Double Pink Murder: African Violet Club Mysteries, #4

By Elise M. Stone

A prophecy. A discovery. A murder.

Persuaded by her best friend to attend a local psychic fair, retired librarian Lilliana Wentworth doesn't really believe in fortunetelling. But her romance with a handsome and mysterious Scotsman has thrown her off-balance, disrupted her equilibrium, and she's looking for guidance wherever she might find it.

When she overhears a tarot reader predict death to the young woman seated at her table, she's not so sure consulting a psychic is a good idea. Certainly it wasn't for the woman the reading was meant for, who flees from the room in a panic.

As Lilliana attempts to comfort the distraught stranger, she feels a touch of premonition herself. She has no idea what her romantic future might be, but she's fairly certain she'll soon be solving another murder.

Be sure to download this intriguing mystery in the African Violet Club series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Civano Press
• Release date: Dec 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999197837

Elise M. Stone

Elise M. Stone was born and raised in New York, went to college in Michigan, lived in the Boston area for eight years, and not too long ago moved to sunny Tucson, Arizona, where she doesn't have to shovel snow. Her first degree was in psychology, her second in computers. She's worked as a pizza maker, library clerk, waitress, social worker, programmer, and data jockey. Retired now, she spends her days doing her two favorite things: writing and reading. Agatha and Spenser, her two cats, keep her company while watching birds and lizards outside her office window. I love hearing from readers. You can connect with me at: Email: [e-mail] Twitter: @EliseMStone Facebook: www.facebook.com/EliseMStone

Book preview

Chapter 1

Someone close to you is going to die.

Lilliana Wentworth shivered—not entirely from the chilly temperature of the air conditioning in the large meeting room at the Posada de Vaqueros, the Inn of the Cowboys, as a circle of silence opened up around two women seated at a nearby table. Even her friend Nancy, a gregarious champagne blonde who had been nattering on about the various mediums, spirit healers, and tarot readers at the psychic fair, eventually noticed the distraction. Nancy’s voice trailed off as she realized no one else was speaking.

A psychic fair wasn’t the kind of event Lilliana usually attended, but when Nancy had seen the advertisement in the Rainbow Ranch Gazette, she’d badgered Lilliana until she finally agreed to go. After all, the hotel was an easy walk from the retirement home where both of them lived, and it was something different to do on a Saturday afternoon than the usual gossip and sitting around the pool. And, of course, tending her African violets.

Lilliana didn’t really believe in psychics. She’d spent too many years as a no-nonsense reference librarian immersed in the world of facts to believe in such foolishness. She knew the difference between fact and fiction.

And her attendance had nothing to do with her whirlwind romance with Christopher MacAlistair, the handsome and talented gentleman who had appeared last month and swept her off her feet. In the past couple of weeks, her feet had seemed to find the ground again, and she had been wondering if her involvement with Christopher had been such a wise idea. After all, how much did she really know about him?

Originally from Scotland, he’d arrived in Rainbow Ranch with a former championship barrel racer. With his Scottish burr, trim physique, and electric blue eyes, he’d had most of the women in town swooning over him, Lilliana included. No one had been more surprised than she was when he’d swooned back, despite her bony physique, gray hair, and too-large mouth.

Could one of the mystics really give her any guidance? She had her doubts. But she’d come along anyway, a tiny part of her hoping she might find the answer here.

The morbid prophecy was the last thing she’d expected at an event which usually promised wishes come true and happily-ever-afters. Apparently it was also the last thing the woman who’d been its recipient expected as well. She rose from her chair, her face ashen, and ran from the room.

The psychic, a pudgy blonde woman who by the looks of her was old enough to reside at the retirement community, half rose in her seat, her mouth open, a hand reaching out as if to draw her client back. Before she could say anything, a slightly thinner version of the fortuneteller rushed to her side.

Susan, what have you done? the thinner woman asked. While Susan’s hair framed her face in tight curls, the new arrival, in addition to being of a less generous weight, wore her hair in gentle waves. Both, oddly for the event, were dressed in pink, the thin one in a pantsuit, the heavier one in a flowing dress.

Glynda, the one in the dress said. You have to call me Glynda here, Glennis.

I don’t care what you’re called, you can’t be telling people their friends or relatives are going to die. No one wants to hear bad news.

