Read Online Death in the Cards by Sharon Short - Free Book Online

be resisted for too long.
    â€œAnd what bugs me about that is that Dru Purcell still pastors that church, as he did when Aunt Clara attended,” I went on. “And for the first time in years I remembered my aunt’s saying when I met Ginny Proffitt. And it turns out Ginny Proffitt has some connection to Dru Purcell even though Dru claims to hate Ginny and all the psychics. But before he saw our bus, he was hugging her most tenderly. Then he looked so horrified when he saw us, and she looked so pleased. I think she set him up to be seen with her, that she wanted us to see them together.”
    Owen sighed. “All right. Let’s back up a minute. Do you agree that your aunt’s saying is best interpreted figuratively?”
    I gazed at the lazy tongues of fire lapping up into the night, then into the darkness beyond the fire circle. My gaze swiftly returned to the fire. I snuggled closer to Owen. “That surely is my preference,” I said. I ate the final bite of my s’more and longed for another, but I’d eaten the last one. We were down to just graham crackers. Those, I thought, would make a good snack later with peanut butter.
    â€œGood,” Owen said. “Some psychologists interpret so-called psychic phenomena as a highly tuned subconscious ability to notice and interpret subtle clues in a person’s mannerisms, tone of voice, and so on. Maybe you just subconsciously picked up on clues that indicate Ginny’s struggling with an inner, or outer, figurative demon, and that’s what brought the saying to your mind.”
    I pulled away and stared at Owen. “Are you sayin’ I’m psychic?”
    A playful grin teased up the corners of his mouth, eroding his studious and serious expression. “Never! Just highly intuitive. And sensitive.” He trailed his fingertips over my brow. “Mmmm, yes, very sensitive, I’d say . . .” Yum. I liked this. S’more, s’more, I thought.
    His grin widened. “Plus . . . you’re nosey.”
    I groaned and gave him a playful punch on the arm, and he laughed. He knows how much I hate my old high school nickname—Nosey Josie. Even when it fits. Which in this case, it surely did. Just what was the connection between Ginny and Dru?
    Suddenly, Owen looked serious again. “But I think there’s something else about Ginny that bothered you. You said she somehow knew about a particular dream you’ve been having. I’m here to listen if you’d like to talk about it, Josie, if that would help.”
    I looked away. Sally had asked me earlier what my dream really was about. I’d been saved from answering by Karen coming up the steps to the observation tower. Now, there was no one nearby. We had this particular fire ring to ourselves. A group of Ranger Girls was at the nearest ring, but they weren’t likely to come over to interrupt us. Ranger Girl–cookie-selling season wasn’t until next spring, after all.
    Here was my chance. I could open up to Owen about something that was, on the one hand, so silly, and yet, on the other, was so disturbing to me, much more than recalling my aunt’s saying upon meeting Ginny. How did she know about my dreams about Mrs. Oglevee? And why did I have those dreams, anyway? I’d sloughed them off as just a bizarre glitch in my subconscious, but now, the fact of them bothered me.
    And I’d been hurt that Owen had held back the truth about his past for so long, even wondering if he’d ever have told me if he hadn’t essentially been forced to by his own slip of thetongue, when he’d told a mutual acquaintance a tale about his past that didn’t fit with the past he’d told me. So, if I expected openness and honesty from him, shouldn’t I give him the same?
    Of course.
    So I opened my mouth to speak. And here’s what came out: “It’s just this silly dream I have about wearing an orange