Peggy sat down at the undercover patio table and presented her palm. Pete the parrot patrolled her shoulder restlessly, letting out earsplitting squawks.
“Calm down, boy,” Peggy said. She took back her palm to pet her parrot. Pete settled into a sulky silence.
“Now,” Muffy said. “What’s your question?”
Helen could predict that one. Sure enough, Peggy said, “When will I win the lottery?”
Madame Muffy took Peggy’s palm and said, “I can give you some lucky numbers if you—”
She stopped suddenly, looked closely at Peggy’s palm, and turned as white as the Pier 1 wicker. “I see death,” she said. “I see death, destruction, and murder.”
Then Madame Muffy fell face-forward on the table.
Chapter 2
Helen slapped Madame Muffy’s face. The little psychic moaned, but did not open her eyes. Helen hit her again.
“Maybe I should get her a glass of water,” Peggy said.
Pete the parrot was silent, watching them with his beady, intelligent eyes.
“This is better,” Helen said.
“I didn’t know you knew first aid.”
“I don’t.” Helen slapped Muffy again. “But I feel better slapping her. She pulled a rotten trick, scaring you like that.”
“I’m not scared,” Peggy said, but her voice was high and a little shrill. Peggy was not her usual cool self.
Madame Muffy opened her eyes. She was white as unbaked bread, except for the red slap marks on her face.
“Are you OK?” Helen said.
“I must have fainted. I have low blood sugar. Please leave.”
“Can we get you some food?” Peggy said. “How about some orange juice? That’s good for low blood sugar.”
Madame Muffy turned even whiter when Peggy spoke.
“Just go,” she said, herding them toward the door. “Please.
Leave me alone. I’ll be fine as soon as you’re out of here.”
As they walked down the stairs, Peggy said shakily, “That was definitely weird. What do you think she means about seeing death, destruction, and murder?”
“She doesn’t see anything but the next buck,” Helen said.
“At the store she told me I was Russian.”
“She was trying to hit me up for money for lucky lottery numbers, but then she turned strange. What if she actually saw my future?”
Helen picked up Peggy’s palm and said, “I see you winning the lottery and splitting six million dollars with your best friend, Helen.”
Peggy laughed, although she still sounded shaky. “How about giving me twenty bucks for lottery tickets, as an investment in my future?”
“How about a glass of wine instead?”
Helen went to her apartment and fed her cat, Thumbs.
Then she brought out a box of white wine, pretzels, a cracker for Pete, and insect repellent. Florida mosquitoes were ferocious in June. The two women sank into chaise longues by the pool and sprayed themselves into a cloud of protective poison. Helen poured two generous glasses of wine. They crunched on pretzels and talked about everything but what happened that afternoon.
“Look at the sweat running off me,” Peggy said. “What’s the temperature?”
“It was eighty when I was in the apartment,” Helen said.
“I know people complain about summer here, but the heat is worse in the Midwest. Those summers are like living in an oven. Florida heat feels soft, and there’s always a breeze. It must be the ocean.”
“Naw, it just means you’re a real Floridian,” Peggy said, crunching a pretzel. “Normal people can’t stand summer in South Florida.”
“I haven’t lived here long enough to be a real Floridian.”
“Nobody is
Helen reached for another pretzel and started to hand one to Pete.
“No, don’t. He’s on a diet. He gained two ounces,” Peggy said. Pete gave an indignant squawk.
Helen took a serious sip of wine before she asked her next question. “How long do you think Madame Muffy has been in Florida?”
“She’s got to be a new arrival,” Peggy said. “She’s still pukey pale with a sunburned nose. Anyway, she wears shoes.”
“Deck shoes.”
“Still, if she spent any time here at all, she’d switch to sandals.”
“Why did Margery rent to her?” Helen said.
“I think our landlady needed the money,” Peggy said.
“That apartment was vacant for months.”
“I don’t understand that,” Helen said.
“Nobody wants to live in these old places anymore, except nuts like us who think they have character. The window air conditioners are noisy and there are always heat pockets. The rooms are small and the terrazzo floors are ugly.
The jalousie doors leak. The bathrooms are old-fashioned and the kitchens are cramped. Most people would rather rent the new condos. The walls are made of cardboard, but they have all the modern conveniences.”
“That explains why we’re here. But what about Madame Muffy? She strikes me as a modern-convenience type.” Peggy intoned, “Only she knows. Only she can tell,” and laughed. This time it sounded genuine.
By the second glass of wine, Madame Muffy’s dramatic scene seemed funny. The two women talked until ten, when the mosquitoes began dive-bombing their arms and ankles.
“It’s time to go in before I’m eaten alive,” Peggy said. She swatted another mosquito. It left blood on her arm.
“Yuck. Good night,” Peggy said. Pete squawked goodbye. Helen packed up the wine, the pretzels, and the useless insect repellent, and walked across the lawn to her home.
The Coronado looked romantic under the subtropic stars.
Palms whispered in the soft air. The bougainvillea shook more blossoms into the turquoise pool.
Helen inhaled the sweet, sticky scent of burning marijuana from her next-door neighbor. She’d never seen Phil the invisible pothead, but she always knew when he was home.
Helen opened her front door and was hit with a wave of trapped heat. She flipped on her air conditioner so it would be cool enough to sleep. It sounded like it was about to take off. Water dripped steadily down one side.
She loved her furnished apartment, but she had to admit the fifties decor was not everyone’s taste. She could imagine what her suburban St. Louis neighbors would think of the boomerang coffee table, the lamps that looked like nuclear reactors, and the turquoise Barcalounger.
She knew exactly what they’d say about Helen living in two rooms with a drippy window air conditioner. But she was happier here than she’d ever been in her twelve-room St. Louis house, with her perfect Ralph Lauren fabrics and her imperfect husband. She liked the people at the bookstore better than the ones at her high-powered
