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  “The wrong place?” Jamie realized she was repeating a lot of what was being said.

  Destiny pulled out a small notebook and flipped through several pages. “Is your middle name Leigh?”

  Jamie nodded. “Yes. It was my mother’s first name.” Now why had she gone and given out personal information to some stranger she’d probably never see again?

  “Yeah, I know about your mother. She walked out when you were still in diapers.”

  Jamie arched both brows. “Excuse me, but I don’t see the point of all this.”

  Destiny looked up. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned the part about your mother. I know you still find it painful at times.”

  “What else do you know?”

  “There’s an old tire swing hanging in your back yard, am I right?”

  Jamie snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. You’re a private investigator, aren’t you? Who hired you, and for what reason?”

  “No, I’m not. Just answer this one last question. Do you have a bar of Dove soap in your lingerie drawer?”

  Jamie felt the color drain from her face. “Who are you? How do you know about the soap?”

  “I just do.”

  Jamie leveled her gaze at the woman. Her astonishment had an edge of anger to it. “Tell me more about the soap.”

  “Are you sure?” When Jamie nodded, she went on. “The scent reminds you of your mother, even though you remember little else about her.”

  Jamie felt the goose bumps rise on her arms. She was quiet for a moment. “I’m going to ask you again. How do you know this?”

  The woman sighed. “I’m psychic. Sort of.”

  Jamie did a gigantic eye-roll. “Sort of? What does that mean?”

  “I have visions, and I’m right a lot of the time, unless I’m under a lot of stress, then I might make a mistake now and then. It’s a simple case of performance anxiety; sort of like sex. But I get it right more often than not.”

  Jamie sighed. It was really turning out to be a weird morning. First Vera with her brownies, and now she was conversing with a woman who claimed to be psychic. She had time for neither because she had to concentrate on getting a newspaper out. “Miss Moultrie, um, Destiny—”

  “I’m working on getting better,” Destiny said. “I practice every night.” She paused. “You don’t believe in psychics, do you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “See, I knew that.” The woman licked the tip of her finger and drew a short imaginary line in the air as though marking her success. Turquoise rings circled every finger, bracelets jangled on her wrists. “There are a lot of phonies out there. Some claim to be one hundred percent accurate. There’s no such thing.”

  “I wasn’t, um, looking for a psychic. Just an advice columnist.” There. She’d gone and admitted it.

  “You’ve already got ‘Dear Abby.’ ”

  “My column was going to be for locals only. To sort of complement—”

  “Your new personals section,” Destiny said. “People would be more intrigued by a psychic. And I’ve got the perfect name for it. ‘The Divine Love Goddess Advisor.’” She pulled out an envelope and handed it to Jamie. “Why don’t you look over my résumé and give it some thought. I wouldn’t be able to start for a day or two since I just moved here and have to unpack. But I travel light.”

  Jamie shifted uneasily in her chair. “Why Beaumont, South Carolina?” she asked. “This town isn’t exactly a booming metropolis. And the Gazette is rather small.”

  “I was sent here for a reason,” Destiny said. “I’d never even heard of this place, but it came to me in a vision. So I used a small pendulum, and Beaumont came up on the map. I had to use a magnifying glass to see it, but now I’m sure I’m in the right place. Well, pretty sure.”

  Jamie simply nodded. She figured it was best to humor the woman until she could get rid of her.

  Destiny smiled. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you can rest easy, my column will bring in many new readers.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “Yep. I also have a very good feeling you’re going to hire me. This interview is just a formality.”

  Jamie had no intention of hiring her. The last thing she needed was some kook working for her. “I’ll have to think about it. I’ll keep your résumé on file in the meantime.”

  “I know you have doubts,” Destiny went on as though she hadn’t heard. “And I don’t blame you. This newspaper is very important to you after what you’ve been through. You’ve struggled for so long to keep it going. I admire your tenacity, Jamie, but you have to stop comparing yourself to your grandfather.”

