Unraveling James Read online

  Well, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going anywhere until someone told her fortune. She was far too used to swallowing her pride to let a little tumble scare her away. If they were testing her patience, she’d pass the test no problem.

  She started walking around the room again, worried she might resort to biting her fingernails if she didn’t, and twenty-eight was far too old for anyone to be putting her fingers in her mouth. The little cups did a decent job of distracting her as she admired them from afar, wondering what countries they might be from. She only bumped lightly into a table or a chair while she kept her distance, wondering if Mr. S. U. was there for tea or to have his fortune told.

  Something told her he wasn’t the type to shop for either.

  One of the sisters finally emerged and Phoebe got a look at a dark wood door that closed on the other side of the drape. That might have accounted for them not hearing the bell, but she would have expected them to come running when it sounded like an animal was running loose in the same room as their antique china.

  The sister—which one she couldn’t have guessed—gave her a little wave and a wink, then hurried to the front of the store with her blue bell-bottoms flapping. Phoebe listened to the tumble and rumble of conversation between the two, and when she couldn’t pick out any words, she carefully circled back to her table.

  The morning chill had melted from her bones and the dim room was now warm, either from the lights along the walls, her modest spurt of aerobics, or from knowing just who stood out by the cash register. She could only hope that, if he had watched, he hadn’t watched for long.

  She shrugged off her sage cotton jacket and draped it over her chair. Then she unwound the scarf from her neck. Three loops. All close to her skin, keeping her warm, covering the spot where any necklace might have hung. Only she wasn’t wearing a necklace—with or without her name…

  CHAPTER THREE

  Though James would have liked to ignore all the clutter and knickknacks displayed around the small showroom of The Enchanted Tea Cup, he couldn’t help himself. It was carefully honed instinct that made him notice the reflection in a mirror that revealed the baseball bat beneath the counter. And behind a strand of small paper triangles, a small camera recorded his every movement.

  A hand mirror with flaking yellowed paint would make a weapon in a pinch, either to stab a foe with the handle, or knock out the glass and cut them deep and quick.

  Just instincts, he reminded himself. He knew better than to label the old gals as harmless, but he didn’t expect a physical fight coming.

  “Who are you calling old?” A woman’s voice crackled on an antique intercom. “We’ll be with you shortly, Mr. Ferguson, but you’ll have to be patient.” Then the sound cut off.

  Mind-readers. He would need to tread carefully. And patient? Yeah, sure. He could be patient. As long as no one turned the welcome sign and invited more witnesses into the building. There was still the one he needed to get rid of—the uncoordinated one in the next room.

  The shop was possibly twenty feet in width, but he began pacing anyway. Anticipation of the coming conversation dumped adrenaline into his bloodstream and he couldn’t sit still if he wanted to. Four steps, turn. Four steps, turn. Damn his long legs anyhow.

  Finally, one of the sisters parted the heavy curtains and joined him. She gave him a knowing smile that alleged she’d either been reading his mind, or she wanted him to believe she could.

  “How about both,” she said, then gestured to a chair near the door. He shook his head and mirrored the gesture. She nodded and took the seat. “We know why you’ve come, James.”

  He sighed and forced his fingers into his back pockets. “You’re trying awfully hard to convince me you can read my mind. Me thinks thou doth profess too much.”

  She laughed. “I don’t need to read your mind, dear. Quinn Ross called. On the telephone. He said he’d refused to help you and he didn’t like the look in your eye. He guessed you’d either try to break into Castle Ross, or you’d come looking for us.”

  James tried to think nothing whatsoever so the woman would have no information to hold against him. No confessions. At least, not yet.

  “Madame—”

  “Lorraine, please.”

  “Lorraine, then. I would like to speak alone with ye and yer sister. Perhaps ye can send the dark-haired lass for a bit?”

