Susan Carroll - Parker And The Gypsy

Mostly because there was a sign that proclaimed helpfully Main Street. The wide boulevard planted with skinny striplings of trees and lined with a row of spanking new shops, tried desperately to convey an impression of old-moneyed charm. Like a gaggle of ladies wearing bonnets, almost every shop front was adorned with one of those prissy awnings, except for—

Mike slammed on the brakes, staring through his windshield • at the store set midway down the block. Instead of an awning, its doorway was overhung by a huge mechanical eye, winking open and closed, the Plasticine lashes drifting coyly up and down. Beneath this device dangled a sign announcing the store’s name in bright red letters. The Omniscent Eye. Then in small print, New Age Bookstore.

And Mike had been wondering how difficult it was going to be to find Sara Holyfield. As he studied the sign, a slow grin spread over his face. He didn’t realize he was holding up traffic until a horn blared loudly behind him.

“All right, all right,” Mike groused.

Easing his car into the nearest parking space, Mike got out, fed some change into the meter and then sauntered down the sidewalk for a closer inspection of Sara’s shop front. While the monster eye whirred merrily over his head, Mike couldn’t help chuckling to himself. He was able to imagine what a stir Sara’s advertising device must be creating with her nearest neighbors, a petite sizes boutique where Mike could see a snooty blonde working behind the counter, and on the other side an antique “emporium” complete with bay window. Mike liked Sara all the better for what must be her defiance of the local awning-and-swirly-sign dress code.

Ducking down, Mike paused to check his reflection in the shop glass, wetting his fingers and slicking down a stray cowlick of hair. Reaching for the handle, he pushed open the door.

As he entered the store, a symphony of chimes tinkled, but the noise was almost lost in the other sounds that swirled around him—watt speakers pouring forth the sounds of pattering rain, birdcalls and chittering monkeys. The illusion of having strayed into some kind of tropical rain forest was helped by the fact that plants littered the surface of counters, fronds and ferns everywhere, green waxy-looking leaves sprouting lush and exotic flowers.

Although small and cramped with merchandise, Sara’s shop seemed somehow cool and soothing after the bustle of summer traffic outside. The place smelled of books and some subtle fragrant incense. As the door eased softly shut behind him, Mike caught himself glancing around.

Shelves lined with texts promised to help him with everything, from thinking himself thin to channeling his past lives. Crowding the aisle were displays of tarot cards, herbal remedies, incense stacked like cinnamon sticks in glass jars, meditation tapes and CDs. Mike didn’t bother looking closer at those. Somehow he doubted he would find familiar musical groups tucked in among them.

Flicking one finger over a weird-looking goddess incense burner, Mike pulled a wry face. He supposed someone must buy this stuff considering some of the things his old man had been able to palm off on unsuspecting marks.

But thinking about his father was only sure to darken his day and Mike was in a reasonably good mood for once. He didn’t want to spoil it, so he was quick to shunt all thoughts of Robert Parker aside.

Edging cautiously past a stand filled with scented candles, he nearly bumped his head against some sort of circular rope hanging adorned with feathers, the sort of thing that could have been woven by a demented spider.

He was beginning to feel a little like the Alice kid who’d jumped down a manhole or something only to find herself alone in some kind of strange wonderland. The shop seemed deserted. But at the back of the store, he saw a doorway hung with a beaded curtain.

He headed for it and found the glass counter display of crystals and silver jewelry. An old-fashioned cash register that would make a satisfying ring when recording a sale sat on the well-polished surface.

Behind the counter, perched on a stool, her head bent over a book, was Sara. She didn’t even seem to have noticed that anybody had come into her shop. A customer could waltz in and rob her blind. But perhaps she didn’t have that kind of problem in a store like this. Maybe shoplifting spiritual doodads was considered bad karma.

Mike paused a moment to study Sara before making his presence known. She was just as beautiful and angelic as he’d remembered. Today she wore her hair pulled up high into a ponytail, ringlets falling down like a silken blond cascade, drawing attention to the delicate nape of her neck. Darkframed reading glasses balanced on the tip of her nose, magnifying the solemn intensity of her blue eyes, making her look at once sweet and sexy and...

And those were exactly the kind of thoughts that had gotten him into trouble with Sara Holyfield yesterday. Mike reined himself in sharply—he was here for business, strictly business. Find out exactly how much Sara knew about John Patrick and then get the hell out of this voodoo joint.

Mike took a step closer to the counter and cleared his throat.

“Yes? May I help you?” Sara asked, looking reluctantly up from her book with a bright smile. Her gaze collided with his and she froze. Her lovely smile faded and Mike was sorry to see it go. But he supposed he could hardly have expected any different.

“Mr. Parker,” she said after a painful pause. “What—what a surprise.”

Mike summoned up his most charming smile. “Yeah, I guess it is. I just happened to be passing through Aurora Falls and I noticed the shop and thought what the heck? I might as well look you up.”

“Really?” she asked politely, but doubt shadowed her porcelain-fine features. The woman was too nice to come right out and call him a liar, but Mike almost wished she would glare at him, shout, order him out of her store. Anything but barrage him with this sad and watchful silence.

After another of those awkward hesitations, she removed her glasses as though she liked him better out of focus. “After yesterday, I never expected to see you again.”

“Well,” Mike started to drawl, then stopped. No, breezy and casual clearly wasn’t going to work here. Time to revert to an enchantingly frank and sincere apology.

“Actually,” he said, straightening a little. “The truth is I wasn’t just passing by. I came here on purpose to find you. Ever since you left my office, I kept thinking that I’d been a little abrupt with you.”

“A little?” Sara’s lashes drifted down as she toyed with the binding of her book. “You accused me of being a charlatan and a lunatic. You slammed your office door in my face.”

Her words were very matter of fact, but beneath the calm, he caught the barest threading of hurt. He’d far rather she be ready to smash her crystal ball over his head.

She sat there with that quietly wistful expression, that sad, sad look in her eyes, until Mike squirmed, feeling like the kind of creep that goes around kicking helpless kittens and telling kids there isn’t a Santa Claus.

Dropping all pretense and slick moves, Mike stepped straight up to the counter and heaved a gusty sigh. “Look, Sara, I—I’m really sorry. I know I behaved like a total jerk. I guess I was—um—having a bad aura day. But give me another chance, okay?”

He bent down to peer coaxingly into her face. “My aura’s much better today. Wanna feel?”

“No, thank you,” she said. Her lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile, although she whipped her hands off the counter and safely out of his reach.

She risked a look up at him and he saw that the light was back in her eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, and to Mike it seemed as though the air in the shop suddenly changed, becoming closer, warmer, heavier with the weight of something. Auras, incense. Hell, he didn’t know what it was. He just found himself leaning closer, pulled in by the tug of her big blue eyes, overcome by the urge to kiss Sara full on the mouth.