Tea-Totally Dead Read Free Page B

wondered who had told Ingrid that I was Wayne’s “fiancée.” Would Wayne have used the word? He of all people knew we had no wedding plans.
    I squinted at Ingrid’s face, noticing something familiar about her. She had a handsome face, blessed by good bones and friendly blue eyes. Barbara Bush, I realized—that was it. Ingrid looked like the former First Lady. And the superficial resemblance was strengthened by the similarity in the styling of Ingrid’s white hair. And by the three strings of pearls she wore around her neck. Was she imitating the former President’s wife on purpose?
    “Lori,” Trent called out. His voice wasn’t loud, but there was a command implicit in its tone.
    Ingrid dropped my hand gently and turned.
    I followed her glance and saw a woman who might have been my age and a girl who looked about twelve or so sitting on a black leather couch across the room. The woman stood and waved. She was tall, probably close to six feet, with brown eyes and a long blond braid down her back. The girl stood too. Her movements resembled the woman’s, but she had dark skin and features that proudly declared her African ancestry. The tall woman grinned at us and strode our way, her bracelets jangling as she approached. I could smell her perfume when she got within a yard of us. It was sweet and spicy. And strong. The girl followed along behind her.
    “My daughter, Lori—” Trent began.
    I missed the rest of his introduction as Lori enveloped me in a great big fragrant hug. Oh well, I thought, this was Marin after all, home of the hug as the correct gesture of greeting. Even for strangers.
    “Are you Kate?” she demanded as she released me, the volume of her demand tempered by the welcoming grin on her face.
    I opened my mouth to answer, but I wasn’t fast enough.
    “Wayne’s told us all about you,” she enthused, giving me less than an instant to wonder just what Wayne had told them. “Oh, I can see why he’s in love with you. You have such a wonderful energy! And your aura.” She closed her eyes for a minute. “Let me see,” she commanded, putting her hands on my shoulders.
    I took a closer look at Lori’s face while she took a closer look at my aura. I could see a modified version of the Skeritt brow there. And the good bone structure from her mother. She was wearing a long, rainbow-striped woven top over an orange turtleneck and orange stirrup pants. Orange-and-turquoise beaded earrings quivered in her ears.
    “Purple,” she announced, opening her eyes. “Purple with hints of aqua and jade. Very higher-chakra. I’m impressed.”
    “Uh, thanks—” I began.
    “Wayne says you own your own business. That takes a lot of juice, a lot of personal power. I really admire that. It’s so… so…” She waved a hand in the air, jangling her bracelets and coming uncomfortably close to my face with her long red fingernails. “So vibrationally intense,” she concluded. She looked down into my eyes expectantly.
    “Do you own your own business?” I asked, feeling like a nosy insurance salesman. I really need to polish my social skills some day.
    “I do massage,” she answered, with another wave of her long fingernails.
    “Oh,” I said, wincing inwardly. “That’s great.” I could just imagine what a massage would feel like with those nails. Ouch.
    “I’m really a healer on a more subtle level, of course. Mind, body, spirit. And the emotional body, of course. I’ve studied Chi-Lei Jung energy massage and holotropic breath work. And neuro-linguistic programming. And—”
    “Grandpa says Mom should have a Ph.D. in New Age by now,” commented the dark-skinned girl. Hers would have been a credible Tallulah Bankhead drawl except for the higher pitch of her voice. Her white teeth flashed in a quick grin.
    Lori threw her head back and laughed, jangling her bracelets as she did.
    “Oh, sweetie—” she began, reaching for her daughter.
    “I’m Mandy Oliver,” the girl interrupted. She