  Once again, Jamie felt the tiny hairs on her arm prickle. “What do you know about my grandfather?”

  “He started this newspaper from nothing and did extremely well. He passed it on to your father when he died, but your father didn’t fare so well. He never wanted to be a newspaperman to begin with.”

  “You’re pretty good,” Jamie said, “but this is a small town where everybody knows everybody’s business. You’d only have to ask around to get your information.” Even as she said it, she wondered how the woman had found out about the soap in her dresser drawer. She decided to humor her. “While you’re at it, tell me this. There’s this man in my life.”

  “Yeah, I know all about him. He sort of saved your behind when you had financial problems so he’s a silent partner. You’re afraid of falling in love with him, but I would advise you to follow your heart.”

  “How does he feel?” Jamie surprised herself by asking.

  Destiny looked thoughtful. “He’s hard to read.” Suddenly, she sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Jamie said.

  Destiny’s eyes watered, and she sneezed again. “You’ll have to forgive me. This always happens when I start picking up on stuff. Do you have a tissue?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Look, I can’t be expected to know everything.”

  Jamie reached into her side drawer and pulled out a small box of tissues and handed it to her, just as Destiny let out another sneeze.

  “I have to go before it gets worse.” The woman stood and wiped her eyes. “Oh, by the way, I’m not going to charge you for my services. I’ve been married five times so I get plenty of alimony. This is just a hobby.”

  “Five husbands, huh?”

  Another sneeze. “Yeah, and I’m not even forty years old. A girl has to work fast to rack up that many husbands in such a short period.”

  Jamie sat back and studied her. “Didn’t you know the marriages were going to fail?”

  Sniff, sniff, sneeze. “I was in love with them at the time, so what could I do? How about you call me when you’re ready for me to start? My new number is on my résumé.” She made for the door, and then paused. “This man you’re thinking about?”

  Jamie remained silent.

  “He’s going to be back in your life very soon.”

  Jamie perked. “And?”

  “Fireworks.”

  Jamie arched one brow. “Fireworks?”

  Destiny smiled. “Fireworks.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  VERA EYED DESTINY SUSPICIOUSLY AS SHE STEPPED into the reception area. “It was very nice meeting you, Vera,” Destiny said, dabbing her nose with a tissue. She sneezed several times as she made her way toward the front door. She opened it, and then turned. “By the way, I’m sorry you’re having car trouble.”

  Vera hitched her chin high. “Excuse me? There’s not a darn thing wrong with my car.”

  Destiny shrugged. “Whatever.” She hurried out.

  “What was all that about?” Vera demanded when Jamie stepped out of her office. “Am I fired?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll still be here when I’m dead and gone. I was thinking about starting an advice column now that our personals section is doing so well.”

  “Why wasn’t I told?”

  “Because I haven’t made up my mind.”

 
Vera frowned. “Then how—”

  Jamie was beginning to feel weary. “Destiny Moultrie is psychic. Or so she says.”

  Vera pursed her lips. “Oh, good grief, you don’t believe in that hocus-pocus, do you?”

  “She was very convincing, but, no, I think it’s all a crock.” That didn’t mean she didn’t feel uneasy about some of what Destiny had told her.

  “Hogwash, that’s what it is,” Vera said. “And that woman needs to get on allergy medication. One of these days she’s going to sneeze too hard, and those T-I-T-S are going to pop a button, and somebody is going to get hurt.”

  JAMIE WAITED UNTIL AFTER LUNCH TO CHECK ON Fleas. The vet’s assistant assured her the surgery had gone well. “You can pick him up in the morning,” she said. “We’ll give you a list of things to look out for during his recovery. You’re going to have to make sure his stitches don’t pull free, and he’s not going to be able to go for walks for about ten days.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Jamie said, “since all he does is eat and sleep.”

