“In Florida we salt margaritas – not sidewalks.”

 Chapter 1

“But I'm quite certain Bitsy would wish to speak with me,” the woman across from me sniffed and clutched a folded silk handkerchief with a perfectly monogrammed E on the corner. The point of her chin rose as she looked down her nose at me. 

“Mrs. Evanston, I've already explained this – I'm a psychic – not a medium,” I sighed as Mrs. Evanston's eyes steeled up and her shoulders braced.

“Well, I'd say that you're certainly misleading people with your little psychic shop if you can't even talk to Bitsy for me.” Mrs. Evanston narrowed her eyes at me. I could already read the threat in her mind: she would be contacting the Better Business Bureau and by lunch, she'd be tearing my reputation to threads with her Ladies Who Lunch club. Mentally rolling my eyes, I plastered a smile across my face. 

“The reason that I don't advertise being a medium is because it's so incredibly draining for me,” I began, lying through my teeth. “However, for you, I'll make an exception.” 

A muffled snort from a screen to my left almost had me cracking a smile but instead, I stayed focused on my client. Hope had dawned in Mrs. Evanston's eyes as she leaned forward, hands pressed into the purple velvet of my table. 

“You can? Oh, oh, just...can you tell me if she is safe?” Mrs. Evanston breathed, staring into my glass scrying ball on the table. 

I closed my eyes and counted to ten, doing my best to get an image of Bitsy from Mrs. Evanston's thoughts. A puffball of a white cat popped into my head, so I went with it. 

“Her coat is just as stunning as it was in life – I see her walking proudly,” I said, keeping my eyes closed and praying that I had hit the mark. 

“Ohhhh,” Mrs. Evanston breathed and I snuck a look to see her with a hand over her mouth, a sheen of tears making her eyes glint behind her glasses. Her hair, the perfectly blue-gray rinse favored by the elderly set on Tequila Key, bobbed as she nodded. 

“She was really proud of her coat. Bitsy was a show cat, you know,” Mrs. Evanston said. 

“I can see she carries herself as such. She is wonderfully happy and has told me that her only concern is for you to find peace with her passing,” I said gently, using my de rigueur explanation when clients insisted that I contact a loved one. 

No matter what, it seemed that when people heard psychic, they thought I could do anything.

Magic even.

I'd leave that to my best friend and business partner, Luna Lavelle, the one who had so gracefully snorted from the other room of our Luna Rose Potions & Tarot Shop tucked on a sleepy street in Tequila Key, Florida. 

“You know, Althea Rose, your mother may be the famous one, but I think you've inherited her gift,” Mrs. Evanston said, rising to shake my hand with a smile. I scanned her thoughts and all I got was pleasure, so as far as I was concerned, the reading had been a successful one. 

I checked my moral compass and decided as white lies go, it was a minor one. People only come to psychics for two reasons – to find out if they will be okay and to find out if someone they love will be okay. I turned my palm over to look at the $1 tip she had pressed into my hands. I had to laugh. Though the rich in this town liked to flaunt it with country club passes and fancy houses, in all reality they were stingy to the core. 

Pressing my hands to my eyes, I willed back a headache that threatened to dull my thoughts. 

“Drink this,” Luna said, interrupting my brief debate over closing shop for the day or not. 

I smiled at her as I took whatever potion she had mixed up for me and held it to my nose. Luna slipped into the chair across from me and waved an impatient hand at the drink. 

“Althea, I know your tastes by now, you'll like it.”

Vanilla mint soothed my throat as I sipped the cool liquid and my head cleared instantaneously. I tilted the now empty glass at her in a salute. 

“You should sell this.” 

Luna sighed and tucked her stick-straight blonde hair behind her ear. My best friend and business partner was my antithesis in every way. Airy, elegant, with a sharp business mind and mile-long legs, Luna made her living breaking men's hearts and helping the down and out of Tequila Key. 

That whole white witch thing didn't give her much room on the “bound to help” area of her life, I thought. Much like the Hippocratic Oath – when Luna saw suffering, she sought to fix it. 

And didn't that just make her a better person than I? 

Annoyed with where my thoughts were going, I refocused on Luna. 

“Bad day?” she asked. 

“Could be better. Drinks on me tonight!” I sang, holding up the dollar bill that Mrs. Evanston had left me with. Luna's warm chuckle flowed across the table – a light and lilting sound. I’d seen men turn at thirty paces and backtrack just to meet her after hearing Luna's laugh. 

“Oh, like Beau ever makes us pay,” Luna said with a smile, speaking of Beau Redford, our mutual best friend and owner of Lucky's Tiki Bar. 

“It scares me to think what our tab could be.” I pushed away from the table, unaccountably antsy, and paced my side of the store. 