But it’s what the cards say. Glynda pointed at the tarot cards laid out on the table in front of her.

Lilliana stepped closer, the better to see what Glynda was pointing at. While Lilliana didn’t know much about tarot cards, the message of one called Death seemed fairly clear to her.

There are many ways to read the cards, Glennis said.

But then there’s the Five of Wands, Glynda objected. That means tension and conflict. It clearly points to death.

Glennis shook her head. We’ll talk about this when we get home. Just try not to do any more readings where someone dies today. Before Glynda could respond, Glennis marched away. She took a position behind a nearby table displaying crystal stones and pieces of jewelry.

Well, that was odd, Lilliana said to Nancy, who wore one of her brightly colored sweaters despite the August heat of Arizona outside. The scent of mothballs coming from it suggested she’d taken the sweater out of storage recently. I don’t think I’ll be having a tarot reading done.

Oh, but she seems so knowledgable. Nancy looked eagerly toward the tarot reader.

Lilliana, afraid of what fortune might be in store for Nancy, tried to divert her. Let’s take a walk around the room and see what other options there are first. You can always come back to Glynda.

Glynda?

That’s the tarot reader’s name, Lilliana said. She glanced at an adjoining table. While the psychic seated there also used a deck of cards, the sign in front of her promised angel readings. That sounded a lot safer than the tarot reader. Why don’t we try the woman next to her?

Nancy peered at the cards in front of the middle-aged woman Lilliana had suggested. The overhead fluorescents glinted off the lenses of her glasses as she looked up and smiled at them. With her short brown hair and a light tan jacket over a flowered blouse, she reminded Lilliana of an elementary school teacher.

Would you like a reading?

Nancy glanced at Lilliana for reassurance, who nodded encouragement, but in the end Nancy said, I don’t think so. We’re supposed to look around first, right?

Yes, that might be best. Knowing Nancy didn’t have a whole lot of money, Lilliana asked, How much does a reading cost?

Thirty dollars, the angel card reader replied, then noticing the dismay on Nancy’s face, said, I can take credit cards. She waved her cell phone, which had an odd protrusion sticking out of the top, at them.

I don’t think so. Nancy turned and continued down the row of tables.

There were three rows of tables, all covered in the same black tablecloths that hung to just above the red tile floor. Matching metal chairs with padded seats and backs were lined up on both sides. The psychics, most of whom had personalized their stations with a colored mat of some sort and eye-catching postcards or brochures, sat on one side, leaving the chairs opposite them for their customers.

Lilliana reconsidered the idea of consulting one of the exhibitors about her love life. Thirty dollars seemed a bit much for some fleeting fun. Or what she assumed would be fun, as long as she didn’t patronize Glynda, the death-dealing tarot reader. She had thought spending ten or maybe even fifteen dollars to get some insight into her relationship with Christopher might be worth the expense. But thirty?

The two women strolled down the length of the aisle, pausing briefly at Glennis’s table of crystals, most of which were supposed to have healing powers. Others were supposed to balance your chakra, whatever that was. There was a pretty necklace Lilliana was attracted to, but she decided to wait and see if there was anything else she wanted to purchase before spending the amount she’d budgeted for the event.

Neither of them were interested in the pet psychic, not having a dog or cat on the other side, and they also passed on the massage therapist. Seated behind the last table in the row was an Indian woman, Navajo if the sand paintings she displayed were any indication, with a sign that proclaimed Jane Begay could contact her spirit guides to communicate with departed loved ones.

Do you think you could contact Eugene? Nancy asked her.

Although her black hair was streaked with gray, the Navajo’s eyes sparkled like onyx, betraying a young soul, as she considered Nancy’s request. He was your husband?

Not a terribly good indication of her psychic abilities, thought Lilliana, ever the skeptic. Half the medium’s business must be from widows looking to contact a deceased husband.

Nancy nodded.

Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll see if we can reach him, Jane Begay said.

Nancy was already sliding into the seat opposite the Navajo woman.

Just a minute, Lilliana said. How much do you charge?

Thirty dollars if the spirit guides lead him to speak with us. She must have seen the look on Lilliana’s face. Nothing if he does not communicate.

Thirty dollars seemed to be the going rate at the psychic fair. But at least Jane Begay appeared to guarantee her results. The woman smoothed her hands over the textile, roughly the size of a saddle blanket, that covered her table. Black and white graphics stood out against the red background of the weaving. A horse in white was positioned near each corner.

