One Tequila Page 2

  I smiled as I heard barking from my house. I had worried that I was the annoying lady on the block whose dog barked all day while she was gone, but my neighbor swore that Hank only barked when I was coming home. Some days I took Hank with me to work, but he was a little high-energy for some of my clients.

  I got off the bike and wheeled it towards my faded blue house, the porch painted bright lavender with white trim work. An Althea Rose bush climbed a trellis on the side, its blooms offering a cheerful welcome. It was still undecided whether my parents had named me for the rose bush or the Grateful Dead song. Knowing them, it was probably a combination of both.

  I loved where I lived, the color and cacophony of the houses on the street reminding everyone that even though we were still connected to the mainland, we were islanders at heart.

  Two ears poking up from beneath the windowsill were all I could see of Hank before I slid the key in the door and pushed it open, immediately crouching to stop him from racing past me.

  “Hank! You miss me, buddy?” I said, laughing as Hank ran in circles around me, jumping up to lick my face, before tearing around the house.

  “Got the crazies?” I called as I heard him snorting and skidding over the wood floors as he ran, tearing through the large open layout of the first floor. Hank was a traditional black-and-white Boston and twenty pounds of pure love and sass. Part of me suspected that my parents had never adopted him for themselves, but instead to keep me company while they traveled.

  A beep from my purse alerted me and I dug into it, pulling my phone out and swiping the screen to see an email from my mother.

  “Speak of the devil,” I said, and perched on a paisley-print chair in screaming pink and aqua tones. It didn't match anything in the house and I loved it.

  Having a blast in Greece, my love. Your father loves the Ouzo. Did a marvelous reading for Eminem. I see him doing big things this year. I'm worried about you. Do me a favor please and be careful? Kisses to Hank!

  A picture accompanied the email, bringing a smile to my lips. My parents beamed happily at me, my dad in rumpled khakis with spectacles slipping off his nose, his face red from the sun. He had his arm around my mother, a statuesque redhead in a flowing pink caftan. The blue of the Mediterranean stretched behind them and my heart tugged a bit, missing their nearness.

  My parents had done their best to steer me away from a traditional upbringing. In doing so, they'd become more than my parents to me; they were also my best friends. Mitchell Rose, my father, had been a professor of music at Boston College when Abigail Henry had walked into his class and taken a seat in the front row. She hadn't been enrolled in the college, but had gone there to meet him based upon a psychic vision in a dream.

  The rest, as they say, is history. In a matter of years they had moved to Tequila Key, where my dad published professional papers on music history while teaching classes on the side at the local community college. Because of the accuracy of my mother's predictions, her reuptation had grown so quickly that money wasn't an issue and they lived life as they pleased. Bringing me into the world had been a natural extension of their love and I'd been a cheerful and exuberant child – one who danced in the yard to the music my father played while learning tarot cards at my mother's knee.

  My teen years had been saved from the awkwardness of trying to figure out if a boy liked me by the undeniable fact that I had inherited more than my mother's curves and sharp mind. Being a psychic at sixteen certainly came with its own advantages, and the residents of Tequila Key hadn't blinked twice when I'd followed in my mother's footsteps.

  Hank whined at the back door and I glanced across the room. Most shotgun-style houses were called that because each room butted up against the next, separated only by a wall. When I'd bought this house, I'd gutted the lower level and added the top floor, using a small inheritance from my grandmother to do so. The result had left my first floor as one big open floor plan and had allowed for three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the second floor.

  I loved my space even though I knew the chaos of it made Luna itch when she came over for Wednesday wine nights. Because I had one open room, including the kitchen, I'd shoved all sorts of furniture, lamps, and knick-knacks into the space, creating conversation corners and nooks. It was crowded, colorful, and there was always a place for someone to sit – from the 18th century imperial bench to the bright red metal ottoman. I'd painted my walls a pale gray and then promptly covered them with my other secret passion, underwater photography.

