The Fortune Quilt Read Online Free PDF

know which one belongs to which client?”
    She shrugs, smiles. “I just… know.”
    Ahhhh. I see. “And how much do you charge for these quilts?”
    “Well, it varies, but a quilt with a reading typically runs between twelve- and fifteen-hundred dollars.”
    Ka-ching . “And how many of these do you sell in an average month?”
    Brandy grins. “Depends on the month.”
    “Do you keep in touch with clients? Do you know how many of your predictions have actually come true?”
    Brandy’s head tilts a bit. Her smile remains relaxed, but something clicks in her eyes. “I hear from clients every now and again. I haven’t done a scientific survey of my accuracy, if that’s what you’re asking.” She leans forward. “But, you know, it’s not like I’m giving them lottery numbers or anything. The quilt gives them the information they need at that point in time. It’s about their path, you know?”
    I smile and think, No. Christopher clears his throat, a warning. I glance at my watch. “Well, that’s about all I’ve got—”
    “You don’t believe me, do you?” she asks suddenly.
    Christopher clears his throat again, and is undoubtedly relieved when the doorbell rings. He undocks the camera and gets some handheld b-roll as Brandy greets her client, a middle-aged woman named Alice who didn’t mention when we spoke for the pre-interview that she would be wearing an “I (heart) my Schnauzer” sweatshirt. Brandy lays Alice’s quilt out on the floor, puts a tape in a recorder and hits the red button. The reading is your standard psychic con job—a series of vague references from which anyone with sufficient motivation could construe meaning if they try hard enough.
    And fifteen-hundred bucks is one hell of a motivation.
    Close-ups of the quilt. Quick interview with Alice. Exteriors of the house. The widget is made.
    “I’m gonna go back in and say goodbye,” I say to Christopher as he finishes packing the camera and related detritus into The Blueberry.
    “Behave yourself,” Christopher warns as I go inside, where I find Brandy rummaging through a pile of quilts under a table in one corner of the house.
    “Hey,” I say. “We’re just about done here, so…”
    She holds up her hand, telling me to wait. I hug my notebook to my chest and look at my watch.
    “Ah! Here it is!” She pushes some stray strands of hair away from her face and reaches her arm way back into a large box. She looks like she’s birthing a calf. When she pulls her arms out, she’s holding a quilt. She snaps it out and lays it on the floor. The base of it is white, with shimmery blue fabric running around the edges like a wavy ribbon. The ribbon double-helixes through the middle, too, broken up by little blue boxes with images inside. One box holds a book, another holds a frog. A third has what looks like a tin can holding three paintbrushes. It’s funky, pretty, unique. I like it.
    I wouldn’t pay fifteen hundred bucks for it, though.
    I glance up and see that Brandy is silently watching me. I jump in to fill in the conversational gap.
    “Pretty,” I say.
    “Can I ask you a question?”
    I shrug. “Sure.”
    “What do you think about all this? I mean, really.”
    I pause, constructing an answer. Brandy leans forward, her hands on her knees, her expression friendly. “Don’t worry. You won’t offend me.”
    I raise my eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
    She smiles. “I’m tougher than I look.”
    I glance out the window. Christopher is loading The Blueberry and way out of earshot. I turn my focus back to Brandy.
    “I think it’s a brilliant hook to move your product.” I gesture toward the multitude of quilts surrounding us. “Of which you have quite a lot. Do I believe that the quilts are imbued with a mystical quality that allows you to tell the future? No. Do I think it’s a little unethical and a lot immoral to take fifteen hundred bucks out of the mouths of schnauzers to move your stock? Sure. But, you know, it’s a