These horses came to the Navajo when Coronado traveled north from Mexico. She tapped the index finger of her right hand on the horse closest to her. Ahiga is a brave warrior, but he is sometimes too quick to anger and fights with others when he need not. She indicated the horse at the opposite corner. Si’kis would rather help than harm. He is a loyal friend to both animals and men.

Jane Begay focused her gaze on Nancy. Which horse is most like Eugene?

I’m not sure, Nancy said. What about the other two horses?

Jane smiled. Those are mares. Unless your husband was a Two Spirit, I would not recommend choosing one of them.

Nancy blushed, getting the innuendo of the term if not the literal meaning. No, no. Eugene only had one spirit. She studied the two male horses which, as far as Lilliana could discern, were identical. But Nancy seemed to see some difference, because she pointed to Si’kis. That one.

Chapter 2

Now that Nancy was settled, Lilliana slowly scanned the room. The two friends had stopped at almost every table. None of the psychics had appealed to Lilliana. But it seemed rude to stand behind Nancy and listen in on what was supposed to be a private reading.

In a dim corner, a flash of light sparkled off letters in red glitter, drawing her eyes to the sign taped to the front of another table. The letters spelled out Omar, Professional Astrologer.

Lilliana thought there might be some hope there. While every other psychic seemed to be a housewife looking for some extra grocery money, Omar wore a suit and tie, looking like the professional he claimed to be. His brown hair receded from both temples and matched the goatee and mustache he sported. His eyes caught hers and he smiled at her. Flustered, Lilliana looked away.

Perhaps she’d make a trip to the restroom first. She didn’t want to have to cut her reading short because she had to use the facilities in the middle of it. Not that she was committed to having one done or anything. Not yet. She whirled and hurried toward the exit, telling herself she was being sensible, not apprehensive.

The Saltillo tile continued from the meeting room to the lobby, becoming more worn and pitted as it approached the front door. Geometric patterns of turquoise, red, and white, reminiscent of the designs in the sand paintings, decorated the beige walls. A little artistic liberty, since the Navajo lived far to the north of Rainbow Ranch, which was closer to the southern border with Mexico. Lilliana glanced left and right, then spotted the sign for the restrooms under a stairway leading to the upper floors.

A few minutes later, Lilliana stood in front of the mirror over the sinks drying her hands. Several strands of her long, gray hair had escaped the band at the back of her neck, and she took a minute to remove it, brush her hair, and gather it up again neatly in the band. She knew she was stalling.

Exiting the restroom, she noticed a set of glass doors at the opposite end of the lobby from the entrance. I wonder what’s back there? With the thought, she turned toward them and strode the twenty feet to see.

Second only to water, green plants drew Arizonans as surely as a magnet attracted iron. The desert and surrounding mountains most often presented unrelenting textures in brown, except during monsoon season when everything came to life. Here, outside the doors, an oasis of green grass and lush flowering plants nestled in a courtyard between the wings of the hotel. Despite the heat of summer, Lilliana opened the door and went outside.

A pebbled path meandered through the grassy area, circling little gardens of scarlet penstemons and yellow desert marigolds. Joy bubbled up inside her at the sight, causing her to forget about her dilemma, until the sound of sobbing pulled her spirits down again.

Searching for the source of the sound, she discovered a woman seated on a concrete bench in the shade of a green-trunked palo verde tree. Lilliana squinted against the sun, trying to make out the woman’s features. Her yellow shirt, tan cargo shorts, and honey brown hair matched the woman who had been given the death prophesy inside. But now her face was contorted with grief.

Lilliana hurried over to the woman. Are you all right?

She lifted her head and quickly swiped at her tear-stained cheeks. Yes. She shook her head. No. Her voice caught as she contradicted herself.

Lilliana sat down beside her on the bench. I wouldn’t give too much credence to these psychics.

Normally I wouldn’t. Again the catch in her breathing. But my father had a heart attack yesterday, and they’re not sure he’s going to make it.

I’m sorry to hear that. Lilliana reached out and stroked the woman’s hand. Still, I don’t think tarot cards are reliable predictors.

The woman tried a weak smile. You’re probably right. I’ve just felt so guilty that I can’t go to him.

Why not?

