Miss Fortune

Chapter Four

After leaving the police station, Alex ignored Charlie and her protestations of innocence all the way back to the house. All she said was, "Look, I don't know who started it and I don't care. You know better where Mrs. Urlino's concerned. We all do. Tell her what she wants to hear, apologize when you don't, and don't let her trash the shop. Cripes, Charlie, is it that tough to remember?"

"I know, but... sometimes she just won't let up." Charlie propped her feet against the dashboard, crossing her ankles. "And you know as well as I do that it doesn't matter what you tell her. She gets all bent and this time, I didn't start it."

"I don't care who started it!" Alex smacked the steering wheel in frustration. "Did you really have to fight with her? You couldn't have just said, I'm so sorry, that wasn't your Marco. Hold on, there's something else coming through. How hard would that have been to do?" She glanced over at Charlie. "We all know Marco isn't even dead!"

"I know, but she kept calling me a dirty little gypsy!" Charlie threw her hands up into the air. "I'm supposed to let that old crone get away with that on a crowded sidewalk? What if someone actually believed her? Besides, we both know Gram would be madder if I didn't defend the Roma blood, wouldn't she? No one in the world is more proud of being a Roma than Eva Prescott. If it weren't for the fact that everyone knows and loves the Prescotts, she'd probably change the name back to Prako-whatever it was."

"Preskova," Alex responded automatically, slowing for a yellow light. Turning to face Charlie, she said, "What did you say she called you?"

Charlie's green eyes flashed with outrage. "A dirty gypsy. Like I was decked out in a turban with beads and shawls hanging all over the place and three hundred gold bangles on each arm or something. Like being Roma is something I should be ashamed of." She frowned then, her eyes narrowing. "Are you alright, Alex? You look like you've seen a ghost and we all know that can't be true."

Alex scowled as Charlie snorted at her own joke. It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out about Frerin Durin's visit, but then thought better of it. The urge to confide in her sister faded. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was Charlie making fun of her, and that's probably exactly what she'd do.

The light changed to green and she stepped down onto the gas pedal. "Very funny, Charlie. I only hope Gram is as amused when she hears you were actually arrested."

"Oh, please. It'll be no worse than the time I got suspended for telling Renée Horton that not only wasn't Eric the Red in heaven, but that he was planning on haunting her until the end of time from beyond the grave. No charges are going to be filed and I promised I'd behave, remember?"

"Gram was plenty angry about that. It makes her crazy when you guys all use your gifts for perverse amusement or abject humiliation. Not to mention that it was just plain mean. Renée went bonkers when that old Irish setter got hit by the bread truck." Alex reached down to touch  the second memory button on the stereo. It was the Eighties station and they played an oldie, but a goodie by Glenn Frey. "And I doubt she'll be all that pleased about this."

"Well, whatever. I'll deal with it when she gets home." Charlie dismissed the thought with an airy wave of her hand. Jerking her legs down to plant her feet on the floor mat, she sat upright. "Was that guy not the hottest thing you've ever seen? I swear, he just gets better looking every time I see him. Wonder where he had to be in such a hurry?"

Alex twisted her head around. "Where?"

"No. Not here. At the police station. Detective Durin. I only ever see him when he passes through the shop, and I swear, he's like wine—gets a little better each day. I forgot how hot he really is and between you and me?  I'd like a peek at his crystal balls. Do you think he's single? I didn't see a wedding ring, but you never know."