  “If you’re talking about the woman in the tea room, she’s a paying customer—”

  “Fine. I’ll pay better, whatever ye ask. Only I’d prefer to have done with all the waiting, if ye don’t mind—”

  “I do mind. And my sister minds. And our customer minds most of all. She’s been anxiously waiting for this day, and we’re not going to disappoint her.” She narrowed her eyes at him for a second or two, then got to her feet. “Now. If you think you can behave yourself—”

  “Behave?”

  “You can come inside for a cuppa while you wait. I won’t have you eavesdropping, James.” She frowned and looked at his hips. “Surely you’ve got a pair of ear-thingees? You can listen to something until we finish with her.”

  “Earphones. Yes, I have them. Perhaps, if ye wish to pass yerselves off as women who are younger than ye truly are, ye should learn some of the vernacular, aye?”

  “Younger than we are?” She got up in his face. “Just how old do you think... Never mind.”

  “Eighty, if you’re a day.”

  Her eyes widened and he snapped his lips shut. What had he done? Those wide eyes narrowed quickly, then all expression faded from her face and the wrinkles around her lips smoothed out again.

  “Are you sure you want to wait around, Mr. Ferguson? You’re probably wasting your time, you know—”

  “Thank ye. I’ll wait.” Again, he was careful to keep the stage of his mind as empty as possible. To show his hand to a couple of mind-readers would be as foolhardy as—

  “Calling any woman old,” she muttered.

  Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  He thought of nothing but that one little word as he followed her into the tea room.

  Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  “Choose a cup, James, and dig out those earbuds, would you, dear?” Lorraine pulled another curtain aside and slipped through a doorway beyond. Clearly, he would have to do as he was told, like some wet-eared lad, or he would never have the discussion he’d come for. So he stepped over to the wall of cups she’d waved at.

  Surely, she hadn’t intended for him to use one of the fancy ones. And yet, she’d gestured to the display facing him. Not an everyday cup to the bunch.

  Wary of choosing something too delicate, lest he break it and spend eternity burning in some fire of their revenge, he chose one with a thicker handle and a nice fat rim with a gold line running around it. The rest was bright blue except for a small white panel in the center with a hand-painted, garish little scene.

  He held it around the rim. Sturdy handle or not, when a large man like him lifted his pinkie, someone might get knocked on their arse. The image forced his head to turn toward the last someone he’d seen knocked on their backside, and he found Lorraine’s customer staring at him.

  No. Not staring at him, but at the cup he held in his hand.

  She grimaced. “That’s the one I picked out, actually. Would you mind choosing another?”

  He didn’t understand, and told her so.

  “I guess it doesn’t really matter,” she said, studying the lace beneath her hands. And just when he thought she’d said all she’d intended to say, she looked up at him again. “It’s just that they told me to choose carefully. And I kind of,” she shrugged her shoulders, “I kind of got my heart set on that one.”

  He couldn’t tell if the American was pulling his leg, but he didn’t dare laugh. “So tell me, then, if ye chose it, why was it still sitting on the little shelf? Why didn’t ye claim it?”

  She lowered her chin and mumbled something at the tablecloth once more.

  “I beg yer
pardon?”

  After a long pause, she sighed and faced him. “I was afraid I might break it.” She bugged her eyes dramatically for emphasis.

  He couldn’t control his body, apparently, because his gaze flew to the spot on the floor where she’d landed amongst the chairs. She turned bright red, groaned, and pressed her face onto her folded arms.

  For no logical reason, he felt just as embarrassed for having seen her on the floor as she was for being seen. But it was too late to take that telling glance back again.

  “I beg yer pardon, lass. The cup is yers.” He strode over to the table and held it out. When she refused to look up, he set it on the lace in front of her. After a second thought, however, he picked it up again and moved it another 18 inches away from her. Then he fled back to the opposite side of the room and focused all his attention on finding another cup.

  Doesn’t matter. Any cup will do. Won’t touch the handle anyhow.

