A Murder in Mohair by Anne Canadeo Page B

man . . . a suitable match. But some question hovers above. The Hanged Man. Indecision. Inability to take action.”
    Of course she’d guess that I’m involved with a tall man. I’m tall, right? And I’m not wearing any rings. Dead giveaway that I’m single.
    But who can’t take action . . . me or the “tall man”?
    Lucy didn’t want to ask the question; either choice would be disturbing.
    But what in the world did it matter what Cassandra Waters predicted about her life? You’re taking this much too seriously, she reminded herself. You promised that you wouldn’t, remember?
    Still, she couldn’t help meeting Cassandra’s gaze.
    â€œWhat does that last card mean?” Lucy asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
    It was a lonely-looking picture, a bit unsettling—a long, bleak figure wearing a hooded cloak and carrying a lantern.
    â€œThat’s the Hermit. Isolation. The Hermit ponders important questions, searching with his lamp for answers. It could mean this question will be resolved . . . and you are alone.” She glanced at Lucy, quickly turning more cards. “But the card could also signify a time of isolation and meditation is over and a resolution is about to be found. It could mean you should ready yourself to move out in public. Buy new clothes. Celebrate some event.”
    Lucy was about to reply, but Cassandra raised her hand. She closed her eyes and seemed to be listening to distant music . . . or distant voices. She quickly looked back at the table and turned more cards until she reached one that seemed satisfying.
    â€œHere . . . that’s what they said,” she murmured to herself. She pointed to the last card she’d turned from the third deck. “This house with garlands and dancing women? There is a celebration in your near future, a gathering of friends and well-wishers. It will be in the summer. Very soon, most likely.”
    She looked back at Lucy, seeming satisfied she’d reached the right conclusion. Or the spirits had given her the full message? “Whatever this question is, it will be resolved. You will be at ease at this point, having decided your course.”
    Lucy nodded, but still didn’t know what to make of that conclusion. Her birthday was coming, a likely date for a celebration. But she and Matt had not planned a big party, just a night in Boston at the theater and a good restaurant. Her friends had said they wanted to have a cake for her at a knitting meeting and give her gifts then.
    Everybody goes to parties in the summer—do you need to be psychic to know that?
    And everybody hopes that their questions will “soon be resolved.”
    Lucy sighed and looked back at Cassandra, who now stood beside Maggie, waiting for Lucy’s response.
    â€œDo you have any more questions?”
    Lucy shook her head. “I’m good, thanks. That was . . . interesting,” she added, feeling she should say something more.
    She looked around the table, wondering who would go next.
    Cassandra leaned over and gathered up the cards. She nodded, looking pleased and satisfied at the reading. If she sensed Lucy’s doubt and suspicion, she gave no hint. She clearly had confidence in her powers. Another method that put her act over.
    Lucy hoped her friends didn’t jump all over this Queen of Cups thing now—but she doubted they’d be able to resist. She cringed, imagining future nicknames . . . Queenie, maybe? Cassandra had nailed her with that card, but it could have been the luck of the draw.
    But it appeared that the psychic could quickly and deftly fashion an interpretation to any card that fit her eager listener, no matter which strange image rose to the top of the deck. That actually was a talent, Lucy reflected. Along with her considerable acting skills.
    Maggie went next and after her, Dana. Phoebe decided to