Deadly Night by Heather Graham

woman’s head and shrugged. He was a good tarot, tea-leaf and palm reader. Like her, he had majored in psychology, and he could home in on people and make his predictions believable, instead of telling them that they would find love in a month, receive a huge sum of money in a year or have two children within the next decade. He was also a striking-looking man, over six feet in height and bald as a buzzard, with black eyebrows and a gym-hardened body.
    He wore one gold hoop earring, and it was seldom that people forgot him once they met him.
    “Well, you know, Miss Grissom, you give off very strong vibes,” he told the cooing woman. “And look, here she is. Kendall, this is Fawn Grissom. She wanted to see you, but I did my best.”
    “Oh, really?” Kendall smiled at their customer and offered the woman a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
    “How do you do?” The other woman shook her hand firmly. “My friend Ellen—do you remember her? She said you were wonderful. That’s why I came here. And I’m sure you are wonderful. But Mason was…well, he just sees. ”
    “He really is terrific, and I think this means you were meant to see him,” Kendall assured the woman.
    The woman’s eyes widened as if Kendall had just said the wisest thing in the world. “Of course. I think it was meant to be.”
    Kendall kept her smile in place. “Absolutely.”
    “If you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a gig tonight,” Vinnie said. He waved and started toward the door.
    “Vinnie, wait!” Kendall called.
    He paused in the doorway, with its tinkling bell. “What’s up? I gotta get going,” he reminded her.
    “Never mind. It’s nothing.” She waved him on, and chastised herself inwardly. She didn’t know why she was so curious, but she was. She wanted to know how Aidan Flynn’s wife had died, not that it was any of her business. She would never see the man again.
    “This is such a wonderful shop,” Fawn Grissom told her. “You have the most delicious tea, the best reader and lovely merchandise.”
    “We like to feature the work of local artists—and thank you very much,” Kendall said.
    “I love those voodoo dolls,” Fawn told her, pointing to a display of elaborately dressed cotton dolls that sat on a high ledge behind the counter.
    “They are clever, aren’t they?” Kendall asked, wishing the woman would shut up. She usually enjoyed talking with the customers, but today…
    Today she felt off. She just wanted the woman to leave.
    “Those are one of a kind,” Mason said with enthusiasm. “They’re made by a lady we call Gramma Mom, and they say her dolls make everyone feel good.”
    What a crock! Kendall thought. They were voodoo dolls. But they were one of a kind. And she was always happy to help support the old woman who lived out in the bayou.
    “I’ll take two,” Fawn said. “No, what am I thinking? I need three of them. One for me, and one for each of my sisters.”
    “They’re a bit expensive,” Mason warned, telling her the price. “She spends a week, at least, on each doll.”
    “Oh, that’s fine. They’re worth it. They’re unique. That’s what I love about this city. You can buy so many unique things in so many different shops.”
    She produced a credit card and held it out to Kendall, who was thinking about Aidan Flynn again and didn’t even notice. Mason gave a little cough to catch her attention. “Do you, uh, need me to help Miss Grissom at the register?” he said.
    “Oh, sorry,” she said. What was wrong with her today? It was great for them—and Gramma Mom—to sell three dolls at once.
    Fawn delightedly studied the dolls she’d chosen as Kendall rang up the sale and Mason produced boxes to hold the purchases.
    “Voodoo dolls,” Fawn said thoughtfully, then looked at Kendall and grinned. “My sister’s husband is a real bastard. Think she can fix him with a few needle pricks?”
    Startled, Kendall said the first thing that came into her head.
    “I