  “Okay, I'm coming,” I called to Hank, the lingering warning in my mother's email making me nervous as I walked to the back door and let Hank out into the backyard. A long cedar fence I'd painted a deep maroon lined one side of the yard and separated my yard from the rest of the houses. Instead of closing in the yard though, I'd left it open to one side.

  To my secret piece of heaven, I thought with a smile and laughed as Hank immediately raced down to the small stretch of beach that had come with this house. Sure, I paid extra for the ocean frontage, but it had been worth every cent. I had to have a piece of the water for myself. Water, unlike anything else in this world, called to me, soothed me, was my solace and my joy. I needed to be near water as much as I needed my next breath. From the front of the house, it looked like the yard ended at a rocky outcropping. It was my private slice of paradise that very few knew about, and I liked to keep it that way.

  Hank did his business and bounded back to me, a stick in his mouth. Checking my watch, I reached down to tug the stick, knowing that I'd need a good twenty minutes of playtime to satiate my active dog.

  “Let me grab a glass of wine, Hank, and I'm all yours,” I called, popping back into the kitchen to grab a glass. I could walk to Lucky's from my house so I'd have enough time to play with Hank. Looking down at my dress, I considered changing but then shook my head.

  “You love this dress,” I reminded myself and stepped back outside, moving to sit on a low couch that I had placed under the large bamboo fans that hung from my patio ceiling. Hank ran up again and I tugged the stick from his mouth, knowing we would repeat this sequence another seventy times or so.

  My life was practically perfect and just the way I wanted it I thought as I sipped my Chianti. My mother would point out the glaring absence of a man, but I liked to think of this time as my independent period. I sniffed and shot my nose in the air before taking another sip of wine.

  Hank barked and ran in circles while the waves lapped at the shoreline, the sun beginning its slow descent into the water.

  It just doesn't get any better than this, I decided.

  Chapter Three

  I took my time wandering the quarter mile to Lucky's. Not only was the humidity almost oppressive, but I knew that Luna had a tendency to always arrive ten minutes late. I'd long ago stopped meeting her on time, knowing that I would just sit there fuming. A warm glow from the setting sun caressed the houses, making everything look old-timey and quaint. I waved to the locals who sat on their porches, observing their children playing in the front while exchanging gossip over spiked sweet teas. I loved this time of night in Tequila Key. Music – and there was always music – bumped from an old boom box on someone's front porch and the smell of Cajun food filled the air.

  “Althea!”

  “Miss Elva,” I called, veering from the street to stand at the bottom of a weathered porch. A large woman wearing a flowing multi-colored robe, with skin the color of honey mixed with cocoa, laughed down at me.

  “You set some people on the right path today, Althea?” Miss Elva said to me, cocking her arms on her generous hips.

  “Always,” I said cheekily, laughing up at her.

  “I've got something for you,” Miss Elva said, the smile slipping from her face and her eyes going serious. I immediately stiffened.

  Miss Elva was legendary around all of the Keys for being a high-ranking voodoo priestess. She was often called to remove curses and to perform blessings. When Miss Elva got her serious face
on, I listened.

  Miss Elva reached in her pocket and pulled a small cloth pouch out, holding it out to me. I paused, pulling my hands behind my back, and shook my head at her.

  “Uh uh, gris-gris? You'd better tell me why you think that I need it,” I said, dropping my shields and trying to read her mind. She batted her hand at the air, effectively brushing off my attempts to scan her brain.

  Like I said, Miss Elva was nobody to mess with.

  “I cracked an egg today. Blood in the pan. Take it. Please,” Miss Elva said, brandishing the pouch at me again. Tentatively, I reached out and took the bag from her, looking down at the faint etchings of words that ran across the soft cloth. The punch of power was unmistakable and I shivered to think about what was in the bag.

  “Is it bad?” I whispered, wishing for the first time in my life that my sight would be clear for my own sake.

  Miss Elva shook her head yes. Then shook her head no.

  “I can't say. Just keep this with you. You're one of the good ones,” Miss Elva said before retreating back onto her porch, the dark corner seeming to envelop her.