  Then a flash of blue caught his eye. “Auch! Here, ye see? A brother to the one you chose.” Her only acknowledgement was to turn her face toward the far wall and lay it on her arms again. He returned to the table he now considered safe territory. “Foul humor,” he muttered loud enough for her to overhear.

  “Stop that, James.” Lorraine emerged from the cloaked doorway carrying a tray with a teapot and service. But instead of bringing it to the table he was standing before, she carried it to the woman, who suddenly sat up, straight as a rod and cheery as a cat that had been mousing all night.

  He held up his cup. “Shall I share yer pot, then?”

  “No,” both women snapped in unison. “Lorraine will be out with another pot for you, James,” said the...more mature of the two.

  He felt every inch the petulant child. “I thought ye were Lorraine.”

  “Here I am. Have I missed something?” The second witch emerged wearing identical clothes to her sister’s and brought the promised tray. He didn’t know how they expected anyone to tell them apart, for he had yet to see them dressed differently.

  “Oh, my!” Loretta suddenly looked at her sister and summoned her to the other table with a quick nod. “The Paris cup, did you see?”

  Lorraine looked at the cup he’d placed on the lass’ table. “A lovely choice,” she said.

  Loretta then pasted a smile on her face and pointed back at him. “And James has chosen one as well.” Her tone seemed to indicate there was something significant about his choosing the same cup their customer had.

  He held it up and wiggled it, playing along. Then he dropped his smile. “Perhaps it means we would both prefer French coffee to yer English Breakfast?”

  “Not me.” The young woman reached forward with both hands and wrapped them carefully around her blue treasure. “I want tea. I want the whole package, and if that means tea, then I’ll have tea.”

  James was instantly curious—and suspicious. Just what were those two witches peddling anyway?

  “Earbuds, if you please, James. If you don’t want to wait in the street, I suggest you mind your own business.”

  The lass frowned his way when she thought the sisters weren’t looking at her. Apparently, she wasn’t any more interested in having an audience than he was. So he made a show of digging out his from a hidden pocket in his jacket, then shoved them into his ears before fiddling with his cellular. He fully intended to eavesdrop—until he received a rather sinister glance from Lorraine. At least, he thought it was Lorraine.

  In any case, he scrambled for a music file. Once he settled on a soundtrack, he automatically surveyed the room again, checking the perimeter as he always did. Naturally, his attention caught on the three women with their heads together.

  The younger lass tilted her head, lifted a brow, and stuck her tongue out at him! The sisters didn’t notice, focused as they were on pouring the tea.

  Well, she wasn’t going to scare him away with her grammar school antics, even if he had to sit there all day and pour his own damned cuppa.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The strange tea room seemed to dim as the two sisters finally ignored Mr. Scottish Universe and turned their full attention on her, but their faces brightened again when Loretta lit a small candle that sat on the tray with the teapot. She smiled as she shook the match. Her eyes sparkled with the reflection of the small flame, and Phoebe tried to press the moment into her memory.

  “Relax, my dear,” said Lorraine, then patted her forearm. “Nothing to worry over. We’ll just have a wee chat. That’s all.”

  A dull wee chat wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for. “No crystal balls?”

  Loretta chuckled. “Sorry. And we won’t be studying your dregs, either.”

  “But we do mean to help you all we can, of course,” said her sister.

  “No Tarot cards, I guess?”

  “We sell them, dear. We don’t need them.”

  Didn’t need them? That sounded promising. Confidence was a good thing.

  Loretta frowned and pointed at the cup Phoebe still held between her hands. Now that it contained tea, the sides were uncomfortably hot, but she was too nervous to let go. “Tell us, first,” the woman said, “about the cup you chose. How do you feel about it?”

  Phoebe peeled her hands away to look at it again. Loretta lifted the candle from the center of the table and set it closer, lighting up the little scene painted in the center of a white patch. For the first time, Phoebe noticed it was a couple painted with tiny strokes of gold and brown. The woman was seated and wore a wide skirt. The man towered over one of her shoulders.