The Luna Rose Potions & Tarot Shop was a combination of our names and a clash of our personalities. From the outside, a whimsical coastal cottage with two front doors welcomed our clientele. The weathered white siding with stars and moons painted across the wood just added to the charm that was peculiar to this section of Tequila Key. But – depending on which door a client chose to walk through – two different worlds awaited. 

My side, the Tarot & Psychic shop, was set up precisely as one would expect a tarot shop to be. A few years ago, I'd gotten a bee in my bonnet about dispelling the myth of un-professionalism in the tarot world and had transformed my shop into a waiting room similar to a lawyer's office. Soothing gray tones with light pink accents, a potted plant in the corner. Luna had scoffed at it and to my surprise, my business had all but dried up. 

I've since learned not to mess with people's expectations.

Now, my side screamed “PSYCHIC! LIVE READING!” louder than a flashing neon sign on the window. Miles of red and purple crushed velvet was draped across the tables and chairs, while crystals, statues, and incense cluttered the shelves that lined the room. A privacy screen blocked my clients from the other side of the shop and a combination of Luna's new age music and her magic kept clients in the potion shop from hearing the dark secrets shared in mine. 

I loved my little shop, I thought with a smile. A skeleton in the corner sported a Ramone's t-shirt and Day of the Dead candles lined my altar. It fit me to a T.

I flipped my hand over to check the time on my watch, the face turned inside my wrist so as to allow me to discreetly check the time during my readings. Below the watch, an intricate tattoo wound its way up my inner arm, holding both an evil eye design and Celtic warrior protection symbols. 

One could never be too safe. 

“I like your color this week,” Luna said, gesturing to my hair. I stopped my pacing and turned to stand in front of a small ornate mirror to study my reflection. Curls in every shade from deep brown to neon pink rioted around my face, subdued only by a jeweled headband with a skull that I'd tucked in there earlier in the day. Reaching up to fluff my curls, I tilted my head. 

“The pink does pop my eyes a bit,” I said. 

“Those cat eyes of yours pop no matter what,” Luna said dryly. 

I suppose they do, I thought as I widened my green eyes that naturally slanted at the corners. A flowing silk maxi dress, the color of the sea at dawn, covered my body and made me look like one tall cool cylinder of water. Well, water with a few ripples, I thought, eyeing a generous butt that the flowing dress didn't fully conceal.

“I love this dress,” I decided and turned back to smile at Luna. 

“You say that every time you wear it,” Luna said with a smile, standing and stretching. A dainty white camisole and white linen slacks covered her thin frame. White linen slacks that didn't dare wrinkle, I might add.

“I have my ways,” Luna said, reading my thoughts. 

“I can't do white. I never understand how you can wear white every day and not get stains on it,” I grumbled. 

“Maybe you should try paying attention to where you are going and you won't end up with stains so much,” Luna said gently and motioned for me to follow her to her side of the shop. 

“We closing out for the day?” I asked, and turned to switch a small beaded lamp off behind my table. 

“Unless you have any more appointments?” Luna's voice floated back to me. 

“Nah, and I doubt we'll get a walk-in today. Tuesdays are typically pretty slow,” I murmured as I went around the room clicking off lamps and throwing the bolt in the front door on my side. I stood at the window for a moment, peering out into our sleepy street, my anxiety still high. 

“It's nothing,” I reprimanded myself and slid the blinds closed, grabbing my beaded, fringed, slouchy boho bag. 

Stepping from my shop to Luna's was like going from Walmart to Neiman Marcus. Elegance oozed from every whitewashed corner. Luna had gone with upscale beachy, with a predominant theme of white, gray, and gold showcased throughout the room. Large reclaimed wood tables and shelves held hundreds of bottles, each with a gold top and a fancy white-and-gold label. Luna believed that presentation was everything and I couldn't argue with her, as her potions and elixirs were in demand around the world. At times I wondered if she thought my side of the shop was dragging hers down. 

“Why do you have that look on your face?” Luna asked, squinting her blue eyes at me, one small line marring her perfect forehead. 

“I just am always amazed that you're willing to slum it with the likes of me,” I said, gesturing to the beautiful display of crystals on a table in front of me. 

“Knock it off, you bitch,” Luna swore, knowing that curses coming from her delicate mouth would get me chuckling. 

“You're the bitch,” I said, cracking a smile at her. 

“See? This is why we are best friends and perfectly suited to do business together,” Luna said, pointing a finger at me as she moved behind her counter and began to total her receipts. 

I traced my hand over a chunk of amethyst on the table. 

“Our shops are just so different,” I said, unable to drop it for some reason. 

“Which is why they work. They are complementary to each other,” Luna began, sighing as she put the receipts down and waited for me to finish, knowing that I would keep interrupting her math until I got it out. 

