"They are," Beth assured me, her smile genuine.
The look on her face said it all. She was happy about therapy. Just looking at her made me remember how there were many different ways to move on from betrayal and heartbreak. Everyone needed something different.
"Never really considered therapy myself." I considered the idea. My husband had left me for his secretary. I wasn't sure I'd fully processed that, despite how happy I was in my new relationship. "Maybe I should give it a go. Can't hurt, right?"
"Absolutely," Beth said, her tone lightening a bit. "Maybe they can help you figure out this whole karma thing."
"Now that would be something." I chuckled, imagining trying to explain my supernatural abilities to a therapist. They'd probably think I was delusional.
"Speaking of karma." Beth nodded her head toward the house we were approaching. "Let's hope we get some answers from our friend Katie here."
"Here's hoping." I steeled myself for the confrontation that was sure to follow.
Katie already sounded like a nut job. Happy people didn’t freak out about normal things that happen in restaurants, but this woman had. Not only that, but she had freaked out at Deva’s Delights, a place that was as close to perfect as perfect could be. It made me worried about what she would do if she was actually put into an uncomfortable position.
I guess we were about to find out.
With Beth's confession still fresh in my mind, we arrived at Katie Myers' house, eager to get some answers. The sun was shining brightly overhead, and the scent of trees filled the air. The warmbreeze made me momentarily forget the purpose of our visit as I took in the lush greenery surrounding us.
"Looks like someone has a green thumb." I watched the forty-something woman kneeling among her vibrant flowerbeds. She had a sun hat perched atop her head, shielding her face from the sun as she diligently tended to her garden. It was a picture-perfect scene, if I ignored the fact that we were here to interrogate her about Deva's Delights.
"Let's hope she's more talkative than she is prickly," Beth muttered, “although I doubt it.”
Getting out of the car, we exchanged a look. There were a couple of ways this could go, and one of those ways was definitely not good. Still, we had to do it. Why was I more nervous about approaching this woman than some of the supernaturals we’d dealt with?
We approached the woman, who didn't notice us until we were practically standing over her.
"Excuse me, are you Katie Myers?" I asked, trying to sound as friendly and non-threatening as possible.
The woman jumped and looked up, her eyes narrowing as she took in our presence. "What do you want?"
"Hi there." I injected as much enthusiasm into my voice as I could muster. "I'm Emma, and this is Beth. We're writing a local interest article about Deva's Delights and wanted to talk to you about your experience there."
"Deva's Delights?" she spat, as though the name left a bitter taste in her mouth. "That place isn't worth the paper its menu is printed on."
"Really? That's so interesting." I feigned surprise when I really wanted to put her in her placesobad it hurt. "We've heard mixed reviews, but we'd love to hear your side of the story."
Katie's snarl, all twisted lips and narrowed eyes, made her look like an angry garden gnome come to life. Her gardening gloves were caked in dirt. It looked like she was trying to strangle the very earth itself.
"Look, I don't have time for this nonsense," she said, not even bothering to extend her hand for a handshake when Beth offered her white-gloved hand.
"Ms. Myers, we're just interested in hearing your side of the story about what happened at Deva's Delights," I said, doing my best to keep my voice steady and friendly. “If you don’t speak up about it, how will the community know?”
The wheels were turning in her mind. "Fine," she huffed, tossing her head dismissively. "Let me tell you, that place is nothing but a cesspool of incompetence and lies."
I exchanged a quick glance with Beth, trying to hide my amusement. Katie's dramatics were nearly Shakespearean in their intensity. I could honestly say I’d never felt that passionately about a restaurant in my life, and I’d loved and hated many of them.
"Could you give us a specific example?" I asked, genuinely curious about what could have possibly led to such animosity.
"Of course," she said, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Why don't we start with the fact that they served me wine that tasted like it had been fermenting in a gym sock? When I dared to complain about it, they had the audacity to suggest that it was somehow my fault."
"Your fault?" I said, eyebrows raised. "How so?"
"Deva herself told me I simply didn't have a refined enough palate to appreciate the 'complexity' of the wine," Katie sneered, air quoting the word 'complexity.' "Can you believe that?"
"Actually, I can," I said, unable to help myself from egging the woman on. "Deva does have a flair for the dramatic, after all." A whopper of a lie. Deva was very levelheaded.
"You understand, yes," Katie cried, clearly taking my comment as agreement. "Then, as if that weren't bad enough, my food was cold and undercooked. I could've gotten sick from it. It's a miracle I didn't."
