A Sixer of Tequila Read online

  “I’d love to.”

  Miss Elva slid a slim tablet from her purse and tapped the screen, swiveling it in her lap so I could look at the website she pulled up.

  ELVA. Her name – first name only, mind you – was affixed to the top of the website in stark black against a white backdrop. Below, the website exploded into color as a river of shimmering crystals moved across the screen before dripping into images of caftans available for sale. Each caftan was starkly different and beautifully rendered, and there was enough variety that even the most conservative of people could comfortably test the waters with Miss Elva’s designs. In short, she’d done a fantastic job.

  “Miss Elva, I’m speechless! You’re an honest-to-goddess fashion designer. These are so beautifully done. I can already see a few I’d want. You know, I was expecting more flash and… I don’t know, I guess, wild designs from you. But these are you, just toned down a bit. Like…you, but translated for others.”

  “That’s exactly it, honey. I know not everyone has the oomph that I do to pull off my looks, you get what I’m saying? I told that designer he’d better show me watered-down designs of me, and then I sent him about a hundred photos of my most favorite looks. And, well, he took it in stride and delivered. Though I did insist on a few that were just me. Because, come on, I can’t be the only one fabulous enough to pull this off.” Miss Elva clicked on a caftan image that exploded in sparkles, an intricate design of butterflies against a leafy green backdrop.

  I had to agree – not everyone could pull it off. But everyone would wish they could.

  “I’m really proud of you. I’ll admit, I struggled with the trucker hats, as I thought you were being a little fame-hungry. But this? This is beautiful. You’ve really created something special here,” I said, tapping the tablet.

  “The trucker hats were just to help me get a down payment on these, child. You think I can’t see the future? I knew the hats would be a flash in the pan, so I wanted to make money fast. But my designs? Well, these are my legacy. Elva is going to be a resort-wear brand that anyone who’s anyone will know to buy. Trust me, this is going to be a hit.”

  “I don’t doubt it. They are stunning. I’m really proud of you. You’re going to be a smashing success with these! Are you happy with your designer? And the company producing them?”

  “I am. I even went and met the people sewing the clothes. It’s important to me that I see it from the ground up.”

  “When do you launch?”

  “Two months or so. I can’t wait.”

  “Everyone’s going to see how amazing my lovemountain is,” Rafe said, hovering by Miss Elva’s shoulder.

  “I think we already knew how wonderful she is.” I straightened, squeezing her shoulder before resuming my post by the railing. “Now, who is the orange doughnut?”

  “He’s called the Flamingo King. Can you even believe it?” Rafe shot around the porch, warming to his favorite emotion – outrage. “What kind of self-respecting man calls himself the Flamingo King?”

  “I… I’m at a loss, I’ll admit.”

  “Oh, hush up, now. He is the Flamingo King. As in, he sells flamingos as his business.”

  “Live ones? Can you do that?”

  “No, honey, like the one that was stolen today. He sells them to amusement parks, golf courses – anybody, really. In all sizes, shapes, and types – flamingo floaties, flamingo statues, flamingo yard ornaments. You name it, he’s got it. Well, flamingo-themed, that is.”

  “Is that… well, is that profitable?”

  “Child, sho is. He has himself a nice little island estate in the Bahamas and a massive yacht to sail on.”

  “Huh, who would’ve thunk it? So, I presume it’s his stolen flamingo that’s the gossip of the day?”

  “So it seems.”

  “And what do we know about it?”

  “Nothing at the moment. But I suspect we’ll be finding out more as the days unfold. Speaking of, I made you something,” Miss Elva fished in her purse and held up a small burlap bag wrapped in twine with a little blue bead attached.

  “Oh shit. Why do you think I need gris-gris? No, I don’t want it.” I stubbornly crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Ungrateful wench,” Rafe muttered.

  “Silly woman,” Rosita agreed.

  “I think they’ve accurately summed up my thoughts,” Miss Elva said, still holding up the gris-gris. Sighing, I reached out, took it, and tucked it in my pocket, feeling the thrum of power pulse from the small bag. “You know the rules. Keep it with you and all that. You remember what happened the last time you didn’t.”

