out, then put a full kettle of water on to boil. Having a whole potful of chamomile tea on hand wouldn’t hurt.

She didn’t have long to wait and wonder. The doorbell rang twice in close succession. As Lottie walked to the door, it rang a third time.

I’m coming, Janet, she called. She reached the wooden kitchen door, opened it, then pushed open the storm door. Come in.

Janet’s cheeks and nose were pink from the cold, but the rest of her complexion was pale as porcelain. Her green wool coat matched her eyes. Janet looked as if she’d left in a hurry. Her jacket hung open and the front of her pink sweater and long, denim-clad legs were freckled with snowflakes, as was her short, dark hair. The flakes instantly disappeared when she stepped into the warm room, leaving drops that glittered like tiny stars under the kitchen light.

How did you know it was me? Janet asked as she pulled off her coat and shook it, scattering moisture all over the floor. Never mind. You always know.

She dropped her coat where she stood and grasped Lottie’s hands, clutching them with a strength Lottie never knew she possessed. You’ve always seemed to know things other people don’t. That’s why I came. I need your help, Lottie. Will you help me?

Lottie smiled stiffly through the pain in her hands. Of course I’ll help you, Janet. You know that. What are friends for?

The throbbing in her hands abated as Janet’s grip slackened. Janet sighed and her thin shoulders slumped. Thanks, Lottie. I knew I could count on you.

Lottie stooped to retrieve Janet’s coat and hung it on a hook next to the door, then steered her friend to the living room. Sit down, she urged.

I’m too nervous to sit. Janet paced back and forth like a pendulum on Lottie’s orange shag rug, wringing her hands.

Look, I know something is bothering you. You always twist your hands like that when you’re upset. Why don’t you tell me about it? The quicker you get it out in the open, the sooner we can deal with it.

I’m afraid it won’t be that easy. Janet shook her head. I don’t even know why I came. I doubt you can help.

Go ahead and talk about it, anyway, Lottie encouraged. Maybe there’s something I can do. If not, at least you’ll get it off your chest.

Janet turned to face her at last. It’s not me; it’s Harry. I’m afraid he’s in some kind of trouble. Serious trouble. Lottie…Harry went out last night, and he never came home.

CHAPTER TWO

Comfort and Advice from a Friend

Now that Janet had said what she came to say, all the nervous energy drained out of her. She collapsed onto the couch, her head back, her hands pressed between her knees. Lottie patted her on the shoulder. After a moment, Janet turned her head and met Lottie’s gaze.

Tell me what happened.

Janet drew a long breath. Harry came home from work last night at dinner time, as usual. All through the meal he seemed tense. He didn’t touch the roast beef, even though it’s his favorite. He didn’t talk, wouldn’t meet my eyes. He snapped at Laura twice, and that’s just not like him.

Lottie frowned. It didn’t sound like the Harry she knew. He doted on his four-year-old daughter. Janet always had to dole out the punishments when necessary because Harry couldn’t stand to see Laura cry.

After dinner, he jumped up and put on his coat. I asked him where he was going. He said he was going for a ride. He wouldn’t tell me where he would be, just that he’d be back soon. That was all I could get out of him.

What time was that?

I think it was about seven o’clock.

And then?

I cleaned the kitchen, then gave Laura her bath. I let her stay up a little later than usual because she wanted to say goodnight to her daddy. At last, I put her to bed when nine o’clock came and he hadn’t returned. I stayed up until almost one in the morning, but he didn’t come home. When I woke up this morning, there was no sign of him.

Could he have stopped somewhere, a friend’s house or a restaurant, and lost track of time? Maybe you just didn’t hear him when he came in, Lottie suggested. Her tarot card reading had hinted at some dire event. She hoped, for Janet’s sake, that it was wrong.

Janet shook her head. No. His side of the bed hadn’t been slept in. The covers were undisturbed.

Maybe he didn’t want to wake you, and he slept on the couch. Then, he had to get up and leave for work early this morning. You were so tired you slept through it.

No, Lottie. I’ve already thought of that. Janet got up again and paced. When he went out last night, he was wearing a pair of brown slacks and that horrendous old green college sweater of his. He’d never wear those clothes to work—they’d get ruined in a few hours at the construction site. But they aren’t in the closet or hamper, and the clean work clothes I laid out for him over the bedroom chair are still there. Besides, he always leaves a note for me if he goes to work while I’m asleep, and there was no note.

Lottie started to speak but Janet interrupted her. Before you ask, yes, I did call over to the site. Ben Freeman answered the phone. He was very concerned. He said Harry never showed up for work this morning. He had to put Ronny Wilcox in charge of the crew.

"Did Harry call in, say he’d be late