Adelaide Upset Read online

  “It could be a woman,” Nancy said. “I’m not sure yet.”

  She slid the hermit card between the devil and the knight, only she kept it horizontal instead of vertical. The gray cloaked figure was thoughtfully downcast, but with the card on its side, it hovered, creepy and unsettling.

  “That’s you,” Nancy said.

  Of course it was.

  “The hermit is withdrawn, in search of answers, needing peace and quiet,” she continued. “In reverse the hermit is distrustful and shortsighted, retarded from progress and held back by the past. You represent both aspects of the hermit, so your card is neither up nor down. To your left is the devil, a greedy and selfish person. You must be careful, Adelaide, this person will hurt you.”

  She moved another major arcana card, the wheel of fortune, so it overlapped the devil and the hermit in reverse. “The devil plots against you. Past wrongs committed against another will now come back to haunt you,” she recited, tapping the card lightly. Nancy picked up the last two cards, turning one upside down as she looked them over. “Did you see which one landed first?”

  I shook my head. “Does it really matter?”

  “The knight represents someone you know, and both of these cards define your relationship with that person, the tie between you. The two of cups can mean love, reunion, or forgiveness, but always the start of a new relationship.”

  The card pictured a couple, both of them standing under a pissy looking winged lion. I immediately thought of Lucas and our new status as boyfriend and girlfriend.

  Nancy showed me the other card. “The five of cups in reverse is all about emotional upheaval. Separation. Unbearable heartache...”

  Considering the picture, the timing... “Shit.”

  She began to pick up the cards, wanting to pack them away, as if she could erase the whole reading. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’d usually smudge a reading like that to be more upbeat, but I thought it was better for you to be warned than leave happy.”

  “I would have known if you were lying,” I reminded. She was too honest to get one past me, her guilt would ring loud. “So, someone is out to get me, and my happy relationship is about to fall apart?”

  “It really depends on what card came first,” she explained. “Since we don’t know, it could either mean the destruction of a current relationship, or the mending. Perhaps you will reunite with someone?” The questioning tone of her voice asked if that was even a possibility.

  Was there anyone that I was ‘separated’ from that I could ‘reunite’ with? Holy shit... my family!

  Nancy must have seen something dismal written on my face, because she rushed to reassure me. “Maybe it means a break-up after all.”

  “That’s not helping!”

  “It’s not necessarily a romantic love. It could mean the break-up of a friendship.” Shoving the deck back into the drawer, she shut it with a small slam. “And like I said, that card doesn’t always represent a man. It could be a strong woman.”

  Apart from Nancy I only had one female friend. Francesca. She and I had had a falling out over Reed Wallace. She’d gone a bit crazy, but that was past... or was it? Reed Wallace had just returned, only for a few hours, but what if he came back for good? She’d lose her mind to him again; such was the power of his charisma, his unnatural charm.

  “Ugh,” I moaned, dropping my head onto the table. It was all so... vague.

  “Honestly, Adelaide, I’m more concerned with the person who wants to hurt you. Do you know who that might be?” Nancy pressed. “Are you in trouble?” She was worried, but then, she always was.

  I wanted to tell her, knowing she’d help me if she could. And wasn’t that why I’d come? For help. To unload my suspicions concerning Demidov’s diary and the reoccurring nightmares. But she’d just confirmed my worst fear, that any knowledge in that regard was dangerous. It had gotten Theodore Dunn murdered, and nearly me too. I couldn’t involve her, it wouldn’t be fair.

  “Nope,” I lied. “No trouble and no clue, I haven’t the foggiest idea why someone would want to hurt me.”

  Chapter 7

  I shouldn’t have gone into work after that reading. It put me in a foul mood, and I suppose, in retrospect, I was something of a bitch that day. I arrived a little late, expecting Ben to yell about it, but he didn’t even notice. He was too busy getting serenaded.

  Slightly behind Sterling’s, perched just inside the motel’s lot was a gigantic oak. Spanish moss dripped from each branch, a lazy curtain that swung softly in the wind. Canopied below, hiding in the shade, was a picnic table. Unlike the rest of us, Ben preferred that spot (even in the dead of summer) to the office and its small comforts, namely the wheezing air conditioner.

