“I was thinking about something.” Dominique picked up her glass of Chardonnay. “Remember what Mom's friend, Trudie, found out about Nick?”
Molly grimaced. “You mean all the worthless information she dug up? I didn't need to know any of it. All I'm interested in is his building plans for my end of the block and if he's going to cave on the twenty-five thousand he offered his tenants. I'll never find another âangel' and no other landlord will give a future clinic, if we're forced to open another one, any break at all on rent. If I didn't already know it, I figured that out this afternoon. Eight seventy-five for a studio with no closets. Whatever Nick decides will affect a lot of people â not just his tenants, but anyone in need of pretty much free medical care.”
“Some of what Trudie said had value.”
Molly inserted the candles into the holders. “I can't think of one piece of information I could put to good use.”
“I can think of several. For instance, Nick is just the right age for you. Also, Taurus is a perfect match for Capricorn. You're both Earth signs.”
Molly wrinkled her nose. “Forget it. Anyway, you know I don't believe in that stuff.”
Dominique had her chart prepared every year by some guy with the tattoos and piercings of a debauched rock star. Molly considered it a waste of money. She didn't believe in Ouija, either. However, Dominique had brought her board with her and insisted that, after they worked on the grant, they have a session. Especially once she'd heard the full scope of Molly's two encounters with Nick.
“People born under Taurus and Capricorn have a lot in common and usually think alike. Of course, on the down side, they're both stubborn.” Dominique sipped her wine. “I don't have to tell you who'll come out on top in a clash of wills. Think horns.”
“I will never again spend time clashing wills or anything else with Mr. Mancini.”
“Don't be so sure. From what you told Mom and me on Friday, plus what happened with him earlier today, he sounds like a pretty determined guy. Am I right?”
Molly thought for a moment. “Yes, he comes across as determined. At least, he isn't belligerent.” Belligerent men were obnoxious. They were the kind who bellowed like thwarted bulls. The kind who lost their temper right from the get-go. She couldn't remember Nick Mancini raising his voice. If he had a temper, he kept it hidden deep inside that toned body.
“You said he's cute, though.”
“No, I didn't.” Molly formed a mental image of his face. “He's definitely not cute. That's a guy with a buzz cut and pug nose. He's rugged. Some women might even consider him ⦠handsome. Not that it matters if he's handsome or cute or if he's often mistaken for a Troll. My business with him is over, finished, deader than yesterday's news.”
“Well, he can't be any worse than the guy you dated last April whose goal was to become a househusband.”
A frown pinched Molly's brow. “I never dated him. It was a one-time fix-up, courtesy of your husband. You'll notice, after that, I swore off flying blind forever.”
“Maybe that's why you're still single at twenty-nine. At your age, a woman shouldn't narrow her focus.”
“I'm perfectly happy with my life. I'm not the kind of woman who'll eat a whole shopping cart full of Twinkies if she doesn't have a Saturday night date.”
“If you can't drum up any interest in Mr. Mancini, I wish you'd reconsider the techie Rob plays squash with on Friday nights. Okay, you'd have to wear flat-heeled shoes if you dated him, but he
is
cute.”
Molly groaned. “Forget him and anyone else on Rob's reject list.” She lit the two utility candles. “I don't understand why we need
illumination
.” That was Dominique's preferred reference to candlelight.
“It sets the right mood.”
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Molly picked up her glass of Chardonnay off the coffee table and took a few sips. Dealing with Ouija worked better for her if she had a slight buzz. She settled against the plump navy blue pillow in the corner of her white wicker sofa and kicked off her shoes.
“Although it's not an exact science, it practically borders on the supernatural. In case you haven't heard me mention it before, like a hundred times, I'll remind you again. The supernatural has been proven to exist.”
“Proven? Ha. I doubt it.”
Dominique lifted the Ouija board from its box and placed it on the table. A black cat with flattened ears and spiky-furred arched back hovered above two rows of alphabet letters at the top of the board.