  Jamie hung up a moment later. Stitches? Recovery? She did a mental eye-roll as she imagined Fleas lying on her sofa with an IV of ice cream dripping into his veins. Once again, she reminded herself she was not the perfect pet owner. But what could she do? The animal refused to eat the healthy dog food she bought for him. He preferred cheeseburgers, fries, butter pecan ice cream, and Krispy Kreme doughnuts. And Jamie, who practically lived on junk food, ate the same things.

  She told herself that despite their bad eating habits, as best she could figure, they were close to getting in the four food groups.

  THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED QUICKLY FOR JAMIE, approving layouts for the newspaper and getting it to print. She had begun working for her father at the newspaper—performing small jobs after school like emptying wastepaper baskets and keeping pencils sharpened—since first grade, earning three dollars per week. Looking back, she realized he’d preferred bringing her to the office instead of leaving her with a baby-sitter.

  As she’d grown, so had her duties, and, until she’d gone off to college to study journalism, she’d worked in every department, earning little money but loving the work so much that she would have done it for free. She’d earned extra cash by selling subscriptions, which her father claimed she had a knack for, what with her big blue eyes, blond hair, and winning smile.

  “You’re like your grandpa,” her father had told her not long before he’d died. “You’ve got ink running through your veins. You love this newspaper as much as he did. You’ll do well by it.”

  Jamie smiled fondly at the thought, the good old days, when she and her father had worked side by side in order to make deadlines. And thinking of her father brought Destiny Moultrie to mind once more. The woman was about as strange as they came, but just thinking about all she’d known of Jamie’s life gave her a bad case of heebie-jeebies. Jamie’s father had not wanted to be a newspaperman, and the paper had suffered as a consequence. Jamie had begged and pleaded for permission to leave college in order to relieve him of some of the work, but he had absolutely refused to let her quit. Somehow his staff, all of them as devoted as Vera, had been invaluable in seeing that the paper made it to print on time.

  Jamie couldn’t help but wonder how Destiny had managed to get as much information as she had, but she knew there had to be a logical explanation. There were gossips in town who would be only too happy to share what they knew.

  Except for one thing, she reminded herself, the soap in her drawer. That couldn’t be explained.

  JAMIE AND VERA HEADED OUT THE FRONT DOOR shortly after five P.M. Jamie lingered beside Vera’s car, in no hurry to go home to an empty house. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d come to depend on Fleas’s company.

  “You headed any place in particular?” she asked Vera as the woman slid into the driver’s seat of her old Buick.

  “We usually have church on Wednesday night,” Vera said, “but we’re having Vacation Bible School so that’s out. Maybe I’ll bake a cake for my sick neighbor. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a million things to do,” Jamie lied. “You know me, busy, busy.” Jamie tried to think of what she could do to pass the evening.

  Vera closed her door and rolled down the window. “This car is hotter’n Hades. Next car I buy is going to have a decent air conditioner.”

  Jamie continued to stand there. “Well, then, you have a nice evening.”

  Vera nodded, stabbed her key into the ignition, and turned it. Nothing happened. “What in the world? It was running fine this morning.” She tried again. The car didn’t respond.

  “Uh-oh,” Jamie said. “Sounds like you’re having car trouble. Sounds like the starter.”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. The two women locked gazes. “Uh-oh,” she said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Vera said, as if reading her mind. “It’s just a coincidence.”

  . . .

  AN HOUR LATER, JAMIE LED VERA INTO HER GARAGE where a red 1964½ Mustang convertible sat. With the exception of the color, it was an exact replica of the one Jamie had received from her father as a graduation present years before, only hers was white. Even though she’d spent a lot of money maintaining it, she still drove it with pride and wouldn’t have thought of replacing it. It was in that very garage that Jamie had helped her father rebuild old cars, and each time he sold one, he’d tucked the money into her college fund.

  Vera stepped up to the car and ran her hand along the hood. “It looks like it just rolled off the showroom floor. Are you sure Max won’t mind if I borrow it? I mean, he bought it for you. It was a gift.”

  Jamie shrugged. “He only bought it because it was his fault mine was riddled with bullet holes.” Luckily, it had since been repaired.