  “I remember, though I’d like to forget it.” I shuddered at the memory of a fish eating Renaldo’s eyeball on the dive where we had found his dead body. It was a scene that I wished I could erase from my brain, and had woken me up more than a time or two at night.

  “You can’t stop the rain, but you can bring an umbrella.”

  “So, you’re saying a storm’s coming?”

  “Storm’s a-comin’ indeed, child. I’d warn Luna as well.”

  “On it.”

  Chapter Three

  The rest of the ride home from Miss Elva’s was less than pleasant, though a lovely sunset painted the sky above me a stunning pink, and a light breeze cut the heat that had accumulated during the day. As usual, two pointy little ears poked over the windowsill of my house. Hank’s internal radar apparently went off whenever I got within a block of home. No matter what time of day I came home, he somehow always seemed to know.

  “Hey, buddy.” I immediately bent over and pressed a kiss to Hank’s smushface, and laughed as he bounded across the room. His little black and white body trembled in delight as he found today’s toy – a stuffed shark – and came racing back across the room, skidding to a halt at my feet. Tugging the shark from his mouth, I launched it across the room and then sniffed the air. Something smelled… well, delicious, and not like anything I’d be capable of concocting.

  “Trace? Are you cooking?”

  “That I am, lovely lady. I had a hankering for curry, plus I wanted to celebrate,” Trace said, drying his hands on a towel and gesturing to me with the wooden spoon. All long and lanky, Trace looked at home in my kitchen. His hair was pulled back in a knot and his shirt loosely buttoned so that I could see the tangle of necklaces at his throat and a teasing of the tattoo that covered his chest.

  “Mmm, this is delicious,” I all but purred, beyond happy to have someone in my house cooking for me. That’s the thing – I’m a woman of many talents. I’m a successful business owner, I can read tarot like a boss, and I can shoot some stunning underwater photography. But some of the more traditional womanly roles evaded my reach. I was a failure in the kitchen, I could rarely keep a plant alive, and housekeeping was best left to the lovely woman I hired to come in every two weeks to make sure I didn’t end up dying in a pile of dust and dirty dishes.

  “Mmm, that man is what’s delicious. I’m surprised at you, Althea. I didn’t think you had it in you to land a nice specimen like this one,” Rosita practically panted in my ear, and I almost dropped the spoon back into the curry. Stiffening, I glared over my shoulder at her. Rosita just laughed, her dark curls bouncing along with her other considerable assets as she floated across the room to examine my space, Hank trailing behind her with a – dare I say – besotted look on his face. Whenever Rafe came to visit, Hank would do everything in his power to terrorize him, a behavior I particularly enjoyed. But this ghost? If I didn’t know better, I’d say Hank was love-stricken.

  “Is everything okay?” Trace asked, looking over his shoulder to see what I was staring at. I kept forgetting he couldn’t see ghosts like I did. One reason I loved Trace was that he calmly accepted all the otherworldly things I was involved in, whereas certain past boyfriends of mine, not naming names – Cash, ahem – were a little more sensitive to the ol’ ghosts and magick hoopla that I routinely surrounded myself with.

  “Yup. Rosita’s co
me to join us for a while,” I explained, nodding to where Hank was mooning over a pink velvet chair in the corner. “Rafe’s shot his mouth off one too many times and she’s decided to visit over here. I suspect Rafe will grow bored and want her company after a bit, but for now, she’s our new houseguest.”

  “Far out,” Trace said, studying the corner where Hank had rolled on his back, his tongue lolling from his mouth. I shook my head sadly; I swear that dog had no shame.

  “Hank, you don’t just roll over for any lady who comes through the door. Have some decency, man,” Trace called, mirroring my thoughts.

  “Seriously, Hank. It’s not that kind of party,” I added, and Hank rolled over and trotted toward us, convinced that since we were in the kitchen and speaking his name, food would inevitably follow.

  “I like the furry one. He’s charming,” Rosita decided, perching on the chair.