  He sat there now, only he wasn’t alone. Sprawled along the tabletop, guitar in hand, was a guy my age, early to mid twenties and no older. With natural sun-kissed hair and skin he looked like a young Brad Pitt, though a lot less mysterious. He was the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, emotions exposed. I hated the type.

  He was singing as I approached. He had a pleading voice, it overlapped the simple chords very well, but for some reason that only annoyed me more.

  “What’s this?” I asked, waving a hand between them as I approached. “What’s going on here?”

  Ben was feeling distinctly embarrassed, but his face only betrayed slight traces of shame. He covered it well, blustering up for a big fight. “Something wrong with your ears?” he sneered. “It’s a song, that’s what.”

  “You’re having a stroke, aren’t you?” I asked with pretended worry, egging him on. “That’s why you’re being so erratic, you’re dying.” I suppose it occurred to me then that Ben wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a good fight. Relentlessly I continued, “I mean, why else would you listen to this guy? He’s got an earring! You hate when men pierce their ears.”

  Ben exploded off the bench, moving quickly for one so old. “Piss off, Adelaide!” he hollered. “He’s a guest at Sterling’s, paid up for a week! Room seven,” he ground out, threatening, “so you’d best be professional.”

  I watched him stalk off, his shoulders aimed forward as he left the lot, not lingering like usual, but walking straight home. Something else occurred to me then. Unlike Ben, I didn’t feel better after a fight, only worse.

  “Hey,” the guy on the picnic table said a bit awkwardly. “My name’s Tim.”

  “Team?”

  “Tim.”

  Great, I thought, another Tim. “You’re from Australia, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m here on—”

  “I don’t care,” I interrupted. “Just... shut up.” I turned on my heel and walked off, heading towards the office. And that was how I started my shift, and trust me, it only got worse. After the sun went down, Arnie and Renee stopped by for their ‘usual.’ Rumor around town was that Renee and her husband Patrick wanted to have a baby, and if Francesca’s gossip was to be believed, then that meant Arnie would be passing along his genes tonight in hopes of creating an Arnie Jr. Bleck, the baby would probably come straight from the womb covered in fur, a little ape just like its father. But I didn’t put much stock in gossip, I was still hoping for the best. Choose artificial insemination I silently urged Renee as she waited for the room key. Patrick wouldn’t spawn hairy monsters. No, his children would be attractive and sensitive, with good taste in art... oh, and maybe gay. Patrick was gay. He and Renee were really close though and they refused to divorce. Some of the locals said Patrick had been spotted with another male, another male with very clean hands. So as far as the island was concerned he had a boyfriend, and Renee, she also had a... an Arnie.

  He noticed me glaring at his blunt nose and blackheads with distaste. “What?” he demanded.

  “I just hope it takes after its mother,” I muttered.

  “What? What’d you say?” he questioned leaning forward, his hairy knuckles pressed flat against the counter.

  I liked Renee alright, bu
t it was safe to say that Arnie and I never got along. “Just keep it down,” I replied, trying not to lose my temper as Arnie’s belligerence wafted forward. “The last time you were here I got complaints, noise complaints.” He almost looked proud for a second, but then I continued. “The room next to yours said they heard barking.” That wasn’t strictly true, but so what?

  Renee was already skipping out the door with key in hand, our transaction complete. But Arnie didn’t rush off behind her, though he was randy and tempted, he stopped to glare at me first. “Never did learn why you’re such a hag.”

  “You mean nag,” I corrected. “Hag refers to an old woman.”

  “No,” Arnie spit. “I mean hag! Harpy! Shrew! A cold-hearted bitch!” he bellowed, swinging the office door so it slammed shut behind him.

  It opened a second later. “Whoa,” Stephen said, stepping inside, Smith misting in behind him. “What did you say to Arnie?”

  I ignored the question, asking, “Will you take my Friday shift?”

  “What for?” Stephen asked, plopping down in one of the faded blue chairs.

  “I just have this thing,” I said, trying to sound breezy and not fidget. I didn’t want Stephen or Smith to know I was going to the SL&S celebration.

  “Is Reed back?”

