Kelsey Roberts - Unlawfully Wedded

“Want me to do your palm?” Susan chirped.

“Excuse me?”

“Your palm,” she repeated, glancing at his balled fist. “I sense some really intense discord in your aura.”

“My aura?”

“Very telling,” Susan said, her brown eyes solemn. “I can usually tell everything about a person from their aura. Yours is red.”

“Red, huh?” he asked, faintly amused.

“That’s bad,” she insisted, genuineness dripping from each syllable. “If you let me have a look at your palm, I might be able to determine the cause of the red in your aura.”

“This ought to be a kick,” he mumbled as he took a seat across from her and offered his hand, palm up.

Susan bent forward and traced the lines on his hand. Her face was totally serious, as if she was completely absorbed in her examination. Her fingers were long and bony, and not nearly as soft as Tory’s.

He frowned, wondering why his mind would recognize such a traitorous thought. But his subconscious wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. As he sat there, he noted the many differences between the two waitresses. Susan was lanky and shapeless. Tory could only be described as voluptuous. Though he noted how hard she tried to conceal her attributes, her curvaceous body had not gone unnoticed. His frown deepened.

“I think you’re about to make a life-altering decision,” Susan predicted.

“Such as?”

“I’m not a fortune-teller,” Susan informed him haughtily. “I can only tell you what I see, based on the physical aspects of your palm.”

“Sorry.” J.D. managed to sound moderately sincere.

“And see here?” She followed one of the long lines on his hand. “This is your love line. It’s very long, but there’s a definite interruption.”

“Meaning?”

“Your love life won’t be a smooth one.”

Safe answer, he thought.

“But this is what concerns me,” she continued, tapping her blunt nail against the edge of his hand. “These lines dissecting your life line indicate that you’re in for a great deal of discord in your life. And they’re all clustered together, which probably explains your bad aura.”

“Come again?”

“Basically, lots of bad things will happen to you at one time. You’ll experience one disaster after another.”

“I can’t wait,” he groaned, wondering if this trip to South Carolina would prove to be the catalyst for this “disturbance of his aura.”

“But there’s hope,” Susan said brightly. “Once you get past that stuff, you should be very content with your life.”

“Great,” he mused aloud. “I’ll keep that in mind whenever my life starts going to hell.”

Susan’s dark eyes met his. “As for your aura, I think you might want to try some deep-breathing exercises. Relaxation techniques are quite effective in achieving a color change. You might even make it all the way to yellow.”

“There’s a goal,” he whispered as he gently pulled his hand away. “Thanks for the insights.”

“Anytime,” Susan answered. Grabbing her oversize nylon knapsack, the woman slung it over her thin shoulder as she got to her feet. “Practice that breathing,” she called out as she left.

He took a long pull on his beer and savored the bitterness as it went down. This was certainly one of the more interesting days in his life. He’d discovered a skeleton and had had his palm and aura analyzed. He began to chuckle.

“Something funny?”

Tory approached him with something akin to trepidation in her eyes.

“Susan just checked out my aura and my palm.”

His explanation erased the caution from her expression. Her half smile had a disturbing effect on him.

“Don’t let her hear you laugh,” he warned. “She takes that stuff seriously. I made that mistake when she warned me of impending doom.”

“Really? And what did our little soothsayer tell you?”

His eyes drifted to her shapely backside as she slipped behind the bar and filled a glass with soda.

“She’s convinced I’m about to have a life-altering experience. Something about too many intersections in my life line.”

J.D. felt his mouth curve in a wide smile. “It would seem that Susan is a one-trick pony,” Tory said.

“Why’s that?”

“That’s basically the same story she handed me.”

She stood next to the table, but made no move to join him. She brought the glass to her lips. It was the first time he’d really looked at her mouth. He guessed it would be soft.

“Want to join me?”

“No,” she answered quickly.

Too quickly, he thought.

“They were just placing that disgusting thing on a stretcher when I gave Chad back to Shelby.”

“He’s a cute kid.”

His observation was greeted by a surprised look.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Chad’s adorable.”

“So.” He paused long enough to take another swallow. “How come you’re hanging around?”

“I’m just waiting for the police to finish,” she told him. “They’ve got my car blocked in.”

“You could ask them to move it.”

“I could, but I don’t mind waiting.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

He could almost hear her spine stiffen.

“Why do you feel the need to mock me?” she asked pointedly.

“I wasn’t mocking. Simply making an observation.”

“Miss?”

Tory turned in answer to the male voice. One of the detectives marched forward, his badge dangling from the breast pocket of his tan suit jacket.

“Would it be possible for me to get a glass of water?”

“Sure,” Tory answered as she slipped behind the bar and filled a glass with ice.

“J. D. Porter,” he said, extending his hand to the man.

“Greer,” the detective responded, wiping his hand on his slacks before engaging in the handshake. “You’re Rose’s...”

“Son,” J.D. answered without inflection.

The detective regarded him briefly before Tory appeared with the glass. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s hot as all get-out today.”

“Have they taken the body away?” Tory asked.

“What was left of him.”

“Then it was a man?” J.D. asked.

“We’re pretty sure, based on the size and shape of the pelvic bones.”

“Any idea who he was?”

“Not a clue,” Greer answered. “But the lab boys think he’s been here a while. Some medical mumbo jumbo about the condition and density of the bone.”

“How creepy,” Tory groaned. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been near that building in the five years I’ve been working here.”

“That long?” Greer asked, immediately putting down his glass and feeling for his pad and pen.

“Yes, sir,” J.D. heard her answer. “I worked for the previous owner—Mr. Brewster.”

“Didn’t your family use to own this place before Brewster?” J.D. queried.

Tory shot him a quick glance of annoyance, then turned her attention back to the detective. “My father owned this place until about fifteen years ago.”

“Do you know where I can find Brewster?” Greer asked.

“He died,” Tory answered.

“How about your father?”

“I’m afraid you won’t have any luck there, either.”

“He’s deceased?” Greer asked.

J.D. watched as she lowered her eyes.

“He left town.”

“Do you have an address?”

“I haven’t heard from him,” she answered in a small voice.

J.D. felt a small stab of compassion for the woman. He knew all too well what it was like to have a parent suddenly disappear from your life. He placed his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged away from his touch.

“My father left us when I was ten. We never heard from him.”

“Sorry,” Greer mumbled as he flipped the notebook closed. “I guess there’s—”