Read Online Caught Dead Handed by Carol J. Perry - Free Book Online

operated under the same rules, I selected another book. A Student’s Guide to the Tarot.
    I’d already learned that most of the deck was divided into suits. Cups, wands, swords, and pentacles. There was even a card called the Fool, which seemed to be a lot like the joker in modern card games. But besides these, there was a bewildering assortment of pictures and symbols, with names like Death and Judgment. I counted seventy-eight cards in Ariel’s deck, none of which made the least bit of sense to me. Under the heading “The Mystery of the Tarot,” I read,
    The tarot is a symbolic record of human experience. Through mystic powers they provide important insight, wise counsel, and accurate divination.
    â€œGobbledygook,” I said aloud, closing the book. No way was I going to accomplish miracles of psychological insight with a quick read.
    Aunt Ibby poked her head into the room. “Did you say something, Maralee?”
    â€œNothing important,” I said. “Good morning. I didn’t hear you come down. I made coffee.”
    â€œI smelled it. Already poured a cup. You’re up early.”
    â€œDoing a little studying,” I said. “Say, are there any tarot card readers around?”
    â€œIn Salem? During Halloween month?” She came into the room and sat next to me. “Every self-styled witch and charlatan for miles around has set up shop in Salem, hoping to make a fortune from the tourists. Why?”
    â€œI was just thinking, since I’m supposed to be a Gypsy of sorts, I’ll need a vague idea of what a card reader does.” I gestured toward the book. “This book isn’t much help. I think I might get my cards read and maybe pick up a little lingo.”
    â€œI suppose . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the things I’d lined up on the table. She put her coffee cup down. She picked up the purple book. “Do you really have to read all this stuff? I don’t like this, Maralee. I don’t like this a bit.”
    Surprised at her tone, I felt a little pang of guilt. Something like the way I’d felt at ten, when she’d caught me reading The Adventurers. But back then she’d only looked disapproving. Now she looked . . . stricken.
    â€œMust you read this dreadful nonsense?” She waved toward my display of books. Her hand brushed against the black ball, and she pulled away, as though she’d been burned.
    â€œWhy did you bring this thing home?” She pointed a French-manicured fingertip. Her voice quavered slightly.
    Alarmed, I stood up. “What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you like this.” Kneeling beside her, I put my arm around her shoulders. She was trembling.
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m fine.” She sat up straight and patted my arm. “It’s just . . . you shouldn’t have brought that ball home.” She looked into my eyes. “Maybe that—what happened in the studio—was just what they said. A reflection. A coincidence. But please, get rid of it. Black reflective things like that, they’re bad. Bad for you.”
    â€œ Bad for me? I don’t understand.”
    â€œAre you seeing things in it? Is that why you’re reading this?” She shook the purple book. “Don’t bother with this skinny little thing. I have volumes on the subject.”
    â€œBut why? And how did you know? Did . . . do you see things in it, too?”
    Her head shake was vehement. “No! Never! And with all I’ve read, I’ve never understood why you could.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” I demanded. “And what do you think I’ve seen?”
    â€œI don’t know how it works. I’ve just always hoped it would never come back.”
    â€œThat what would never come back? Do you think I really saw a murder scene in the ball?”
    â€œOh, my dear! Is that what you believe you saw? How horrible! It’s that job. Just