oils. I picked up a bottle of chocolate essential oil—my favorite one—and took a whiff.
Mmm.
I set the chocolate oil on the table and wondered where my auntie was. She'd volunteered to take Brownie for a walk before he'd be cooped up all day in our hotel room. I was about to text her when angry voices rose nearby. I turned to see a heavyset Asian man in white scrubs standing an inch away from Garnett, who had risen to new heights from the Birks I'd seen her wearing in the elevator to a pair of cute black cork wedges.
"I was here first." Garnett's voice was terse as she brushed a stray piece of glossy hair behind her gemstone-bedazzled ear. "This is my booth."
The man toyed with the edge of his scrubs as he glared at her. "I need open space to do psychic surgery. Location isn't a factor in people buying your voodoo dolls."
Psychic surgery and voodoo? Definitely not what I signed up for.
Garnett anchored her hands on her hips. "Location's always important, and I like the corner spot."
"I can't operate in a middle booth, and this is the only corner one left." The man's rodent-like eyes narrowed as his lips pressed together, paling with the pressure.
"It's not like you need a sterile OR."
"Come on. Be fair to your fellow metaphysical practitioner."
"Fair?" Garnett let out a sarcastic laugh. "You said Mystic Ming wouldn't be here, and that was a crock."
"It's not my fault he changed his plans." His lips relaxed, and he flashed her a pretty please look. "Come on, aren't we all friends?"
She glanced at her wedge sandals for a moment before lifting her chin. "With everyone but your pal Mystic Ming."
"We're not close anymore, I promise. I hardly see him," he said. "Let's try a different route. How about a good old fashioned game to settle this?"
"You and that darn rock-paper-scissor game." Garnett flashed him a smile. "Honestly, how immature, Charles."
A tiny giggle escaped my lips. Garnett was right. I hadn't rock-paper-scissored for anything since second grade. I noticed several onlookers regarding the scene. One older lady furrowed her eyebrows and then rummaged through a display of crystals.
"Best of three?" Charles asked.
Garnett shrugged. "Sure."
Round one began with Garnett taking the lead (paper still covered rock). When they launched into round two laughing like old friends, most of the onlookers lost interest. Myself included. I turned back to my table and saw a large woman standing beside my booth, staring at Charles and Garnett. She was crammed into a bright orange sequined muumuu and purple-feathered headpiece.
I stepped aside so I wouldn't block her view. "Friends of yours?"
The woman swung her gaze toward me. "Not really. No. I mean, I know Garnett from past expos, but not the gentleman. I don't know who he is. Never seen him before. No clue." Her sugary-sweet Southern voice contradicted her don't know him ramble.
Almost.
In my line of work, I encountered deception often. Like when I asked a patient, have you stayed off dairy since I saw you last? The ramblers were usually being dishonest. But why would this woman have reason to lie to me? Should I inquire?
"I love your dress," she said. "Sequins are my favorite."
"Thanks." I decided to drop it. Who cared if a sequin lover fibbed? I admired her manicure. Shiny peach polish covered each nail, along with a white rhinestone. "Your nails are gorgeous."
"Why, thank you." She smiled and offered me her hand. "I'm Babette. Preferred psychic of the greater Miami area."
I shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Babette."
Babette reached into her pocket, retrieved a business card, and gave it to me. The card was neon orange and advertised her picture, name, and psychic offerings.
"You do past life regressions and séances?" I'd have to make sure Aunt Alfa didn't see this card. The only séance I'd ever attended was when she wanted to talk to her dead ex-boyfriend. After a broken window and an overturned candle that burnt up some expensive drapes, the
Mmm.
I set the chocolate oil on the table and wondered where my auntie was. She'd volunteered to take Brownie for a walk before he'd be cooped up all day in our hotel room. I was about to text her when angry voices rose nearby. I turned to see a heavyset Asian man in white scrubs standing an inch away from Garnett, who had risen to new heights from the Birks I'd seen her wearing in the elevator to a pair of cute black cork wedges.
"I was here first." Garnett's voice was terse as she brushed a stray piece of glossy hair behind her gemstone-bedazzled ear. "This is my booth."
The man toyed with the edge of his scrubs as he glared at her. "I need open space to do psychic surgery. Location isn't a factor in people buying your voodoo dolls."
Psychic surgery and voodoo? Definitely not what I signed up for.
Garnett anchored her hands on her hips. "Location's always important, and I like the corner spot."
"I can't operate in a middle booth, and this is the only corner one left." The man's rodent-like eyes narrowed as his lips pressed together, paling with the pressure.
"It's not like you need a sterile OR."
"Come on. Be fair to your fellow metaphysical practitioner."
"Fair?" Garnett let out a sarcastic laugh. "You said Mystic Ming wouldn't be here, and that was a crock."
"It's not my fault he changed his plans." His lips relaxed, and he flashed her a pretty please look. "Come on, aren't we all friends?"
She glanced at her wedge sandals for a moment before lifting her chin. "With everyone but your pal Mystic Ming."
"We're not close anymore, I promise. I hardly see him," he said. "Let's try a different route. How about a good old fashioned game to settle this?"
"You and that darn rock-paper-scissor game." Garnett flashed him a smile. "Honestly, how immature, Charles."
A tiny giggle escaped my lips. Garnett was right. I hadn't rock-paper-scissored for anything since second grade. I noticed several onlookers regarding the scene. One older lady furrowed her eyebrows and then rummaged through a display of crystals.
"Best of three?" Charles asked.
Garnett shrugged. "Sure."
Round one began with Garnett taking the lead (paper still covered rock). When they launched into round two laughing like old friends, most of the onlookers lost interest. Myself included. I turned back to my table and saw a large woman standing beside my booth, staring at Charles and Garnett. She was crammed into a bright orange sequined muumuu and purple-feathered headpiece.
I stepped aside so I wouldn't block her view. "Friends of yours?"
The woman swung her gaze toward me. "Not really. No. I mean, I know Garnett from past expos, but not the gentleman. I don't know who he is. Never seen him before. No clue." Her sugary-sweet Southern voice contradicted her don't know him ramble.
Almost.
In my line of work, I encountered deception often. Like when I asked a patient, have you stayed off dairy since I saw you last? The ramblers were usually being dishonest. But why would this woman have reason to lie to me? Should I inquire?
"I love your dress," she said. "Sequins are my favorite."
"Thanks." I decided to drop it. Who cared if a sequin lover fibbed? I admired her manicure. Shiny peach polish covered each nail, along with a white rhinestone. "Your nails are gorgeous."
"Why, thank you." She smiled and offered me her hand. "I'm Babette. Preferred psychic of the greater Miami area."
I shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Babette."
Babette reached into her pocket, retrieved a business card, and gave it to me. The card was neon orange and advertised her picture, name, and psychic offerings.
"You do past life regressions and séances?" I'd have to make sure Aunt Alfa didn't see this card. The only séance I'd ever attended was when she wanted to talk to her dead ex-boyfriend. After a broken window and an overturned candle that burnt up some expensive drapes, the
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