I shrugged, and picked up a small citrine crystal and held it to the light. 

“I know. I guess sometimes I just feel like I'm dragging you down. You've got all this beauty and light over here,” I said, gesturing with the citrine, “and I'm all dark and crushed velvet over there.” 

Luna crossed her arms and studied me more carefully. 

“What's really bothering you? This has never been an issue before.” 

“Nothing, I don't know, I…” I shrugged and put the citrine down, unsure why I was feeling insecure, unsure of where these emotions were bubbling up from. 

“Althea. We can't be the same. We should never be the same. It isn't light and dark. It's just that our powers and our very essences are so different. This…” Luna swept her arm out to the shop, “would be nothing without you. You are one of the top psychics in the country. You bring in as much business as my light working and potions do. And don't even get me started on your beautiful art,” Luna said, gesturing to where my underwater photographs lined her walls. “We're a team. And in more than just business. This isn't like you at all to question that,” Luna said, her head tilted, receipts forgotten as she studied me. I could feel her mental probe as she tried to get a reading on my feelings. 

“I'm worried,” I blurted out and then stopped, wracking my brain for why.

“Why?” Luna crossed her arms and watched me, taking my concerns seriously. 

“I don't know. I've been anxious all day. But when I try to get a grasp on what or why…” I spread my hands in front of me and raised my shoulders, “nothing. I see a gray mist of nothing. I don't know what that means.” 

Luna came around the counter and began to pace her shop, mimicking my moves from a few moments before. 

“That's highly unusual. Now I'm worried. Can we call Abigail?”

Abigail Rose is my mother, one of the most sought after psychics in the world, and currently tucked away in Greece doing a reading for a dignitary. Or was it a movie star? I could never remember. 

“You know how they are when they travel,” I said, thinking with love of my parents. 

“Yes, completely off the radar,” Luna murmured, wrapping a strand of her hair around her finger and tugging it. 

“I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe just that time of the month.” I shrugged, wanting the conversation to be over. 

“Nice try, Althea, but I know you,” Luna said, picking up the receipts again. “Let's meet at Lucky's in an hour. It'll give you time to feed Hank.” 

Hank, my parents' Boston terrier, had become a fixture in my home as they traveled the world. 

“Yeah, he's probably getting antsy by now. I'll give him a quick run and then meet you over there. Um…just call me when you leave here, okay?”

Luna paused. 

“Now you really have me worried.” 

“It's fine. I swear it's fine. But until I know why I'm feeling this way…just…put your protection spells up. And carry your knife,” I said, reluctant to leave. 

“Great, Althea. Now I'll never finish these receipts. You know what? I'll count them tomorrow. You can bike me past my place. Okay with you?”

I blew out a breath and nodded, feeling the tension in my shoulders relax. 

I held up the citrine again before slipping it into my purse.

“Add this to my tab.”

Chapter 2

“See you in an hour,” I called, ringing the bell on my beach cruiser bike as I pedaled away from Luna's swanky condo that always made me a little on edge to hang out in. Her design style was echoed there, with a lot of white on white and long windows that let in the light.

I'd have stained the couch with red wine by now if I lived there, I thought as I circled my bike and waved to Mr. Roberts sitting in his rocker on the front porch of Fins, the local everything store. 

Tequila Key is a small town with big city aspirations. Often skipped over by the tourists on their way from Key Largo to Key West, Tequila Key had gone through a small re-birth in the 70s. In a bid to attract more tourists, the mayor at the time had thought it would be fun to rename the town from Whittier Key to Tequila Key, thus enraging the Whittiers, whose family had been some of the first to live here, and ensuring that we would never be taken seriously by anyone, ever. 

At the entrance to town, just a marker off the highway, a huge sign proclaimed, “Tequila Makes it Better.” Whoever's genius idea it had been to erect that had driven the final nail into the coffin on getting any actual tourists to come further into the city. Instead, cars full of people would pull off the highway, take their picture by the sign, and continue on to the party town of Key West, leaving Tequila Key an all but forgotten stop on their journey.

This relative obscurity worked just fine for me, as well as for a slew of creative types who had wandered their way here over the years, pushed out of the other Keys by rising land prices and expensive tourist restaurants. The rich had found their way here as well, for those craving a sleepier waterfront lifestyle while still getting the most bang for their buck. An invisible line seemed to form through the town, with old Tequila Key being a colorful assortment of houses clambering over each other for space and New Tequila – that is, the newly renamed Port Atticus – housing the Ladies Who Lunch with manicured lawns and gated subdivisions. 