  “Trace or Hank?”

  “Both, really. But it’s nice to have a dog around who loves you without expectation of anything but love back. It’s… a simple thing, but not something I would take for granted. Too many people had expectations of me in the past. To do so many things, to be a certain way, perform certain acts… it’s nice with a dog. They just want to give and get love. So simple.”

  Her comments made me pause. I’d liked Rosita from the moment she’d popped through into our world; she had a biting wit, and a steel backbone which I could only imagine was honed from years of running a brothel in a time where women weren’t supposed to be entrepreneurs. I hadn’t stopped to ponder the more difficult or lonely aspects of her life, and I found myself warming to her more. Even though it meant that I essentially had a third wheel in my house for an undetermined amount of time.

  “He is the gift that keeps on giving,” I agreed, bending down and producing a treat for an ecstatic Hank. I smiled as, his expectations met for appropriate dog-to-human kitchen interactions, he bounded back across the room to Rosita.

  “I don’t see why Rafe hates him so. He’s not a beast,” Rosita crooned. “Just the sweetest lovebug, isn’t he?”

  “It’s likely because Hank chases Rafe around the room and barks like he’s trying to kill him. The more Rafe races away, the more Hank gives chase. Rafe hasn’t figured out yet that it’s all a big game to Hank.”

  “I’d dearly love to see that particular spectacle.”

  “It’s great. We’ll get Miss Elva to come by soon, and Rafe will follow as he always does. You’ll be in for a treat.” I picked up a glass of red wine that Trace had poured for me, belatedly realizing that I was essentially standing in the kitchen talking to myself. Seeing the bemused expression on his face, I turned my attention to him.

  “Sorry, I know I look crazy. Rosita can’t understand why Rafe hates Hank.”

  “Because Hank reads people, or ghosts for that matter, really well.” Trace smiled to the corner where Hank once again had rolled over on his back, and had a drugged look on his face as Rosita cooed over him.

  “Anywho, back to you. Hi, how was your day, and just what are we celebrating?” I clinked my glass to his before leaning in for a lingering kiss. It was still a shock to my system that we’d moved from best friends to lovers, and I suspected Trace wanted more from me than that. For some reason, I wasn’t ready to really put a label on things, though it was well-known in Tequila Key that we were partnered up. It was just… I seemed to have an actual phobia about taking things a step further. I figured if everything was good right now, why mess it up with big steps like commitment and sharing each other’s space? I liked my space just fine. Sharing it certainly had its benefits, but alone time was precious to me. If I didn’t recharge on a regular basis from the stress of reading for clients, I’d go mental before the year was out.

  “We are celebrating a very lucrative job offer I just accepted.”

  “Wait… what? A job offer? I thought you liked your job.” I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be happy or not, as I was so proud of Trace for having built his dive business and regular clientele from scratch.

  “I love my job. I’m not leaving my job; I’m just expanding for a little while. I’ve been asked to join a luxury charter in the ABC islands, and I’ll lead all the dives.”

  “For… like, a season? A week? What does this mean exactly?”

  “This first one would be for three weeks. We’ll do a week around each island. Half the group are divers and the other half aren’t, so I’ll lead the divers while the rest shop and explore. It’s killer money, Althea, more than I could make on my own during those three weeks. Not to mention there’s a likelihood of good tips if the customers like me.”

  “Of course they’ll like you; everybody likes you.” Except Cash, I thought, the name coming unbidden to my mind. Otherwise, what I spoke was truth. Trace was kind of like Beau – handsome, approachable, and could charm just about everyone who crossed his path. His easy likeability and extreme competence in diving made him a popular dive guide, and he was often booked up far in advance these days.

  “Well, thank you, that’s sweet of you. So, do you think I should take it?”

  “You haven’t said yes? Why not?”

  “I wanted to talk it over with you. That’s three weeks I’ll be gone, potentially longer depending on the next gig.”

  “When would you leave?”

  “In two days.”

  “Two days! That’s crazy. How can anyone plan like that?”

