I shut myself in the head, poured a couple of swallows of wine down the sink, sloshed some more around in my mouth, and took the shower, spending some time with it. When I got back, LuEllen and Dessusdelit were halfway through their salad.

"LuEllen has been telling me that you're an expert on the tarot, Mr. Kidd," Dessusdelit chirped brightly. She reminded me of a sparrow with fangs.

"I use the tarot, but I don't believe in any mystical or magical interpretations," I said. "I use it in a purely scientific way."

LuEllen snorted. "He says that because whenever he does one of his scientific spreads, he can't figure it out. When he does what he calls a magic spread, it usually reads right."

"That's interesting," Dessusdelit said, peering at me. "I didn't think such things as the tarot would work if the person wasn't sincere in using them."

"Oh, Kidd's sincere about using them," LuEllen said before I could answer. "He's being insincere when he says he doesn't believe. He had this scientific training in college, and the implications of belief. frighten him."

"Is that so, Mr. Kidd?"

"I leave the pop psychology to LuEllen, Miz Dessusdelit." I poured myself another white wine. "This is my idea of a great lunch," I said jokingly, saluting her with the glass.

A vague look of disapproval crossed Dessusdelit's face, but she was southern, and in the South, where men drink, nothing is said.

After the lunch LuEllen cleared the table and sat Dessusdelit with her back to the bow windows. I retreated to an easy chair at the rear of the cabin while LuEllen brought out her crystal ball. It was real crystal, antique and six inches in diameter, bought at a store in Minneapolis. One day after we'd been out on the river, learning about the houseboat, she left it on the table while she went to shower. When she came back, I was juggling the ball, a broken Ambassadeur 5600 bait-casting reel, and a conch shell. She'd gone visibly pale and snatched the ball out of the air, causing me to drop the reel.

"You know how much this fuckin' thing cost me?" she hollered. I hadn't messed with the ball since.

"It's very old," she said now, in a dark, hushed voice, unwrapping the ball's velvet sleeve and passing it to Dessusdelit. "There are rumors of Gypsy blood in my family, way back, and this ball supposedly came from them."

"It's so heavy," Dessusdelit said, marveling at the size and weight. The ball was a perfect sphere, but the interior was a complicated geological dance of inclusions and tiny fractures. A rainbow of colors flickered inside, depending on how the light hit it.

"Just sit and hold it," LuEllen said.

"Lots of colors in there," Dessusdelit said, peering into it.

"Let your mind go, but try to track the color," LuEllen said. "Look for greens for opportunity, red for danger or conflict. Those were my grandma's interpretations."

"OK," said Dessusdelit, fascinated.

"I think yellow might have something to do with prosperity, blue with peace; black, I think, is death. Orange is warm; I think that may mean excitement in the good sense or pleasure. I saw a lot of orange in the ball before we started down the river. This whole trip is kind of new for me, kind of exciting."

"Wonderful," Dessusdelit said. She was rolling the ball in her hands. "I don't see too much just now. Maybe if I were closer to the window and the light."

"No, no, stay where you are," LuEllen said. "I put the good chair there for a purpose. You should be comfortable. Don't worry, if you have the ability to see things, the colors will come."

That's when she gave the laser a goose with a foot pedal we'd wedged under the rug. The laser, a little two-hundred-watt deal with an output that was no bigger in diameter than a filament of spider web, was mounted in the bedroom. I'd fixed it to do a skittering scan across the area of the chair, a tiny dot of light moving so fast it was virtually invisible. Except when it hit the ball. When it hit the ball, the crystal fluoresced, and the veil lit up with some of the pulsing reaction of the northern lights. I knew when the laser hit because Dessusdelit suddenly caught her breath.

"It. did something," she said.

"I thought it might," LuEllen said. "I thought you had the power when I saw you in the restaurant. Were you able to pick out any particular colors?"

"Well." Dessusdelit was rolling the ball in her hands. "There was green."

"Opportunity, that's wonderful. Maybe it means the opportunity to explore your psychic self," LuEllen gushed.

"Is that what it usually means?" Dessusdelit asked, looking up. She was hooked.

"It can mean any kind of opportunity – often money, frankly – but in this case. unless you're expecting some money?"

"No, no, nothing special. In fact, there have been some problems in town."

"Then it may simply be the opportunity to explore yourself," LuEllen said, brushing away the hint at the burglaries. She touched the laser again.

"There it is," Dessusdelit said, brought back to the ball. "There's a lot of red, and my God. I can feel the power. And I thought I saw."

"Yes?" LuEllen prompted.

"My mother's face. She's been gone now for ten years. Is this possible?"

"Anything's possible if you have the power and the right crystal," LuEllen said.

I broke in. "This is not my style, I'm afraid. I'll leave you alone. I'll be on top."

"I think that would be best," LuEllen said, her voice now dreamier than ever. "I think Chenille and I have some work to do. Red, you say? Red sometimes means danger."

They were at it for an hour. I was deep into the painting again, sucking on a Dos Equis and cursing the asshole who invented Hooker's green, when the door popped open. LuEllen stuck her head out and called, "Chenille's got a favor to ask. She wonders if you could do a quick spread."

"Oh, boy," I said. I didn't want to read for her without notice. I wanted the deck ready, so it'd read my way. "That would be. my head's just not right for it."

"That's all right," Dessusdelit said from inside the cabin, but I could hear the disappointment in her voice.

"How about if we cut the deck just for a taste?" I asked.

"Would that work?"

"Sure, just for a taste," I said.

I dropped down into the cabin, got the Polish box, took the silk wrapping off the deck, and shuffled. Seven times. Nothing mystic in that; the good gray New York Times Tuesday science pages carried an article that said a good seven shuffle gives you the best approximation of a random distribution. When the shuffling was dead, I spread the deck across the table and looked at Dessusdelit.

"Do you know about the tarot?" I asked before she picked a card.

"Just a bit," she said diffidently.

"I like to warn people that the Death card doesn't mean death. It means change, often for the good. I don't want somebody to pull the Death card out of the deck, misinterpret it, and drop over dead of a heart attack."

"I know about Death," she said. She drew a card, held it for a moment, facedown, then flipped it over.

The Empress. I sat back, a little startled. "Have you actually done tarot readings before?" I asked.

"Yes, a few times."

"What card did you choose to represent yourself? Was it the Empress?"

"No, no. Usually the Queen of Cups."

"Which is a minor arcana analog of the Empress," I said. I tapped the Empress with my index finger. "Perhaps you underrate yourself. In any case, the Empress would suggest success, fulfillment in an enterprise you're involved with. Something you rule or manage. But that's just a taste."

"Just a taste," she said.

"Sure. I have to warn you, I really don't believe in this stuff," I said. And if I did, I wouldn't have picked her for the Empress or even the Queen of Cups. I pushed the cards together and rewrapped them in the silk.