  “I like this cup,” she said. “I don’t want to trade, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Lorraine patted her arm again. “No, no. We just wonder if you’ve had any particular impressions about it.”

  Loretta wiggled in her chair. “She means, does it speak to you? And if it does, what does it say?”

  Phoebe couldn’t swear it, but from the way the sisters acted, she thought Lorraine had stomped on Loretta’s toes under the table. At first, the glances the pair repeatedly shared had made her feel slightly paranoid, but after a couple of exchanges, she now suspected they were communicating, not keeping secrets from her.

  Still determined to play along, so she would finally get her fortune told, she concentrated on the cup and kind of…listened. You know, just in case. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the cup-whisperer.

  “No,” she said. “Looks like this one’s being quiet today.” She laughed at her own joke. “But it’s kind of grown on me. I thought it was too fancy for me at first and was worried I might break it. But then I thought, what the heck? It’s not like the cup could say I’m not fancy enough for it, right? Now…” She shrugged. “I guess I feel like it was meant for me.”

  There went that look again—eyes closing slightly, eyebrows lifting, a vague nod.

  Phoebe ignored it and cleared her throat. “I don’t want to seem impatient, but can we move on to something a little more exciting?”

  Loretta laughed. “Not exciting enough for her. Won’t that be a surprise—” She jumped, like she’d had her toes stomped on again. “Right you are, young lady. Let’s get this show on the road, so to speak.”

  Phoebe took a quick sip of tea, then set the cup away from her. “All right. Let me have it.”

  Lorraine picked up her right hand and held it in both of hers. “This may sound a wee bit cliché, my dear, but you’re about to take an extended trip—if you are so inclined, and if your obligations will allow it.”

  Extended trip. Okay. Sounded like a long vacation, but there was something in her voice that said it wouldn’t be all fun and games.

  Lorraine nodded. “You are right about that. No luxury hotel or any of that.” She looked at her sister, who concurred with a nod.

  Phoebe didn’t hear what was said next because she was too busy freaking out—the woman had just read her mind. No magician’s trick—she had read her mind and just carried on the conversation like nothing had happened.
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br />   “Come now,” said Loretta. “You’d already been warned we were witches. You cannot be too surprised, dear.”

  “I… I guess I didn’t believe it. Not really.” She smiled at them both. “But I had hoped, especially when you knew my name. But then you distracted me with the whole necklace thing.”

  Lorraine patted her hand again, the hand she still hadn’t let go of. Her expression was dead sober, the light from the candle shining up from the table brought out a few wrinkles that aged her ten or twenty years. A glance at Loretta showed the same phantom lines and Phoebe jerked as a shiver moved through her. She was certain Lorraine had felt it.

  “An extended trip,” she said again. “But you need not choose that path. You can leave here, seek out a source of confidence for yourself, and live a happy life…”

  Phoebe snorted. “A happy life? Can you promise me a bruise-free life? I’d rather have that.”

  Lorraine bit her lip and frowned. Loretta patted Phoebe’s other hand. “You’re a clever girl. If you pay strict attention, you’ll discover why you seem to be so clumsy. Time alone will reveal what you seek, with no help from us.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “Then this trip you mentioned? Are you saying I won’t be going? Or I will?”

  “The choice is yours,” said Lorraine. “Grace will come. Balance will come. If that is all you seek—”

  “No.” She shook her head quickly. “No, that’s not all I want.” The sisters waited for her to continue. “I want—you know—I want…” She lowered her voice and ducked her head so the guy across the room wouldn’t be able to read her lips, even if he tried. “I want what everyone wants. The fairy tale. I want to find true love.”

  She was too embarrassed to go on. True love certainly wasn’t what she thought she was after that morning when she’d left her flat. She’d been hoping for a new life, a new direction, a new Phoebe—one who didn’t fall on her butt at least three times a day, one who didn’t know all the staff at the emergency room at three different hospitals.