A Corpse in a Teacup (8 page)

Holley called Tuesday
almost as soon as the shaking stopped.

“Miss Tuesday, I don’t know what just happened. My house rocked and rocked and I felt so dizzy and then all my perfume bottles fell over. You know, the ones in the bathroom? My nerves are ripped to shreds. I think this murder business is destroying my equilibrium. You know, my balance?”

Tuesday had slumped to the floor and was focusing on breathing from her diaphragm. Earthquakes made her hyperventilate. “Holley, how long have you been in California?” Tuesday knew she hailed from a small town in the northern Great Lakes.

“I think about a year and a half. Why?”
Holley’s voice was squeaky, high pitched with nerves.

“W
e just had an earthquake. It affected everybody’s balance.”

“An earthquake?
But I thought earthquakes made buildings fall over and like that.”

“
Not small ones. Don’t cry, Holley. Hold it together. Are you hurt? Was anything else broken? I’m turning on the news.”

Tuesday was trying to remember her own centering exercises.
She was one of those people gifted at calming others in a crisis, but had to eat a tub of ice cream or down a few martinis to get her own shaky self together. Nobody’s perfect. At least, that’s what she’d tell herself coming out of a sugar hangover. It’s wasn’t as if she resorted to shoplifting as a stress buster. Like a former jobless boyfriend, whom she dumped when she discovered the source of his enviable collection of cashmere socks and upmarket hoodies.

“No.
” Holley paused. Tuesday heard her counting to ten. “I think everything else is okay. But that really shook me up.”

“Honey girl,
we have them all the time, but if you’re not standing on the epicenter and it isn’t very strong, you may not even feel it.”

Tuesday
didn’t love shakers, but they didn’t upset her as much as they did other people she knew. Friends of hers had fled the state the first time they saw their chandelier swinging. Still, a decent size temblor could send her blood pressure skyrocketing for a few minutes. So, phone in hand, she headed for the freezer and her tub of salted caramel fudge ice cream that she kept on hand for emergencies.

“
Why don’t you pour yourself a glass of wine and turn on the TV and watch a movie. That will help you calm down.”

“If you say so. But don’t you think I should clean up the perfume?”

“Oh. Did the bottles break?” She popped the lid on the ice cream quietly so Holley wouldn’t hear.

“Yeah. I had to open all the windows
because it sure smells perfumy in here.”

“Okay. Clean up the
mess and if you’re still uneasy, pour some wine. Oh, and drink it.” Today it was best to be specific with Holley. “You can call me if you’re still upset.”

“O
kay. Oh, wait a minute. Here’s a text from Roger. He wants to come over and see if I’m okay.”

The stalker. “I don’t know, Holley. I think you should practice your centering exercises. Detach from your bodily concerns. You’re gonna feel more earthquakes if you stay in Los Angeles and it would be good practice for you. You know what I always say, they can rattle your walls but they don’t have to rattle your inner self. Meditate. Do your mandala training. By yourself.”

“Well if you say so.”

Fifteen minutes later Holley called back. “Miss Tuesday, we just had another earthquake. I’m afraid the earth is going to open up and swallow me whole. I saw that happen in a movie.”

“No, Holley, it was just an aftershock
. You’ll feel a few but they will get smaller and smaller.”

Tuesday herself had recovered with only a small dent in the salted caramel. She was proud of that
.

“
I tell you what. If you have a bad night, call me first thing in the morning and we’ll go into the Café and do a reading.”

They hung up but Tuesday left the TV on. Her local station had switched from coverage of the temblor, a 3.6 with no reported injury or serious damage, to an interview with Detective Jameson about the
Ariel Cuthbert case. A reporter was asking for details. The detective was mum.

“But Detective Jameson. Can you tell us if anything was disturbed in the house that would lead you to suspect foul play?
Any suspects?”

Jameson said, “Folks, you know how this works. We have no details to report, nothing about
the condition of the premises, persons of interest or anything else. When something pops, we’ll let you know. Not trying to stonewall, we just don’t have anything to report. We are in the early stages of an investigation. That’s all I can tell you.”

