"Qualify and backtrack in an attempt to keep from looking foolish. I'm a professional psychic, Olivia. People come to me and say they've been cursed by their neighbor, possessed by demons, visited by an angel ... I've heard it all and I never think the worse of anyone for it."
"Never?"
She shrugged. "Demon possession strains the boundaries of credulity, given the sheer number of times it seems to happen. One would really hope demons had better things to do with their time."
She pulled the powder-strewn paper toward her, peered at it, then went to her desk and retrieved a magnifying glass. She took a better look. She rubbed some on her forefinger. She sniffed it. Even tasted it. Then she examined the photos again.
"It's a ward," she said finally. "Very old. Gaelic or Celtic, I believe."
"To ward something off," I said. "What? Evil? Bad luck?"
"Possibly ... depending on what someone thinks of you."
"Thinks of me?"
"It's a ward against you. A magical 'get lost.'"
"An anti-welcoming committee?"
She nodded. "The cards foretold difficulty, which is why I suggested you get a gun. Cainsville has welcomed you, and Cainsville is not a welcoming place. Someone has noticed that and is either envious or concerned."
"Why?"
"As I'm sure you've realized, Cainsville is a peculiar little town. As to the exact depth and nature of its peculiarities?" She shrugged. "Pay attention. That's all I can say. Answers will come when you're ready for them. It's not my place to say more."
"Okay..."
"Let's get back to this, shall we?" She poked at the powder again. "Monkshood to warn you that danger is near. Yellow carnation for rejection. Rhododendron telling you to beware."
"In other words, a no-holds-barred 'scram and don't let the door hit you on the way out.' Could it be Grace? She has a key to my apartment."
Rose shook her head. "The only complaint she's made is about your cat, and even then, she's only grumbling. For Grace, that's as close to a seal of endorsement as you'll get."
She looked at the photos again. "Let me think on this and see if the cards will provide direction. In the meantime, I heard that my nephew brought you that gun?"
I nodded.
"Good. Keep it close."
Saturday was my day off. Dr. Evans had e-mailed me the evening before to get my work schedule. He was working on setting up some interviews for the next week. He'd also invited me over Sunday, to talk some more if I wanted. I hadn't given him an answer yet, but I planned to go. Talking to him did help.
Having no plans for the day, I decided to sleep in ... and my phone rang at seven thirty.
I checked the number. A Chicago-area one I didn't recognize.
I answered.
"Ms. Lars--" a woman began. She stopped herself. "My apologies. Ms. Jones?"
"Yes..."
"This is Dr. Yvonne Escoda. I was contacted by the office of Gabriel Walsh, in regards to your medical files."
After the hospital visit, I'd made an offhand comment to Gabriel that I should really get my old medical records. The conversation hadn't gone any further. Had he placed the call before I fired him? Or after...
"Ms. Jones?"
"Sorry. This is just unexpected. Mr. Walsh no longer represents me. When did he call?"