  Great, I thought, shoving the gris-gris into my purse, now the voodoo priestess is warning me too. Luna and I needed to have a serious chat tonight if we were going to get to the bottom of this. Worry clung to me as I turned the corner to the main drag of Tequila Key.

  The street was as busy as it could be for a Tuesday night in what passed for downtown Tequila. Bars and restaurants clung to the beach, fighting for every precious inch of space, while the opposite side of the road housed a few gift shops, a bookstore, and an ice cream parlor. Lucky's commanded the best spot on the beach, at the end near where I walked, jutting out just a bit on a cliff. It allowed the bar to have almost unadulterated views of the water and of the town. Large wooden tiki gods lined the path up to the thatched roof building, and tiki torches blazed every few feet, their purpose twofold – ambience and to keep the bugs away.

  Beau had bought Lucky's sixteen years ago when we had just graduated high school. His father had died suddenly, leaving him money, and freeing Beau from any expectations his family had for him to follow the good ol' boys' path. Beau had come out to me when we were twelve while reading gossip magazines at lunch. In turn, I'd told him about my psychic ability. Neither of us had batted an eye and we'd been best friends ever since. Lucky's, formerly a snack shack, had transformed under Beau's careful guidance into the most popular bar and restaurant in town, with a not-so-secret after-hours gay club in the basement. The police looked the other way on the after-hours party because Lucky's drew the most tourist activity in town. It was a win-win for everyone.

  “Thea!” Beau called from where he was blending a drink. A group of women sitting at the bar turned and scanned me, envy etched across their faces.

  Oh, you poor things, I thought as I smiled at Beau. He was handsome in a way that made everyone fall in love with him, never venturing too far into metrosexual dress as did the men that he typically favored. Instead, he affected a perfect blend of Miami Beach club and surfer casual cool. With a killer body, and closely cropped blond hair, I'd seen more than one woman get tripped up over him. It always flustered Beau when a woman came on to him, but his kindness in letting them down almost always turned them into life-long customers.

  Again, another friend who was better than me, I thought with a snort. My mouth was known to get me in trouble on occasion.

  “Hey, beautiful, love the pink,” Beau said, gesturing to my hair as he leaned over to kiss both of my cheeks.

  “Thanks, I was in a mood,” I said, and slid onto a stool, relaxing into the ambience of the bar. Teak wood booths clustered the walls, while smaller bamboo tables held court in the middle of the room. Lamps made out of spiky puffer fish ranged across the ceiling and fish netting was hung artfully across the walls. The bar was open in an almost 360-degree circle, but thin mosquito netting kept the bugs from bothering the clientele. It was the perfect blend of campy and welcoming, and the service was excellent.

  Beau slid a mojito in front of me, knowing my preference.

  “How was your day?”

  “You know, channeling dead cats, the usual,” I said with a wave of my hand.

  “Ah, changing lives I see,” Beau said with a smile, holding a finger up to me as he turned to help another customer.

  Alone for a moment, I decided to drop my shields and see if I could get a sense on whether any of the foreboding that was hanging over me could be emanating from someone here. Batting away the lusty thoughts of the girls at the bar, I allowed my mental eye to scan the room. A red swath of anger washed over me and I tensed, trying to find its owner. My eyes settled on a round man holding court at a long table, his cheeks pink with laughter, his stomach popping past his suspenders like a biscuit can that had exploded.

  Theodore Whittier.

  Rolling my eyes, I snapped my shields back into place and focused back on my drink. Theodore Whittier – of the Tequila Key Whittiers thankyouverymuch – was a man with his hand in everything. He was on the board of just about every committee, owned several different businesses, and had never met an opinion that he didn't like – so long as it was his own. My skin crawled as his laugh, designed to draw attention to him, boomed across the room and made me want to throw my soggy napkin at his face. Everything about Theodore was ooze-worthy. It wasn't entirely out of the norm for him to have an undercurrent of rage either, as he was typically up in arms about something. It wasn't an uncommon sight to see Theodore blustering to the local sheriff about one thing or another. The epitaph on his tombstone would probably read “Get off my lawn.”

