Tempest in the Tea Leaves Page 2

  I hopped out of bed, tossed on my thick terry-cloth robe, and padded in fuzzy slippers all the way downstairs. At the bottom, I stopped short. The cat sat on the hardwood floor, looking at me. “Wait a minute, you were just upstairs. How’d you beat me down here?”

  Again with the quiet, piercing stare. At least this time, his ear twitched.

  “Aha, I saw that.” I pointed at him. “You really are alive and not some stuffed animal or, worse, a figment of my imagination. I’m on to you. You’re not so tough there, buster.”

  He blinked, like he was getting tired of our game, and turned around to walk regally to the living room and take up residence on the sofa as though he owned the place. Guess that meant he’d decided I was harmless as well.

  I chewed my bottom lip, tapping my slipper on the cold wooden planks as I studied him. Something about this feline called to me. Something that said he was different and all alone in this world, but I still couldn’t fathom how that could be. It might actually be nice to have someone around to keep me company, I decided. Only he wasn’t mine. What if he really did belong to someone else?

  I shivered, feeling the morning chill, and went over to stoke a fire in the fireplace. Glancing at the cat, I did a double take. I could have sworn he arched a brow at me.

  “Oh, please, a little confidence here,” I said, and once the fire was roaring to my satisfaction, I gave the cat a satisfied smirk.

  He turned his head in the other direction, the little stinker.

  I went into the kitchen, picked up the phone, and was greeted with a dial tone. Yes, it was working! I called the real estate agent’s office, and Rosemary answered on the first ring.

  “Oh, Rosemary, thank God.”

  “What’s the matter, sweetie? I knew it was a bad idea to let you buy that old place.”

  “I’m fine, Rosemary, there’s just something I need to ask you.” I peeked around the corner at the cat, and he pierced me with an accusing look. I shrugged as though I had no choice and then ducked back behind the wall where he couldn’t see me.

  “Fire away,” she said.

  “Well, I seem to have inherited a cat along with the house.” I turned around and jumped out of my skin, letting out a yelp.

  He sat on the kitchen floor at my feet, his black eyes narrowed.

  “A cat? What cat? And why did you yell? Do you need me to call animal control?”

  “No!” I took a deep breath, my hand on my chest, then said, calmer, “No, I’m fine, really. I thought I saw a mouse.” A lie.

  And there went the cat’s eyebrow again.

  I frowned as I continued. “I’m wondering if the cat belongs to anyone in town. He’s bright white with jet-black eyes, and really big. Not overweight big, but really built for a cat, I guess you could say. Very svelte and sleek. Quite lovely in a spooky, eerie, masculine sort of way.”

  The cat puffed out his furry chest and started licking his paw. He looked as though he could understand what I said and was pleased. He had quite the personality, I was finding out, and I couldn’t help being amused.

  “Honey, I’ve lived here all my life. No one in town owns a cat like that. Must be a stray, though I can’t for the life of me figure out how he got inside that old house.”

  “Still, I’d hate to take him away from some poor soul who might be missing him,” I responded. “He’s quite a character.”

  The cat shot me a look I could have sworn was a scathing response to my sarcasm.

  Rosemary sighed as though in defeat. “I’ll put some flyers around town for you if you want. If no one claims him in a week, I say keep him. You could use an ally in that death trap.”

  I giggled. “It’s not like he’s a watchdog.”

  The cat stopped cleaning himself, gave me a disgusted look, and pranced out of the kitchen with his head held high.

  “Either way, he’s better than nothing. You never know if all them ghost stories are true.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Rosemary.” I hung up and added cat food, toys, a scratching post, bed, and litter box to my shopping list, secretly praying no one would claim him. Like it or not, we’d somehow bonded, and I didn’t plan to give him up without a fight.