“You believe in the subconscious, don't you?”
Molly nodded. “Yes, but not mental telepathy and mind reading.”
“That's not the principal behind Ouija. It communicates through the subconscious. Almost everyone is curious about where their life is heading. Aren't you?”
“I suppose so.” Molly had to admit she was guilty of drifting lately. However, she doubted Ouija could make the path clear.
“If you have questions, Ouija will provide answers.”
“How can a board game predict the future?”
“It isn't a game, and Ouija doesn't predict. It's an aid to unlocking deep-seated thoughts and desires. Haven't you ever wondered
why
when you did something out of character?”
“You mean like what happened earlier today with Nick?” Molly still felt the imprint of his lips on hers.
“Exactly.”
“I suppose impulses rattle around in the backs of our minds. Sometimes we act on them without thinking it through. I believe that much.”
“You ought to.”
“Why?”
“It's what happened to you when you let him kiss you.”
Uh-oh. That was one impulse Molly should never have obeyed; the other was telling her cousin about her lip-lock with Nick. “I didn't exactly let him, and it wasn't like he bothered to ask permission.”
Dominique smiled. “You wanted him to kiss you. When he did, you enjoyed it. Think of it as your subconscious at work. He could have used mental telepathy on you, too. He might have programmed you to kiss him and he didn't have to utter a word.”
Molly sipped her wine. “You think it's possible someone can make you do something you ordinarily wouldn't do?”
“Well, maybe not commit a felony.”
“You think that's what Nick did? He programmed me into kissing him?”
“He sent you a message, and you responded without conscious awareness. Or maybe you
were
aware. You know, mental telepathy works both ways.”
“I know I didn't influence him.”
“Then the desire sprang from deep in your subconscious. When he used a little thought transference on you, you fell right into his arms.”
“Thought transference? Please. Where did you learn all this stuff? I didn't fall into his arms.” Tripped, yes, but fell? No way.
“People have bent minds for centuries.”
Molly frowned. Was it possible? Was that why she let him swoop in on her, for heaven's sake, right there practically on a public sidewalk?
“No. I don't believe in thought transference. Or that Nick Mancini needs to program a woman to kiss him. He just does it because ⦠” She glanced up at the ceiling, at a loss to explain what motivated him to kiss
her
.
“Yes, you were saying? He does it because ⦠?”
She shifted her gaze to Dominique, “ ⦠because he can, and I'll bet he doesn't encounter much resistance. He just zeros in for the kill.”
“Isn't that every woman's dream? To be killed by a French kiss from a fabulous-looking guy?”
Molly sighed. “I suppose there are more painful ways to meet the Grim Reaper.”
Dominique removed the planchette â a palm-sized triangular object perched on three small knobby legs â from the box and placed it on the board. “Okay, let's put the mysterious message indicator to work.”
Molly picked up the planchette and peered through a small glass circle cut into the wood. “What's so mysterious about this?”
“It acts like a medium. You ask questions and it reveals answers.”
The sun had completed its descent. Lit only by the candles, the room slid into semi-darkness. Shadows brushed against the pale yellow walls.
“What if I have no questions?”
“Believe me, you do.” Dominique scooted her chair close enough to Molly so they could balance the board on their knees.
Molly replaced the planchette and took another sip of wine. Maybe if she mellowed out more, she'd become less resistant and unlock the deep-seated desires Dominique insisted swam around in her brain. She set her wineglass on the adjacent white wicker end table.
“I'll ask the questions.” Dominique moved the planchette to the center of the board and placed her fingertips along one edge. She instructed Molly to do likewise.
“You're serious, aren't you?”
“Absolutely.”
Molly groaned. “I don't have your faith.”
“I think you're afraid of what you might find out.”
“Wrong. I'm not afraid. I'm skeptical.”
“We'll see how long your skepticism lasts. Now, take a minute and totally clear your mind.”