Tuesday flipped o
ff the TV and finished off her salted caramel.

Tuesday would have put money on Holley calling before eight in the morning, even if the earth fell back into a peaceful slumber. She felt a slight, ever so slight twinge of guilt for not offering to come over and hold Holley’s hand. After all, the girl had been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. But, as Tuesday always reminded her clients, they might talk about big life issues, but she was not a therapist.

Tuesday’s heartbeat had returned to normal.
With her cardio system calmed down, and her guilt tucked firmly away, she allowed her disgust with plate tectonics free range. It was futile to try the pendulum again because she couldn’t be sure that minute shakings wouldn’t skew the response. How was she going to know if that flash guy at LAPD was ever going to come back into her life?

Then another thought crept
into her consciousness. She hadn’t seen this coming. None of it. Not a client under threat from a murderer, nor a new guy walking into her life and throwing her completely off kilter. And a surprise message from Tessa, her mother? Where had that come from? And by the way, why hadn’t that surprise she promised shown up? Was she on another bender and had forgotten to follow up? Contact from her mother was an earth movement of a different order of magnitude. Oh, yes. Why hadn’t she foreseen the earthquake?

Tuesday wasn’t one of those
occult practitioners who claimed they could predict the future. At least not publicly. Her tolerance for being laughed at was tested every time she told a stranger that she was an expert in tasseography. The art of reading tea leaves. The response was usually, “Oh, you mean you’re a gypsy.”

She would point out that
, no, she was a backsliding WASP. When the inquirer pursued some nonsense about being best friends with someone from Romania, or else mentioned that they’d met a gypsy once, she would say, “Do I look Indian?”

T
hat head scratcher usually shut up the most arrogant wise guy who bought into the misconception that gypsies were Romanian outcasts or a Transylvanian subculture epitomized by Count Dracula. Like, who else would read tea leaves?

When she first set up shop she would explain the origin of g
ypsies, that they migrated from Northern India in the 1300’s. By that time the eyes of her audience had glazed over, so she explained that she had a degree from a prestigious British college that certified her to practice her craft. Which was true, except that the college was set up in the kitchen of a renowned tea leaf reader in London who printed out the certificates from her computer.

Tuesday was totall
y confident in her gifts. She often saw things in her readings that could not be explained by an arrangement of leaves and stems illustrated in her teacher’s handbook. That taught her to trust her instincts.

She read her own leaves
often enough, queried the pendulum and, most important, consulted Doctor Darla when necessary. So she should have seen some of this recent chaos coming. She hadn’t been paying attention. She checked her calendar. At least her memory was still functioning. Yes, thank all she believed in, she had her monthly appointment with Doctor Darla at nine in the morning.

As predicted,
in the morning Tuesday’s phone jangled her awake at seven forty-five.

“Okay, Holley. I’ll meet you at the Café in half an hour. It’s okay.
No, I’m up. I know. You’ve been though a lot. A reading could settle you down. Well, maybe it’s a good thing Roger didn’t show up. You might have ended up taking care of him and you already have a lot on your hands. See you in a few. But I have another appointment, so we can’t dawdle.”

Usually, Tuesday arranged with Natasha beforehand when she was going to open early for a client. But this was last minute and Natasha wasn’t answering her cell. She’d work it out with her later. If it meant a few extra dollars in her till, Natasha wouldn’t mind. What could go wrong?

Holley was waiting at the door when she arrived
at the Cafe. Without saying hello she clutched Tuesday around the neck and immediately started sobbing on her shoulder. Tuesday stretched away to ask, “Has something else happened, Holley?”

“No. But it just felt like my bed was shaking all night. I was afraid the b
uilding was going to fall down. I thought my life was coming to an end.” She collapsed onto Tuesday again.

“There, there.
It was only a 3.6. You’re like the princess and the pea. Let’s make some tea.”