  “No!” I said, jerking upright in my swivel chair to stare at him across the high countertop. “What made you ask that?”

  He propped his feet up on the oval-shaped coffee table, his fingers busy plucking at the seam of the seat where a few threads had come loose. “You only go out when he makes you,” Stephen observed, not quite looking at me.

  “Actually, it has nothing to do with Reed. I’m trying to save Mother Earth. I’m going to a tree planting ceremony,” I admitted, unable to hold back.

  He looked up then, his eyes sharpening. “It’s at that place I told you about, isn’t it? That sawmill in Brunswick where my dad used to work.”

  Smith, a swirl of milky white streamed forward, expanding, yet compressing into the shape of a six foot something man, with lanky frame and messy hair to match his son’s. I didn’t bat an eyelash, pretending not to see him, though I knew he’d be in my face once Stephen had gone.

  And Stephen, that brat, he was too smart by half. I had hoped he wouldn’t make the connection. Well, the best I could do now was lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My only priority is to help our planet, going green, that stuff...”

  “I saw you litter two days ago.”

  “That was an accident,” I said, recalling the incident. “Besides, gum wrappers don’t count, they’re biodegradable.”

  “It was foil,” Stephen said, and he sounded rather judgy. “And I saw you at the fair, talking at that booth, Southeastern Logging and Sawmill. You’re up to something.”

  Smith had been watching our conversation play out, head swinging back and forth as we talked, but something about what Stephen just said upset him greatly. He seemed to strain under the words, worry eating away at him, almost literally. His image wavered, the transparency giving way to the unstable flicker of his hologram-like image.

  I watched him from the corner of my eye, his worry catching. But to Stephen I flung the words “You’re mistaken.”

  He shrugged. “I saw you talking to Reed, too.”

  I felt caught, as if he’d seen me doing something bad. It wasn’t like that, but I’d be damned before I explained myself to anyone. “Fine, Stephen. You’re on to me. But you’re going to cover my shift on Friday, and if you tell Francesca that Reed was in town then I’m going to make sure she finds out that you still wet the bed.”

  “I don’t wet the bed,” he replied, a bit confused. Obviously he had never been blackmailed before.

  “It doesn’t matter, Francesca will think you do.”

  “Fine,” he said, looking very disappointed with me.

  I had to resist the urge not to make him go away. It was on the tip of my tongue, go clean something. But Smith was already frothing from our argument; he hated when I was anything less than lovely to his precious boy. What I hated was when his precious boy turned things around, taking on the adult role while I appeared immature and childish by comparison.

  So yeah, that was my Monday...

  Chapter 8

  I did nothing but wait for the rest of the week. I waited for Friday afternoon, the SL&S picnic. And I waited for Friday evening, when Lucas was due back. In the meantime I didn’t read Demidov’s diary—it was just a little too disturbing. I still wanted to know the rest of his story, but when I took a hiatus from the book the nightmares went away, and I didn’t miss them.

  Francesca called every day while I was working behind the front desk, continually pestering me, but mostly encouraging me to tear apart Luke’s house while I still had the chance. I should have confided about the picture, but I didn’t. And Stephen, he was suspicious of me, but not distrustful. He maintained that I was up to something, but didn’t push the topic.

  When Friday finally did roll around I woke up in Luke’s bed, used his shower, and then tidied up a bit. Having lived with my brothers, I knew how filthy men could be. But Lucas wasn’t bad, no reeking socks or crusted dishes. He was neat, to the point of being stark. A real minimalist, only keeping what he used and nothing more, not even a spare spatula. I’d seen him wipe off his counters and sweep the floor, but I sort of liked doing it for him. I liked making his home feel like mine. I liked leaving my mark. So I gave everything a going over before I climbed the fence to my place.

  I found no sign of Smith there. I called out, but he didn’t appear, so I gave up and got ready. Donning jean shorts and T-shirt I kept it simple, braiding my hair to the side before lathering on some mascara. I knew from every romance novel I had ever read that beautiful women were supposed to have naturally long, curling dark lashes, even if their hair was blonde. Well, I must be part albino, because my lashes were not any of those things and I needed a bit of help in that department. But other than that my morning routine, or toilet (something else I’d learned from my romance novels), was very simple, which I knew for certain after spending hours watching Francesca primp on numerous occasions.