  “Apparently the other dive master got pneumonia and doesn’t trust himself to go on a trip like that when he’s still not fully recovered. And I had blocked my calendar off so I could do some repairs on the boat.”

  “Well… then I guess it’s all meant to be. I’m excited for you!”

  “Does it bother you that I’d be gone that long?” His blue eyes measured mine over my wine glass.

  “No, of course not. I mean, I’ll miss you, but we can still talk on Skype, right?”

  “Of course. And three weeks isn’t all that long anyway.”

  “Nope, and you know I love my alone time to recharge my batteries. Hank and I will be just fine here by ourselves.”

  “And with me!” Rosita called from the corner, and I stifled a groan.

  “What was that?” Trace asked, sliding his arms around me, pulling me close so that our bodies aligned. I could feel the heat of his skin through my dress.

  “Rosita reminded me she’d be here for company.”

  Trace said nothing, only laughing into my mouth as he kissed me. He knew full well I’d be contemplating ways to banish Rosita from my house before the week was out.

  Who could blame me? A woman needs her space.

  Chapter Four

  It was a testament to my patience and my enjoyment of making a living from what I love to do that I didn’t throttle my clients by the end of the day. It had been two days since word of the stolen flamingo had run rampant through Tequila Key, like a match thrown into a bushel of hay, and now it was the first thing anyone brought up for their small talk of the day.

  Here’s the thing about small towns – you can’t just go about your day and quickly get anything accomplished. There’s a slower pace and rhythm to small towns, and much of it has to do with making time for small talk so the word doesn’t get out that you’re a rude woman who hates people. Now, if I was to be totally honest, I didn’t mind being labeled as such – I could be much more productive running my errands if everyone just steered clear of me – but alas, being a rude woman wasn’t the best for business. So I pasted a smile on my face and bit my tongue during the inevitable small talk that greeted me at the pharmacy, the market, and always at a client appointment. I found that most clients were unable to walk into my office and just get down to business. Much like sex, it was in the best interests of us both to warm up a bit.

  “A stolen flamingo? I just heard. Isn’t that something?” I murmured to Melody, a new client who hung out with the pearl-clutchers in the fancier part of town. She had crossed the track
s, so to speak, to slum it up at my shop.

  To be clear, the Luna Rose Potions & Tarot shop was my heart and I couldn’t be prouder of the work Luna and I had put in to make our individual efforts shine. I was proud of my profession, and there was nothing more rewarding than helping people on a regular basis. But I’d be a liar if I said there wasn’t a stigma or a stereotype that went with my job. And the manicured-lawn sweater-set-wearing set of Tequila Key certainly had their very vocal opinions of my profession. None of which stopped each and every one of them from scheduling a reading with me, mind you.

  But I’d be out a of a job if I told people’s secrets.

  “I worry for my safety, you know,” Melody said. She was faintly blond, rigidly conservative in a white button-down, slim khaki pants, and a loose sweater tied over her shoulders. A grimace dared to mar the Botox holding her face in suspension.

  “I don’t think you have to worry. Truly. It’s likely just some teenagers having a laugh.”

  “But what’s next? I mean… we’ve had a lot of drama for a small town lately. I wonder if we need to move somewhere safer.” Melody cast a look at me, reminding me I’d been at the heart of much of the recent drama.

  “I suspect any city has its crime, Melody. Surely there’s no need to pack up and move because of a stolen flamingo.”

  “No… I suppose that would be rash,” Melody laughed. At least I think she did; it was hard to tell with her face not moving.

  “Is that what you’d like me to focus on for your reading today? Are you considering moving to a new place and wondering if it’s the right path for you?” I handed Melody a stack of my favorite tarot cards –featuring Celtic fae illustrations – and she looked at them as though I’d handed her a tarantula.

  “Shuffle the cards and think of your question,” I prodded her gently.

  She took a deep breath before nodding once. As she shuffled, I let my mental shields drop and let myself go into my zone, filtering out her thoughts and tuning into my inner guidance that helped me lead people on a healthy path.