And, somehow, it all worked out just fine, I thought as I rode my bike past a series of shotgun-style houses, boasting porches painted in a myriad of colors, with large plantation shutters ranging along tall front windows. My house was the last in the row, giving me an unobstructed view of the water from the side that wasn't connected to the rest of the row. 

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 reputation 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 3

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 gazed 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. 

“Stop it, Althea. You're stunning,” Luna said immediately and I reached out to squeeze her arm. My best friend, always championing for me. 

“Right, I get it. Statuesque goddess and all that, but seriously, why for me?” I asked Beau, pinning him with my stare. 

Beau shrugged. “I don't know. Instinct? Bartender intuition? I'll introduce you guys when they get up from dinner. You'll like him. On top of being drop dead yum, he's actually an interesting guy and so far doesn't seem to be full of himself.” 

“Who’s the guy next to him?” Luna asked and I turned again, pretending to casually glance through the restaurant. I'd missed the handsome guy sitting next to Cash as I'd been momentarily blinded by Cash's raw punch of hotness. The man to his right looked to be Cuban or Puerto Rican, with warm brown skin and brown hair slicked back from his face. A gold chain glinted from the deep V of his silk dress shirt.  

“He looks like a Miami club guy,” I said, turning back to Luna. 

“He might be; I think he works with Theodore,” Beau said. 

“He's cute,” Luna offered. 

“You think? He's a little too sleek for me,” I murmured, refusing to look back at the table – then immediately looking back at the table. This time, Cash met my eyes and I felt my cheeks flush. Feeling bold, I nodded at him and a smile split his handsome face. 

“Oh lord,” I breathed, turning back to bury my face in the seltzer water that Beau had pushed across the table. 

“Maybe take him in small doses,” Luna said, running a soothing hand down my arm. 

“I'd take him in any dose,” Beau observed and I snorted. 

“Okay, enough with all this, tell me where you are thinking of setting up this restaurant,” I pleaded, desperately wanting to change the subject. 

“Well, you didn't hear it from me, but Luca is closing his deli,” Beau said, leaning over and keeping his voice low. 

“No!” Luna and I both said simultaneously. Luca's Deli had been serving up sandwiches and the best pickles in town since I was a kid. I couldn't imagine Tequila Key without him. 

“There are other investors who are looking at the space, though, because it has a prime beach spot. I'm not sure if we'll get it. That being said, I have two other options for spaces, so I'll be okay either way.” 

“Wait, but, why?” I asked, still focused on Luca making the decision to leave. He was as much a staple of this town as the faded Tequila sign out by the highway.

“Supposedly, Luca met a special lady friend. Special lady friend wants to travel Europe. Luca didn't think twice about it.” Beau shrugged again, and then moved to fill a drink order. 

“Luca's leaving, wow,” I said, turning to Luna. Sadness crossed her beautiful features before she snickered. 

“Luca wants to get lucky,” she said. 

“Shhh,” I said, shushing her. “That's like talking about our grandfather!” 

Her shoulders shook with laughter and I couldn't help but join her. 

“Good for him,” I said, lifting my seltzer in salute, before clinking the glass against Luna's. She sipped her Moscow Mule, served in a copper mug, and then straightened and turned to me. 

“Okay, let's get back to why we came here. Tell me what you think is going on,” Luna said, her eyes tracking my face. 

“I don't know. I really don't. But, get this – my mother emailed me a warning. And…” I reached in my purse and pulled out the cloth bag that Miss Elva had given me. Luna drew in a sharp breath. You didn't have to tell a witch what a gris-gris bag was for. 

“Two warnings,” Luna breathed. 

“I know. I just wish I could see why. I just have this super heavy sense of something…I don't know. It makes me antsy. But I'm getting no visuals,” I said, pointing at my head for emphasis. 

“Let's do a seeing spell at the shop tomorrow when you get in. We'll see if we can clear the fog out,” Luna decided. 

“Yeah, I could use the help,” I said, ashamed to admit that my typically formidable gift had failed me.

“It's okay, hon, you can't always see everything. Even your mom misses things once in a while. If she had seen something important, she would've given you details,” Luna said. 

“You're right, Abigail rarely holds back,” I said, feeling somewhat comforted. No way would my mom have seen something that was going to harm me and not give me a heads up. Unless…

“But it goes against her rules to interfere with a vision,” I said, reminding Luna of one of the rules that most psychics, including myself, practiced. No matter the vision, one shouldn't interfere with Fate. 

Because Fate always finds a way. 

“I suspect she'd break that rule in your case,” Luna said dryly, taking another sip from her mug. I watched a bead of water drip down the side, missing her dress. 

Naturally.

“So we wait,” I said. 

“We wait.”

“I hope you enjoyed this free sample of One Tequila. To continue reading click one of the Amazon links below. Sparkle on my friends.”
Tricia O’Malley

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