  I left the house, not bothering to lock it, and started my car. It felt like CPR every time, forcing the dead Chevy back to life. I never locked my car either, because if someone was stupid enough to try and steal it, they’d never manage. You had to pump the gas pedal just right and sometimes, when the weather was cold, flood it, before it’d turn over. Even Lucas, the car genius, had trouble with it. Lucas. I was nervy to see him, the anticipation sort of eating away at my middle. But I had a feeling about the picnic. There were answers there, Smith’s answers, and I’d just have to endure it to get them. So saying, I drove for the F. J. Torras Causeway, leaving the island behind as I sped towards Brunswick.

  * * *

  Southeastern Logging and Sawmill was a forty-five minute drive inland. According to the internet they owned a great deal of property. It stretched all along the eastern coast. I knew the moment I’d driven onto it because the trees became a uniform blanket, the pines mapped out in a grid of tidy rows.

  Situated some distance away from the mill itself, the festivities took place under a large pavilion. The picnic was going full swing by the time I arrived. As I parked inside the gravel lot I could smell burning charcoal and grilled hot dogs.

  I was singled out by the PR lady even before I reached the crowd. “You made it!” she said, striding over as if we were the best of friends. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, relaxed to match her flowing blouse and Capris. “I’m sorry, but I never caught your name before.”

  “Adelaide, Adelaide Graves.” The second I said it I wanted to unsay it. I had meant to take on a secret identity for safety’s sake. Oops, too late now.

  “I’m Samantha Phelps, but everyone calls me Sam.”

  “Everyone calls me Laide,” I blurted, trying to fix my mistake.

  “Laide? Oh, I would have guessed
Adele.”

  I contained my wince. Admitting, “That would have been better.”

  “Uh, are you going to plant a tree?” she asked tactfully, changing the subject as she waved toward the tract of land behind her. The freshly turned soil was rich and dark. Evenly spaced stakes protruded from little mounds of earth, each tied off with an orange ribbon. Children were racing around, kicking up dirt as they hurried to pull out each marker and drop a seed down in its place.

  “Actually,” I said, avoiding the question. “I was hoping for an interview.” I had thought about my approach on the car ride over, and while the journalist thing hadn’t worked for Raina Thompson, it worked on TV. Good enough for me, plus Sam was a lot less suspicious than Reed Wallace. “I write for the local newspaper and I wanted to do a small piece on SL&S.”

  “I had no idea!” Sam gushed, excited by the news. “Which paper do you write for?”

  There was more than one? “I do freelance work, so I write for them all,” I lied.

  “Wonderful!” she said, twining her freckled arm through mine. “For years I’ve been trying to get a good word out, and here you’ve fallen into my lap!”

  She ate up my story, swallowing it whole, not even a whiff of doubt. Jeez some people were stupid. I mean, if there was one lesson I’d learned, it was that things too good to be true usually weren’t. But she was an optimist, always looking on the bright side and expecting the best. Being so close to her upbeat attitude was driving me mad. You might think it would be nice to feel that way, to temporarily be one of those people, the kind that wakes up with a smile on their face, but think again. The feeling only lasts so long, and once it’s gone the lack of it can be a bit baffling, leaving one to acutely feel their own shortcoming.

  Sam gave my arm a gentle tug, pulling me along toward the food tables. “Have you thought of an angle for your piece?”

  Since she’d already assumed that whatever I wrote it would be flattering to the company, I was tempted to tell her my article would be titled “Our Murdered Earth.” But I continued with my lies, delivering the conversation right where I wanted it. “Geared more for locals than tourists, it’ll be a verbal vignette, a glimpse into the life of a logger. Lumberjacks have always had a starring role in Americana. Men admire their masculinity while women are attracted to their strength, but that’s the glory of the job. I want to capture the grit of it, a real slice of a day in the life of a logger. It’d be best if I interviewed someone who’s been working at SL&S for years.” I hadn’t meant to pontificate, but Sam’s beaming approval and friendly regard had egged me into elaborating.