Tuesday knew that some people were seismophobic with extreme reactions to just the idea of earthquakes. In fact, she’d had a boyfriend who was so terrified of earth temblors that he insisted they have a long distance relationship. He lived in Kansas where they’d met at a metaphysical convention. The relationship didn’t last. Not because she minded flying to Topeka once a week. She liked scandalizing his conservative neighbors with her outfits. But when he criticized her reading technique once too often she read his leaves and said, “I see a pair of scissors. It’s time to cut this puppy loose.” She took the next plane back to Burbank and never saw him again.

So she was utterly sympathetic to Holley’s phobia. She was afraid, however, that Holley would draw out their session and eat up th
e morning with her digressions. Tuesday had her own life to take care of before she could officially open the restaurant later in the morning.

Tuesday had visions of
the Café buried in shattered glass. However, if the temblor had disturbed anything, the night crew had cleaned it up. She made the tea and rubbed Holley’s shoulders while she sipped her South African Rooibos. Tuesday liked to work with the red tea because there were so many fragments left in the bottom of the cup.

“Just focus on the matter that needs clarification.
Calm your mind. Clear your mind.”

Holley
set her half drained cup in the saucer and slumped back in the chair. “But that’s just it Miss Tuesday. Everything is muddled. I need my whole life clarified.”

Tuesday sat down in her chair. “
Okay. Then focus on clarity. Try to imagine a window that is very clear. Or a clear sky with no clouds. Whatever comes to you.”

Holley perked up. “Okay. I’m seeing a mirror
. I can see myself very clearly. I’m wearing this blue dress that really shows off my eyes. I got it on sale at The Rack. They had it in gray but I wasn’t feeling gray . . . “

“Okay, girl. That’s it.
You’ve got plenty of clarity now.” Tuesday was afraid she was going to slip off the edge with her shopping mania. “Finish the tea and we’ll get started.”

A few minutes later
Tuesday pulled out her silk scarf and began the reading.

The
leaves at the bottom of the cup were a mess, as chaotic as Holley’s temperament that morning. The first thing she looked for were obvious messages, but thankfully, no M and no bodies.

“Oh, look, Holley. Here it is again. Your bicycle.”

A bicycle, the symbol for individuality showed up frequently in Holley’s readings and always gave the actress a lift. Holley leaned forward in her chair and examined the cup. Her enthusiasm returned, showing in her smile, the little clap of her hands as she searched for the talisman. “That means I’m on the right path, doesn’t it? With my acting?”

Tuesday smiled. Despite the girl’s endless digressions and rants, w
orking with Holley always ended up boosting her mood. She had a natural buoyancy and positive outlook that was both genuine and infectious. She might not spend a lot of time thinking before she spoke, but Holley’s instincts were good. Her natural optimism never deserted her for very long, even in her most troubled moments. As when she told Tuesday she’d lost a part, for instance, or received an embarrassing review. Her native joy informed a room like the fragrance of jasmine or Daphne, intoxicating and deeply pleasurable. Tuesday hated to spoil it by pointing out negative symbols in a reading, but she had to be true to her craft.

Tuesday liked some of what she saw, but not everything. A swirl of leaves coming up from the bottom and encircling the cup was definitely a whirlwind or a tornado. To Tuesday it
meant batten down the hatches, rough weather ahead. It made her anxious for Holley’s safety. Would she be a target for the maniac going after the people attached to the movie?

She warn
ed Holley about the whirlwind, and then pointed to the bicycle, a positive image. Tuesday liked to see balance in a cup, not leave a client with a feeling of dread or, on the other hand, with their feet too far off the ground.

“Holley, do you see these
clumps? The canoe and the cannon?” Tuesday pointed to the images she saw, the canoe symbolizing a friendship turning to true love and a cannon indicating good fortune.

Holley lo
oked up at her, puzzled. She rarely saw the images that Tuesday could spot so easily. She said, “It just looks like we need to wash the cup.”

Tuesday
frowned, so she looked some more. “Do you mean the shoes and purses over here?”

Tuesday closed her eyes for a moment to come up with a reply that would not alarm her client, yet encourage her to break through her innocence and be on the
alert for trouble. For tucked between the hopeful signs was a cat. Difficulties caused by treachery.