  Later that day, I left the cat on the couch by a well-stoked fire with a small bowl of water, and then I headed into town. I tried to ignore the signs posted about the mysterious cat found out at the old Victorian house on Shadow Lane. Rosemary hadn’t wasted a moment in respecting my wishes, even though I secretly prayed no one would claim the cat. He felt like a sibling, something I’d never had. For some reason, I already felt closer to him than I did my parents. Sad but true.

  I continued on down the street and bought a week’s worth of groceries and plenty of cat supplies, meeting a few residents along the way. The last stop I made was at the hardware store. I bought supplies for my sanctuary’s makeover and ordered a sign to be hung above my front door, then headed home.

  “Home,” I whispered, smiling. I liked the sound of that.

  After spending all week redecorating my sanctuary and waiting for the phone to ring from someone claiming the cat, Rosemary called and said she’d taken the signs down.

  The cat was mine.

  I stared at the feline, knowing in my gut I was more his than he was mine, and decided I couldn’t keep going around calling him “cat.” But what on earth was I going to name him? I paced my living room as he sat watching me from his usual perch on the sofa.

  Glancing into the kitchen, it dawned on me that in the entire week of knowing him and trying to care for him, he’d pretty much continued to care for himself. He hadn’t touched his food or water, hadn’t played with his toys, and hadn’t slept in his bed. No one in town had ever heard about or seen him, yet he’d been in the house alone for months before I’d moved in.

  It was almost like he was immortal.

  I stopped pacing and stared at him. That was it. I grinned. The perfect name.

  “I’m going to call you Morty,” I said.

  Morty looked at me for a full intense moment, and then he meowed for the first time since I’d met him. I swear if I didn’t know better, the corners of his lips tipped up a smidgen.

  “Morty it is, then. It’s you and me, pal, because from here on out, I guess we’re in this together.” I reached out to scratch behind his ears.

  And he let me.

  2

  “Tell me now! Please, I have to know. You have to help me!” A woman with long auburn hair half falling out of its updo barged through my front door at 5 P.M. Monday evening, a gust of wind and snow swirling in on a cloud of crystals behind her. She stood there, staring at me all wild-eyed in her disheveled dove gray suit, looking on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “What do you see?”

  A psycho crazy lady, I wanted to say, but I could tell she was seriously upset. Something told me those words would push her right over the edge. I pasted on my most comforting smile and said, “It’s okay, calm down.” I hurried to close the door, shutting out the frigid evening temperatures. January in upstate New York could be brutal, and this lady hadn’t even worn a winter coat. It looked as though she’d simply walked out of her house in a panic, and in the dark, no less. “Why don’t you come warm yourself by the fire and tell me how I can help you?”

  “Y-Your sign says Sunny’s Sanctuary. Is that you? Are you Sunshine Meadows, the fortune-teller?” She stood rigid in the same spot, wringing her hands.

  If this was Crazy Lady’s idea of calming down, I was a little alarmed to find out what the rest of my customers would be like. “Slow down for both our sakes. Don’t make me pull out my Valium.” I winked, only half kidding.

  Crazy Lady did not look amused.

  “All righty, then. Yes, I’m Sunshine Meadows, but everyone calls me Sunny.” I’d only been here just over a week, yet people already knew my name and what I did for a living. I’d call that a success. “And you are . . . ?” I asked, gently taking her arm and carefully guiding her into the fron
t parlor.

  “Oh, sorry. I’ve had a rather rough week.” She held out her hand. “My name is Amanda Robbins, and I’m the town librarian.”

  We shook hands, and then she sat down in a high-backed chair. She stared into the fire, reflecting on something that obviously troubled her, judging by the frown lines surrounding her mouth. I sat in the matching chair, giving her a moment to gaze into the crackling orange and yellow flames until she calmed down a bit.

  Morty wasn’t the only thing keeping me here. Something about this mystical town called to me, as though the universe was telling me this was where I belonged. The people here needed me. I peeked at my troubled guest and knew in my gut the universe was right.

  “Yoo-hoo, Ms. Robbins, you in there?”

  She looked at me and blinked.

