The fortune teller seemed to consider. “Give me your palm and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen.”
Nikki sighed, then countered. “Ten.”
The woman agreed with a grudging look.
Nikki stomped her feet against the cold, then surrendered her hand.
Dorotea snatched it, a cluster of sparkling bracelets jangling on her wrist. Her grip was cold, skin chapped as she spread Nikki’s fingers wide, pulling back the thumb, and angling the palm close to her face.
“You do not trust,” she said. “Walls of deception are built around you. Secrets…in your past and future. You’re driven to root out those secrets. You systematize and analyze…to find your way through the maze of lies. You will find answers, but pay a high price. You’re in danger—”
“That’s enough!”
Nikki tugged her hand—gently at first, then wrenched it back. “I thought you were supposed to tell people about coming into riches, or finding good husbands.”
“I tell you what I see,” said Dorotea with a sly smile and a shrug. She pointed a finger heavenward. “What do you see there? When you look at the statue?”
“What do you mean?”
Nikki tilted her head to gaze at the statue high above. From where she stood, she saw the back side of the Virgin Mary, robes billowing behind her.
“On one side is the Immacolata—the face of the Madonna,” said Dorotea. “But on this side…do you not see the hooded figure with the scythe? This is Napoli! Here, light and darkness are bound together. On the one side? Grace and mercy. The other? Death.”
Nikki tried to calm herself, to bring back that measured control she used when responding to incidents, but her annoyance was tipping into anger. “What I’m interested in is what you saw at the church night before last. Were you here with your cards during the evening mass?”
“I was here,” agreed the fortune teller.
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
Dorotea closed her eyes. “The young woman who was killed…she knew her killer…she was afraid. She wanted to keep something secret. She knew the killer would meet her.”
Nikki’s attention focused. She examined Dorotea’s face.
“How do you know this?” she asked.
“I know,” Dorotea intoned.
“Did she tell you?”
“She didn’t tell me with words.” The woman tapped a pink fingernail against her temple.
Nikki’s irritation was a bright ember burning through her patience. She bent down to get on the level with Dorotea, and looked sternly in her birdlike eyes.
“I realize you need to make a living with this act,” she said. “But a woman was killed. The murderer could kill again. Please stop your performance and tell me: Did you meet the victim? Did you speak to her?”
Dorotea was silent as she considered. Then she shook her head, chest puffed, and unfurled her hand.
“We did not speak.”
Nikki dug in her wallet, found the bills and paid, then turned and strode away.
Signora Dorotea called after her. “You are a child of Napoli, full of light and darkness…the divine and infernal wrestling…”
—