But be
fore she could say another word, a sharp jolt sent every piece of glass in the Café chiming. Tuesday gasped at the unexpected tremor. Holley’s eyes grew wide and filled with fear. She grabbed Tuesday’s hand, unable to speak.

The shock unnerved
Tuesday, as well, but she forced a soothing tone into her voice. “Just wait a sec. It’s just an aftershock. Sometimes they can be stronger than the original jolt. Let’s see if it gets worse or calms down.”

They brea
thed anxious breaths in unison. Finally, all was still. Nothing had fallen. There was no damage in the Café. Tuesday said, “There. That wasn’t so bad. I told you about aftershocks.”

Holley began to cry. Tuesday took another peek in her cup. “Look. Here’s a life preserver. You’re going to be fine.
”

Holley searched the cup.
She had seen her own life saver. “You know the smudges that look like purses and shoes? It’s telling me to go shopping. I’m getting out of here.”

Tuesday walked Holley to her car. “Listen, if you hear anything from Detective Jameson, you call me. And keep your doors and windows locked. Not that I think anything’s going to happen to you, but you need that sense of security.”

Holley fished her keys out of her purse.
“Roger said he would come over and stay with me.’

“Honestly, hon. I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re not totally sold on him and that could create a negative aura. Not what you need.”

“You’re right, Miss Tuesday. I need some me time. I think I’ll stop by the Beverly Center and then go home and take a coconut milk soak.”

“Good idea, sweetie. Stay in touch.
”

Tuesday
locked up the Café and checked the time on her phone. If the traffic gods were with her, she’d make her appointment with Doctor Darla and be back to open the restaurant on time.

Doctor Darla’s office was right off the 405 and Tuesday arrived at the psychologist’s office with minutes to spare.

Tuesday
took the side entrance to the combined workroom and office in the lower level of Darla’s house. This avoided clients spilling into the doctor’s private living space. Doctor Darla was a psychologist with a Ph.D. who had learned to use sandplay from the famed Dora Kalff herself.

Doctor Darla was the only certified professional that Tuesday ever consulted.
While the sandplay method of therapy was not part of the occult world that she favored, Tuesday was drawn to the symbolism of the figures she placed in the sand. She trusted implicitly the pictures she created in the tray more than conventional therapy that often told her things she already knew. Olivia often told her a good therapist might do her a world of good. “
Just sayin, girlfriend. Not that I would change a multicolored hair on your head.
”

But with a
dingbat mother who liked the sauce and an absent father? What’s not to know about her cockamamie psyche, she replied.

The sounds of activity rose up the stairwell and
mingled with the doctor’s anguished voice. She called out, “Dr. Darla? Are you there? It’s me, Tuesday.”

“I’m buried, Tuesday. Help me, I’m buried.”

Tuesday ran down the stairs and turned the corner into the huge room where Darla saw her clients. The doctor was on her hands and knees surrounded by a miniature universe, her long gray hair falling over her face. Thousands of figures had tumbled onto the floor during the earthquake. Toys, miniature sculptures, dried flowers, all the small representations of the natural world that Darla had been collecting during her four-decade practice and which were essential in her work.

Tuesday could barely take a step without crushing one of the objects. The planked
floor was covered with them. She looked up at the walls, lined with bookshelves. All bare, the contents obviously shaken from their perches in the shake.

And sand everywhere. Sand was the medium that Darla used in her practice, the malleable material that clients could shape and mold as they wished. The sand held the objects
people arranged in personal worlds that represented aspects of their inner life. Darla had ten trays of sand that she used when she worked with families or held classes for psychology students at the nearby universities. Now it was all a jumble, a giant beach with figures half buried stretching across most of her playroom.

Tuesday had never seen her psychologist so distraught. “Can I help?”

“No, thanks, Tuesday. I have to figure out what to do with this mess. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Tuesday studied the disaster. “Well, I think one of the messages is to bolt your bookcases to the wall.”

Clearly
,
the other message that came to her as she headed back to the Café was that there would be no help from Doctor Darla today. This time she was going to have to sort out her tangled life on her own.