  Vera shook her head sadly. “Do you know how strange that sounds? How many people send their cars to a body shop with bullet holes? That is precisely why I think Max Holt is the wrong man for you. I appreciate what he did for this town, but trouble seems to follow him everywhere.”

  Jamie figured it was best not to get into a debate with Vera over Max. Not that Max couldn’t charm Vera’s Hush Puppies right off her feet, mind you, but nobody had ever been good enough for Jamie as far as Vera was concerned. It didn’t matter that Max was filthy stinking rich and turned every female’s head between the ages of eighteen and eighty; he was a moving target for con men, bad guys, and the mob.

  What Jamie also wouldn’t tell Vera was that Max was more dangerous to her heart than any other body part. The three weeks she’d gone without seeing him seemed like forever. She knew he was a busy man—his company, Holt Industries, had offices all over the world—but surely he could have found time to pick up a telephone.

  “So, you wanna take it for a spin?” Jamie said, chasing Max from her thoughts.

  Vera opened the door. “Oh, Lord, it’s a stick shift. I haven’t driven one of those in years.”

  “All you need is a little practice.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were cruising Main Street with the top down, Vera grinning like a sixteen-year-old who’d just gotten her driver’s license. “Hey, I’m pretty good at this,” she said, shifting the gear into first after pausing at a stop sign.

  Jamie grinned, as well. “See, I told you you’d pick it up in no time.”

  Vera glanced at her. “I don’t look silly, do I? I mean, me driving around in such a snazzy car at my age. I’m no spring chicken, you know.”

  Jamie looked at her. Vera’s beehive had already lost its hairpins and fallen to her shoulders, but the excitement in her eyes made up for her mussed hair. “You look great. And, no, you do not look silly.” If anything she looked younger.

  The woman hitched her chin high. “I want to take it around the courthouse square again. Maybe I’ll see somebody I know.”

  Jamie smiled at Vera’s enthusiasm. She had to admit it was more fun riding around town with her than sitting home alone worrying about Fleas.

/>   Vera circled the square. The downtown area had received a face-lift in the past couple of years. Each shop owner had painted his or her store in what was referred to as an historic color. They’d added awnings and massive flowerpots out front, hoping to draw business from the strip mall on the outskirts of town.

  Jamie knew the town well. Despite changes to the outside, the Downtown Café still served the best coffee in town, and she knew the regulars who gathered first thing in the morning for the $2.99 breakfast special of eggs and bacon and the best homemade biscuits she’d ever tasted. There was Coot Hathaway’s doughnut shop where you could buy glazed doughnuts straight from the oven and sticky buns that stuck to the roof of your mouth and chocolate mocha doughnuts that were her personal favorite. And nobody made better sandwiches than Donnie Maynard, who owned the local sandwich shop. He bought his bread fresh from Sunshine Bakery, and his meat-loaf sandwiches, served cold, always drew a crowd. He used a secret ingredient that he swore he would take to his grave, and no matter how hard folks tried they couldn’t figure it out.

  The courthouse square was as quaint as it had been in Jamie’s younger days. People still fed pigeons or read the daily newspaper or gathered in small groups to catch up on the latest gossip. The Garden Club had replaced the old shrubbery with new—in late spring, the azaleas blazed with color in every imaginable hue. Fall brought with it colorful mums, and pansies were planted in winter. Even the bandstand had been given a fresh coat of white paint.

  “Oh, look!” Vera said. “There’s Robyn Decker and Betty Hamilton from my Sunday school class. Wait’ll they get a look at me in this hot car.” Vera braked and tapped the horn several times, and the women looked up. They gaped in surprise and hurried over. Both wore lightweight jogging outfits and sneakers.

  “Vera, is that you?” Betty said. She was tall and slender and wore a mop of short gray curls that had obviously been sprayed into place because not one strand strayed.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing in that car?” Robyn asked. Her hair was the same light gray, on the frizzy side, tucked back with hair combs. She was on the heavy side. A sheen of perspiration coated her forehead.