My parents live in Minnesota. Even if I left today, I’d barely have time to see him before I’d have to get on a plane so I could be back on Monday morning.

Surely your employer would give you time off from work for a family emergency. She hesitated a moment and looked questioningly at the woman, hoping she’d tell her her name.

Michelle. Michelle Iles. She pushed a strand of her chin-length hair behind her ear. I teach at the elementary school. I’m not sure they can get a sub. Rainbow Ranch is kind of in the middle of nowhere.

I’m Lilliana Wentworth. And I can’t imagine some arrangements couldn’t be made.

Michelle looked down at her feet. She wore a pair of tan Crocs that matched her cargo shorts. That’s not the only reason.

What could be so important that you wouldn’t give it up to see your father? Lilliana tried to keep her tone gentle, but an accusatory note crept in.

Fortunately, Michelle didn’t seem to be aware of it. She flicked her gaze upward, then resumed examining her feet. Well, uh, I have an interview on Wednesday, so I’m already taking time off this week. She raised her eyes to meet Lilliana’s.

The retired librarian thought there was more to this story than Michelle was telling her. You don’t like being a teacher?

Oh, that’s not it at all. I love the kids. But I always wanted to teach at the university level. My plans kind of got interrupted when I didn’t have enough money for graduate school. I’ve been saving for five years so I could go back. The interview is for a graduate assistant position at the University of Arizona.

A cold wind ruffled their clothes as a shadow blotted out the sun, bringing the scent of rain, and instinctively Lilliana looked up. The black clouds of a monsoon thunderstorm pushed across the blue sky. Lightning streaked down from the cloud, cleaving the air with a billion volts of electricity. Michelle jumped at the thunder that followed, then turned her attention to the storm.

We’d better go inside before we get caught in the rain. Michelle rose to her feet. I’m sorry to dump my troubles on you.

Lilliana stood as a large drop plopped on her nose. Don’t be sorry. You have a lot on your mind right now. I’m willing to listen.

Thank you. Rain spattered on the gravel path, and Michelle hurried off toward the door into the hotel.

Lilliana watched her disappear inside, then scurried after her as the storm broke in earnest.

Chapter 3

The brief run had Lilliana panting as she surveyed the lobby of the hotel, looking for Michelle Iles. Unless the woman had returned to the psychic fair, which Lilliana doubted given how upset she’d been, she must have continued on to the front entrance and left the building.

She was out of excuses.

Lilliana glanced at the meeting room, feeling as if her feet were glued to the floor. One part of her wanted to go inside and approach the astrologer. Another part of her resisted the idea of consulting a phony psychic about something she should be able to figure out herself. But she hadn’t been able to figure out her relationship with Christopher, which, if she were honest with herself, was why she’d agreed to come. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity now that she was here.

Steeling her resolve, Lilliana headed toward the meeting room and marched inside, not pausing until she reached the far corner where Omar stood behind the glittering sign, a laptop and small printer on the table in front of him. He smiled invitingly.

How— her voice cracked, and she tried again. How much to have my fortune told?

I don’t tell fortunes, Omar said firmly. I cast your birth chart based on scientific principles, and interpret it according to my experience and knowledge.

Lilliana had some doubt about the scientific part, but decided not to argue the point. How much, though?

He sized her up, examining her spare form from top to bottom, the scrutiny making her feel like a moth pinned to a display board in a glass case.

Thirty dollars for your chart and a basic reading. If you decide on a more in-depth reading, you can apply the initial fee to that.

She decided not to ask about the cost of the in-depth reading. She sat in the chair opposite the astrologer and opened her purse.

You can pay me at the end of the session, Omar said as he sat down and placed his fingers on the keyboard. Now what is your name?

Lilliana Wentworth.

He typed that in with his eyes focused on the screen, then looked up and asked, And your birthdate?

December 29, 1942.

Do you know the time?

She shook her head. She hadn’t looked at her birth certificate in ages. In the morning, I think.

I can create the chart without a time, but you realize it won’t be as accurate as it would be with it?

Lilliana nodded.

If you find what I tell you useful, you could return at another time and I could cast a more accurate chart. He seemed awfully eager to sell her more of his services.

How often are you here? Lilliana asked. She couldn’t remember another time there’d been a psychic fair.

"We have an event two or three times a year. I believe the next one will be right before Christmas. Many people are interested in