Died Blonde by Nancy J. Cohen

be.”
    Marla took the turnoff for State Road Seven heading south. Overhead, the sky darkened as the encroaching clouds blotted out the sun. “As if her message from Carolyn wasn’t enough incentive, Wilda hinted that someone close to me should see a doctor. Doesn’t that sound like a threat?”
    “Do you consider Wilda capable of harming someone?” Tally’s raised tone indicated it had never crossed her mind to include the psychic as a suspect.
    “Why else would she imply one of my relatives is ill? Couldn’t she just as well be talking about a consequence if I don’t comply?” Focusing her attention forward, Marla ignored the passing stream of used-car dealerships, gas stations, and adult video stores. This wasn’t the most scenic part of town. Like any avenue that had once been a central hub, it had gone downhill after communities expanded westward.
    “Why do you question everything she says?” Tally countered. “It’s just as likely Wilda truly communicates with Spirit.”
    “I’m grounded in reality. And I think Wilda’s words serve an ulterior purpose.” Uncomfortable with their conversation, Marla brushed a strand of hair off her face. While she conceded that psychic powers were possible, logic dictated that Wilda must have a vested interest in her cooperation. Although the reason for that eluded her, she was determined to track down the truth. She didn’t like it when people pressured her into acting on their behalf.
    Shifting in her seat, Tally gave her a sly glance. “There’s one way for you to tell if Wilda is a fake. Go to Cassadaga.”
    “What’s that?”
    “It’s a spiritualist camp in Central Florida. Residents are certified healers and mediums. They offer all kinds of classes, readings, and healing sessions. The people in my drumming circle have talked about hiring a bus for a weekend. I’m sure they’d let you join us.”
    Oh, joy. Just what I’d like to do on my day off, ride on a bus with a bunch of New Age enthusiasts beating drums in the background . Nonetheless, it was a good idea to check Wilda’s prediction against another medium’s reading, sort of like getting a second opinion from a doctor.
    “It sounds like a worthwhile trip, but I’d rather go alone. Maybe you’d like to come with me. With fewer people, we’d have a better chance at getting appointments with the mediums we wanted. Less competition,” Marla added as an incentive. She could imagine Dalton’s reaction if she invited him. Just the thought of his cynical expression made her smile.
    Her attention was diverted by the sign announcing the Indian reservation, and she scanned the area for the bingo hall. She had never been inside the place; not being a gambler, she’d always passed by without a second glance.
    The sand-colored building with burgundy awnings wasn’t as garish as the Miccosukee gaming resorts in the area. Those were gambling palaces, complete with restaurants, entertainment, and a variety of ways to lose your money. Marla never had enough disposable income to risk on games of chance—plus, she’d rather spend her excess on clothes.
    Across the street, signs offering live turtles, genuine western wear, a produce market, and a native village tempted tourists. “Look at all the pawnshops,” she said. “That must be for people who lose at the gaming tables. I wonder how many different tribes run these places.”
    “Haven’t you read your Florida history?” Tally teased.
    With a broad grin, she pulled a guidebook from her handbag. “Always be prepared, that’s my motto.” She flipped open the pages. “Ponce de Leon arrived on our shores in 1513. The Spanish explorer named the land Florida, which means ‘full of flowers’ in Spanish. At that time, about ten thousand Indians lived here. They belonged to four tribes: the Calusa and Tequesta in the south, and the Timucua and Apalachee in the northern territories.”
    “So the Seminoles weren’t here initially,” Marla said as she