Trouble in the Tarot Read Online Free PDF

scuffling.”
    “Excuse me?” I squeaked.
    “I know it sounds crazy, but she and that Fiona Atwater woman are in a tussle over the last bag of flour on my shelves. I told them I have a truck coming in this afternoon, but neither one would listen. They’re fighting over that puppy like it was part of the crown jewels. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’d better get down here now before they do any more damage to my store.”
    “I’m on my way.” I hung up and looked at Sean. “Can you hold down the fort? I have to go stop Granny before she lands herself in jail.”
    “Granny? You’re kidding.”
    “I wish I were.”
    “Don’t worry. I can’t read tarot cards, but I know a thing or two about the human palm and what to do with it.”
    “Behave.” I pointed my finger at him. “And for goodness’ sake, don’t do a reading of any kind for anyone. Just watch my stuff, and let anyone who stops by know that I’ll be back soon.” I glanced at Morty. “I’m counting on you to keep him out of trouble.”
    Morty yawned, looking bored.
    “Relax, I’m always good,” Sean said. “And, hey, Ihope everything is okay with your grandmother. She’s so sweet.”
    “She’s something,” I mumbled and grabbed my purse as I jogged to my car.
    Five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Gretta’s Mini-Mart. When I walked through the doors, I couldn’t believe the sight playing out before my eyes.
    A lot of Divinity’s businesses chose to go with a theme when decorating. Many chose historical themes from Italy, Greece, and even the West. Gretta, however, had chosen flower power as her theme.
    Her floor was green with yellow walls and flowers stenciled everywhere to the point of making one’s head spin. I blinked to focus but didn’t like what I saw one bit. A crowd had gathered in a circle around the scuffling women, filled with Knitting Nanas and Sewing Sisters front and center.
    “Fiona has just as much of a right to that flour as Gertie does,” a Nana said.
    “Oh, no, she doesn’t! This is our town. And besides, Granny was here first,” a Sister replied. “No one calls her Gertie.”
    “Well, Gertie can come back later,” another Nana said. “We have plans.”
    “Who says we don’t?” another Sister responded. “We certainly don’t sit around on our bums.”
    “I don’t know. You’re looking a little heavy on the bottom to me,” someone else chimed in.
    Meanwhile, Granny and Fiona kept tugging the bag of flour back and forth between them, knocking overdisplay cases and various items off the shelves. Gretta scrambled after them, attempting to pick up the mess and hollering at them to cease and desist at once or she would call the cops.
    “Ladies, stop this at once.” I tried to step between them. “This isn’t doing anyone any good. You’re acting like children. The bakeoff isn’t until Sunday, for Pete’s sake.”
    The bag of flour ripped in half, with a shower of white flying up in the air like a snow globe at Christmastime. The women stumbled backward, leaving me standing alone in the middle with no umbrella. I thought to hold my breath, thank goodness, until all the flour settled. The room quieted as I blinked to clear my eyes. There wasn’t a speck on me that wasn’t snow white.
    That was the exact moment Mitch Stone walked back into my life.
    He strode through the doors, stopped, and stared. More like gaped. His usual scowl was gone, and the corners of his full lips tipped up ever so slightly as he arched a thick black brow and let his gaze run over every inch of me. His ink black hair was tousled from the summer breeze, and his whiskered face was in need of a shave.
    The long jagged scar on his square jaw pulsed in his obvious attempt to stifle a laugh, but it was his dark eyes that held me captive. I hadn’t seen him in two months. He looked amazing, standing there with his hands on his hips in a tight gray T-shirt and jeans, while I looked like a big ole pastry