  “Ah, there you are. Good.” I gave her a cheeky grin. “Now, why don’t you tell me what has you so upset?”

  She took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you, but I’ll pay you whatever you want. Please, you have to read my fortune and tell me what’s going to happen to me.” Her chest began to heave again, and there went those fidgety hands.

  So much for calm. “Okay. Keep in mind the more relaxed you are, the clearer my vision will be.” She nodded once and took a shaky breath as I stood up. I was determined to put her at ease however I could. “Come with me.”

  “Y-You do your readings in this house?” She looked around a little warily as though just now realizing where we were. “Don’t you find it . . . you know . . . creepy?”

  “Of course I do my readings here. I live here.” I took in the same walls that had freaked her out. “I don’t find this old house creepy at all. I find it comforting.” The pipes groaned, the walls creaked, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “No worries,” I said to Ms. Robbins. “The house has more bark than bite, I’m finding out.”

  The librarian yelped, lifting her feet off the floor. “What was that?”

  “Don’t mind him, that’s Morty.” I picked the pristine white cat up off the floor and deposited him on the couch. “He was here when I moved in, all alone with no collar. I guess he’s decided to let me stay.” I gave him a stroke and then sat back down.

  “I’ve never seen a cat so white with eyes so black before.” She shivered as Morty kept his cold, dark stare focused on her.

  “I know, he’s kind of intimidating, but he has a way of growing on you.”

  She shivered. “I don’t know about that.”

  “He won’t bother you.” I shot Morty a look that said, Be good. He twitched his lips, making no promises. Shaking my head with a half smile, I met the librarian’s eyes as I said, “Follow me. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

  She followed me without saying a word into the room I’d set aside specifically for my fortune-teller business. Parting the strands of crystal beads, we entered my sanctuary.

  “Oh my. It’s rather charming . . . and unexpected.” Ms. Robbins’s lips parted slightly as she scanned the small, cozy room, her flowery perfume mixing with the scent of my aromatherapy oils.

  I’d painted the walls a soft, pale blue meant to relax the seeker while the seer—that would be me—reads his or her fortune. New age music poured quietly out of the speakers, a tropical fish tank bubbled away in one corner, a fireplace popped and crackled in the other, and various green plants and herbs were scattered about. Constellations covered the ceiling in a dazzling imitation of the universe, and when I dimmed the lights, they glowed—my favorite part. And last but not least, my fortune-teller paraphernalia sat on shelves in the other corner.

  “Please sit down,” I said, pointing to the old-fashioned tea table in the center of the room. When she sat, I plopped down across from her and reached out. “Put your hands in mine.”

  She swallowed loudly. “O-Okay.”

  “Good,” I said in encouragement. “Now close your eyes and breathe deep, letting your body relax from the top of your head down to your toes.”

  When she did as I told her, I closed my own eyes and breathed slow and deep until I went into a meditative trancelike state. About ten minutes into the process, I felt the librarian relax, and just like that, I knew which psychic tool would work best on her. It always happened that way for me.

  “Tea leaves.” I squeezed her hands and let go.

  “Excuse me?” Her eyelids fluttered open.

  “Certain psychic tools work better on certain people. You, my dear, are a tea leaf sort of girl.” I nodded once with conviction, then got up and went over to my supply shelf.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “Because I need you to be accurate.”

  “Trust me. I’ve always had a gift of seeing into the future. I’ve simply found certain tools enhance my visions. I’ve never been wrong before.” I bypassed my crystal ball, tarot cards, pendulum, and astrology and palm reading charts and finally found my special batch of homegrown tea leaves.

  “My readings always come true. I admit I sometimes have trouble interpreting them. That’s something I’m working on. But in the end, the true meaning eventually reveals itself.” I returned to the table and set my supplies down. Right next to the lovely ancient china tea set I’d found in Vicky’s kitchen.

  “Ready to get started?” I asked.

  “More than you’ll ever know.” She exhaled heavily, and I couldn’t help wonder what could possibly be so bad.

