150. Every religious retreat imaginable could be found in between.
“I’ve got to find a way to keep my friends from going through with their plans.”
“I’ll find out more, if you want. I’m going to a meeting of COW tonight. Someone there will know.”
“COW?”
“Contacting Other Worlds. LA chapter. It’s a professional organization with members from all over the globe.”
“There’s an association for mediums?”
“Are you surprised? We have a president and board of directors. Mediums are thoroughly vetted before they’re allowed to join. Members are called Adepts.”
“Just out of curiosity, what do you call the president of COW?”
“The Supreme Bull.”
We ended the call as Crusher walked in the doorway.
He hung up his leather jacket, removed his shoulder holster and ATF badge, and put them on the table in the hallway. Then he walked over and gave me a kiss. “Hey, babe. How was your day?”
“Awful.” I told him about Birdie and Denver. “I’ve got to find a way to talk some sense into them before it’s too late. Do you think you can reach out to your FBI contacts for a little research on the Mystical Feather Society?”
“Mystical Feather? That’s a new one to me. Yeah, I’ll call my guy tomorrow and see what he can dig up. What’s for dinner?”
I’d been so busy trying to research the group, I’d forgotten about eating. I did a quick mental scan of the contents of the refrigerator. “You have a choice: tuna sandwiches and potato chips here or going out to a restaurant.”
He chuckled. Crusher was used to my laissez-faire attitude toward cooking. “Let’s go grab a steak.”
That night I dreamt Birdie and Denver had tossed their phones on the ground and jumped into a deep, dark hole. I called the police and the fire department, but nobody could reach them. Wednesday morning I woke up with a headache and my jaw hurt, a sign I’d been grinding my teeth all night.
Crusher had already gone to work and left behind a half-empty carafe of coffee. I poured myself a cup and shuffled into my sewing room. I’d already made a crib quilt for my granddaughter, Daisy, but I wanted to sew a larger quilt for when she transitioned to a real bed.
I chose the Sunbonnet Sue pattern, which featured a side view of figures in long dresses and oversized bonnets that covered their faces. The appliqué pattern was fairly simple. The beauty of the quilt would be in my choice of fabrics. And heaven knew, I had a whole wall of shelves filled with folded pieces of fabric. I’d use plain colors for the bonnets and for the dresses I’d choose conversation prints—those fabrics with a wide range of themes depicting everyday objects. They first appeared in the early 1900s and were geared toward juvenile topics like toys, animals, and children playing. Nowadays, these prints had come to reflect every sphere of life, including different foods, sports logos, vegetables, holiday items, and tools for activities like sewing or gardening, to name just a few. I began sorting through my collection of juvenile fabrics, setting aside the small prints most suitable for the dresses. One fabric had little white lambs on a turquoise background. Another had petite sailboats in red, white, and blue.
Around noon Paulina called. “Last night at the COW meeting I talked to a seer named Mansoor the Magnificent. He knows about the Mystical Feather Society, but he was unwilling to share any information with me. He’s insisting on talking directly to you. But only if he likes your aura. He’s willing to see you at my house today because I told him it’s an emergency. Can you be here at two?”
“Yes. Of course. And thanks for setting it up.”
Paulina cleared her throat. “There’s one more thing, Martha. Last night I had a dream about your friends. I saw them dead on an altar surrounded by white feathers.”
“Good Lord!” I gasped.
“Oh, dreams don’t have to be literal, they can be metaphors. But the message was clear. Your friends are in danger. Oh. And before I forget, bring cash. Mansoor charges a fee for his time. A hundred fifty. That’s the standard for professional consults in our industry. As a favor to you I’m waiving my finder’s fee.”
Industry? I didn’t know whether to laugh or be irritated. “Thanks for the favor. I’ll see you soon.”
Paulina’s house stood on Venice Boulevard in West LA. The lavender bungalow prevailed stubbornly as the last vestige of a bygone neighborhood. The pre-WWII cottage was squeezed between a strip mall and an auto body shop. Purple morning glories bloomed profusely on a trellis near the front door. A large wooden sign stood in the cracked concrete of what used to be a front yard.
PSYCHIC
TAROT, PAST LIVES
SPIRITUALIST
(SEE MY RATINGS ON YELP)
(FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER, #PAULINAPREDICTS)
I climbed the steps and knocked.
Paulina answered the door, wearing a silk muumuu printed with purple hibiscus, lavish green leaves, and orange birds of paradise. Her long black hair formed a tidy bun at the nape of her neck. Black kohl rimmed her eyes in generous strokes, and her fuchsia mouth grinned. “Martha! It’s good to see you.” She surprised me by springing forward and wrapping me in a strong hug.
She stepped aside as I entered the dim living room, with walls painted the color of terra-cotta. Flames on the white candles nearest the door flickered briefly with the in-rushing air. A little chihuahua with a round belly and spindly legs waddled toward me and barked a wheezy hello.
I stooped to pet the well-fed animal. “Is this Hathor?”
Paulina had adopted the pet of a murder victim over a year ago. The dog was unrecognizable with her increased girth.
“Yeah. She still suffers with PTSD from witnessing that murder. The only thing that seems to comfort her is a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”
I could relate. “Well, she seems happy right now.”
“Come and meet Mansoor.”
I stood and looked toward the dining room and saw the man for the first time. I couldn’t be sure of his exact age, but I guessed he was somewhere between his early twenties and his early thirties. A red turban was wrapped around his head in expert folds. Not a speck of lint marred the perfect fit of his black suit. He sat with a straight back and clasped delicate hands on the purple velvet cloth of the table, ebony eyes studying me with liquid curiosity. One of his slender fingers displayed a large gold ring with a blue crystal.
He didn’t get up from the table as I approached. “I am Mansoor the Magnificent.” He spoke with an accent I couldn’t place.
“I’m Martha Rose.” I offered my hand, but he kept his folded together in front of him.
His tight little smile revealed perfect white teeth. “You can place my fee on zee table, pleess.”
I sat and rooted around in my purse for my wallet.