Molly drew in a deep breath, held it for a few moments, and then let it whoosh out. What harm could it do to go through the motions? They'd share a couple of laughs, finish off the wine, and then she'd hit the sack early. Tomorrow night would probably turn into a killer, since she promised Mrs. Z she'd drop in at their association meeting. Tuesday and Wednesday she had to run around the city and collect the last of the donated items for her auction on Thursday night.
“Ready? Is your mind empty?”
Molly tried to create a vacuum in her brain.
“Let's have a practice run to help you get used to the movement of the planchette.”
Practice. That's what Nick had suggested just before he zeroed in for a kiss. Also, why was it every time the kiss came up a pocket of heat settled in her chest? She could put Ouija to the test, but she already knew the answer: The way she connected with him
had
affected her. She enjoyed it and deserved to have “traitor” branded onto her forehead.
“Remember, let your subconscious guide the planchette, not your fingers.”
Molly nodded.
“Okay. First question. Is your name Molly?”
Molly watched the indicator. She waited for something to happen, but it seemed stuck. In case she'd exerted too much pressure, she lightened her touch. Still nothing.
“It's not working.”
“It will. Have patience.”
A second later, the indicator began a slow movement and eventually settled near one corner. Molly read the word
YES
through the glass window. Well, that was true.
“Next question. Are you married?”
The indicator showed no sign of activity. Then it slowly circled the board. As the rhythm increased, it slid to the opposite corner and stopped above the word
NO
.
How weird. Not that Molly hadn't yet nailed down a groom â well, Dominique thought it was weird â but that the planchette uncovered the correct answer once again. She had no recollection of prodding it. Molly removed her fingers. “Have you guided this thing?”
“Absolutely not. I don't have to. It's obeying your subconscious. Put your fingers back on.”
Molly complied, but not without suspicion.
Dominique paused for a moment. “Are you dating right now?”
Molly waited for the answer to reveal itself, but the indicator stalled again. What difference did it make, anyway? She knew there was no one special in her life. Just when she decided the whole premise was silly, she felt movement. The indicator circled slowly then picked up momentum. For a moment, it appeared as if it might slide off the side of the board when it made an abrupt correction. It skirted along the edge and stopped above
NO
.
“When's the last time you had a date?”
“You already know everything about my love life.” Or lack thereof. It made Molly feel like Mary Poppins.
“You're not allowed to answer the questions.”
Molly blew air out through parted lips. She found it difficult to focus, to turn her mind into a wasteland. After what seemed like a full minute, the answer revealed itself. The planchette moved letter by letter.
M O N T H S
appeared through the glass window. Had it been
that
long?
“Why has it been months?” Dominique kept her voice low.
The indicator skimmed over the board.
B U S.
What? Molly never rode the bus. Muni sucked. The buses ran late and some passengers brought along more than a hint of danger. She looked up. There was gentle movement under her fingertips. Her gaze returned to the board.
Y
sat squarely in the viewing window.
B U S Y.
How true.
“Would you like to meet an interesting guy?”
This time the planchette appeared free from its former constraints. It buzzed straight to
YES.
That was a no-brainer.
“In fact, have you already met one?”
YES
appeared in the window.
“When?” Dominique's voice was almost hushed.
Molly followed the path of the planchette as it spelled out
L A S T W E E K.
That's when she met Nick. This was spooky. She blamed the candlelight. Every minute or so, the flame flickered as if an unseen presence hovered in the room.
“Would you like to be married?”
Would she? The indicator began an unhurried stroll through the alphabet. The first letter appeared.
M.
Quickly, it was followed by
A Y B E.
She supposed it was true, if she ever met the right man, which she hadn't exactly killed herself to find. If she didn't meet Mr. Right, she didn't foresee it making her bitter. She led a relatively uncomplicated life, in part because she was single. Just last year, two of her friends filed for divorce. She'd been in their weddings. She'd thought they were happy. Now they were statistics and hung out in clubs and dated losers. Something any sane woman would work hard to avoid.