  “Fabulous!” I tried to inject some positive energy into her gloomy mood. “First I need you to brew the tea.”

  “All right.” She glanced around. “Where are the tea bags?”

  “Oh, I never use tea bags.” I shook my head. “The bigger the tea leaf, the better the shape. I have my own special batch I put together right here.” I pushed the canister in front of her. “Place the loose tea leaves in this small white cup while I boil the water.”

  She did as I told her and when the whistle on my teakettle blew and steam billowed into the air, I brought the kettle over to the table and set it on a hot plate. “Now pour the water into the cup and stir the tea with a spoon as it brews.”

  Again she followed my instructions, and I watched carefully. I’d learned over the years that a skilled seer could interpret signs right from the start of the brewing process. For example, if any tea leaves spilled, it was a good sign.

  Unfortunately, everything stayed inside the cup.

  A sudden feeling of doom saturated me. Not good. I stifled the urge to groan and continued the ritual. She set her spoon on the saucer. “Whoops, I didn’t see you already had a spoon there. Sorry for dirtying a second one.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Congratulations.”

  “About what?”

  “You’re having twins.”

  She gasped. “How’s that possible?”

  “Two spoons on the same saucer.” I squinted into the cup and then realized I’d spoken too soon. “Whoops, hang on a sec. It’s not twins I see, but”—I paused and swallowed a gasp—“twin tumors.” I bit my lip. So much for good news. “I’m so sorry.”

  She pursed her lips and lifted her chin a notch. “I’m fine, and I trust you’ll keep this confidential. The doctor is the only one who knows, and miracles happen every day. Let’s continue, shall we?”

  “I won’t say anything,” I said, hating this part of my job. I cleared my throat. “Okay, then. Drink the unstrained tea and think about exactly what it is you wish to know. When you only have a teaspoon of liquid left, stop.”

  She sipped the tea. “Wow, this is surprisingly delicious.”

  “Thanks”—I think—“but focus. Concentrate on nothing else except what you want to know.”

  I continued to watch, her brow furrowing as she drained most of the cup. “Now what?”

  “Hold the cup in your left hand and swish three times in a counterclockwise motion. Then tip the cup upside down on the saucer, allowing the excess liquid to drain. Hand me the cup when you are finished.”

  The
woman did as I requested. I held her cup carefully in my hands, with the handle pointing toward the librarian, and read the pattern of the tea leaves.

  Starting at the handle, I worked my way around the cup in a counterclockwise motion from the rim to the bottom. Leaves to the left of the handle represent the past and to the right of the handle represent the future. Leaves at the top of the cup near the rim represent the immediate future while those at the bottom represent the distant future.

  I puckered my brow. There were no leaves at the bottom of the cup, but a feeling in my gut told me it didn’t have anything to do with her tumors.

  “What’s wrong?” Ms. Robbins asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I felt that feeling of doom spread to my every cell. “Let me concentrate and keep looking.”

  “Sure,” she said, but from the corner of my eye I could see she was back to wringing her hands again.

  Tea leaves provide two sets of patterns. The images that appear in the white space are positive and good, while the images that appear in the tea leaves are negative and bad. I cleared my head, staying focused, and concentrated hard on the shapes before me, so my clairvoyant mind could interpret them correctly.

  A single large clump of tea leaves across from the handle indicated there was trouble ahead and someone else was causing it. There was a distinct long white stalk representing a white man. I took that to mean a man was the one causing the trouble.

  “What?” she fairly shrieked. “I can’t take it anymore, just tell me.”

  “You asked for it,” I muttered. “Brace yourself now. I see trouble ahead. Trouble involving a man.” I squinted harder. “And I see a deer, which means a dispute or quarrel, probably with this man. I also see a flag, which means danger from wounds inflicted by this enemy.”

  “Yes, he’s wounded me. He broke my heart, but I wouldn’t call him an enemy. He needs time to come around. He would never hurt me.”