Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I’m going to take a break to have lunch with Brock. I’ll take this over.”
“Got it.” Maya turns to the next customer in line. “May I help you?”
I grab the sandwich—roast beef and cheddar on rye—and head toward the table where Brock sits.
“Here you go.” I set the plate in front of him.
“Thanks.” He takes a drink of his spring water. “You sounded pretty serious on the phone. What’s going on?”
“Remember that weird text I got?”
“With the Star Wars thing? Yeah.”
“It turns out that Brendan got the same message.”
Brock lifts his eyebrows. “What?”
“Yeah. Only it didn’t come to Brendan or to his dad. It came as an email to Hardy Solomon at the sheriff’s office. It was the same message. Darth Morgen is alive. And then underneath it said Ask the Murphys.”
Brock frowns. “Okay.”
“So I need to ask you. What do the Murphys have to do with all of this?”
Brock attempts to open the small bag of kettle cooked potato chips that came with his sandwich. The bag tears, and chips go flying.
“Crap. Sorry about that.”
“Nice save. You going to answer me?”
Brock shoves a chip into his mouth. Crunches noisily and swallows. “The Murphys? Honestly, we don’t really know yet.”
I inhale, let it out slowly. “Okay. Don’t be mad at Brendan, but he told me a little bit about what you guys found under his floorboards.”
“What he found under his floorboards. Before he called Dale and Donny in.”
“Why Dale and Donny?”
“Probably because they’re the closest to his age. You know he and Dale were in the same high school class, right?”
“Right.” Of course I know that. I’ve been deliberating on our age difference, and apparently so has Brock.
“Then I got involved because they went to my father.”
“Why not go to their own father?”
“I don’t know. Because my dad’s the big patriarch and all? Whatever.”
“I guess that makes sense. Sort of.” I cock my head. “But seriously, what’s going on? I know you and Uncle Joe have been researching ever since Uncle Talon got shot.”
Brock nods. “I’m not sure how much I can tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because we haven’t actually talked to your dad about it yet.”
“Why not?” I say again.
“I don’t know. Your mom and dad are getting ready to have their twenty-fifth anniversary. Nobody wants to rain on their parade, you know?”
“So you’re sure nobody else knows?”
“Uncle Bryce knows because he and my dad tell each other everything. And Uncle Talon knows because he’s the one who got shot. And Dale and Donny know.”
“Aunt Marjorie?”
“I doubt it. Uncle Bryce probably hasn’t wanted to unload this on her.”
“Unload what?” I shake my head and huff. “I’m sick and tired of being kept in the dark here. And I’m pretty sure I can speak for my dad. He’s not going to feel great that his brothers left him out of this.”
Brock wrinkles his forehead.
“Brock?”
“What?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
Except he’s lying. I love my cousin. I’m closest to him and Dave of all my cousins because of our age. Having grown up with him, I know him almost as well as he knows himself.
So I know he’s lying to me.
But I also know he wouldn’t lie to me unless he had a good reason.
“Brock…”
He clears his throat. “You need to talk to your father. And your mother.”
“What? Why? You just said they don’t even know what’s going on.”
He munches on another chip and drops his gaze to his barely eaten sandwich. “Right. Yeah, I wasn’t thinking. I’m not at liberty to say anything more.”
I stand. “Enjoy your lunch, Brock.”
Brock reaches a hand to me. “Ava, come on. Sit back down.”
“Why? So you’ll tell me you can’t talk to me? You, Dave, and I have been talking to each other since we were in diapers.”
“If it’s any consolation, I haven’t let Dave in on this either.”
I roll my eyes and sit back down across from him. “That’s no consolation at all.”
“Let me talk to my dad. Okay?”
“No. Not okay.” I stand again and walk back to the counter. “I need to take a quick break,” I tell Maya. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
I strip off my apron, throw it in the hamper full of dirty aprons to wash later, and head toward the door that leads to my place. I unlock it quickly, walk up the stairs, wash my hands in the sink, and then go to my mahogany bureau. On top sits the wooden box where I keep my cards.
I unwrap my grandmother’s scarf, shuffle the cards, and then clasp them to my heart.
I close my eyes, picture a pink cloud of warmth surrounding me and the cards, infusing my spirit into them.
I want to know what’s going on, and I need some guidance.
I sit down at my small table and prepare to do a spread.
The Celtic cross spread is the most common spread used in tarot readings, but it’s not the one I use the most. It’s a complex spread of ten cards. I do use it, but only when I have at least an hour to do a detailed interpretation.