  “What's up with Theodore?” I asked Beau when he came back to me. Beau raised an eyebrow in question.

  “He's pissed about something but not showing it,” I clarified.

  “Ah. It's either that I won't comp him his bill or that I didn't pick his site for my new restaurant.”

  I all but dropped my drink.

  “Your new restaurant?” My voice went up about five octaves. It wasn't easy to keep something from a psychic, let alone your psychic best friend.

  “What new restaurant?” Luna asked as she took the stool next to me. I glanced over to see her slim body perfectly ensconced in an impeccable mint green sheath, coolly lovely as usual.

  “Great dress,” I said before turning back to Beau. I jabbed my finger in the air.

  “Talk,” I demanded.

  “Well, it's just been an idea swirling around in my big ol' brain,” Beau said, leaning over the bar, exaggerating his drawl. I reached over and smacked him in the arm, bouncing lightly in my seat in excitement.

  “You're killing me – don't make me read your mind,” I threatened, swirling my striped straw around in my drink. I raised my eyebrow in warning, causing Beau to laugh.

  “It hasn't gotten that far or I swear I would've told you more. I've just been toying with bringing an upscale seafood restaurant to Tequila Key. We've a lot of middle-of-the-road type restaurants, but aside from the Shore Club, there's nowhere to take a date for a nice dinner.” Beau shrugged.

  “That's an excellent idea. I do get sick of driving up to Key Largo for fancy dinners,” Luna said.

  “I don't. Oh wait, that's probably because millionaires don't come through and woo me like they do you,” I said, smiling at Luna to soften the snark in my voice.

  “Speaking of, I've got a man for you,” Beau said casually and I straightened, bringing my finger up to point at my chest.

  “For me? Not her?” I asked incredulously.

  “Yes. You. Now, check out tall, dark, and oh-my-god-do-I-wish-he-was-gay sitting next to Mr. Blowhard,” Beau said, nodding slightly towards where Theodore slapped his palm on the table and harassed his waitress for more drinks. Sitting next to him was a man I had missed in my earlier perusal, and I shit you not, he took my breath away for just a moment.

  “Whoooo, boy,” I whispered.

  “Mmhmm,” Luna said, her face by mine as we g
azed at the handsome hunk that God had bestowed upon us this fine evening.

  At least six feet of well-muscled man leaned casually back in his seat, his thick dark hair complementing his tanned skin, light eyes tracking the room. He reminded me of Channing Tatum and I gulped as those light eyes landed on me.

  Luna and I turned so fast I almost knocked my drink over.

  “Don't make me hose you two down,” Beau chuckled, flicking an ice cube my way.

  “Who is that?” I breathed, my face burning from being caught staring. I was dying to look at him again, but I couldn't bring myself to. I was afraid that I would melt right on the spot, slipping from my stool to the floor in a puddle of lust and embarrassment.

  “That, my beautiful friends, is the newest investor in my restaurant. If good looks aren't enough, he's rich enough to buy Tequila Key should he be so inclined. His name is Cash Williams, no pun intended, and he's a sight for sore eyes in this small town,” Beau said, reaching for my glass that I had slurped dry after getting an eyeful of Cash.

  Of course the hot rich guy's name was Cash, I grumbled to myself.

  Beau held up my glass in question.

  “No, I'm diving in the morning,” I said, cutting myself off from any more alcohol. I planned to squeeze two dives in tomorrow before my first client at eleven. It was time for me to update my online store and blog with more underwater photos.

  “Where's Cash from?” Luna asked, interest lacing her voice.

  “Wait – more importantly, why are you saying he's for me when he could have her?” I asked, honestly confused. Luna and Cash would make an astounding couple, all purebreds, sleek and shiny. I was more of a mutt that would be up for a good cuddle on the couch.