Gypsey Blood Read Online Free Page A

cheek to comfort him, wipe the wistfulness from his face. At the same time, she wanted to slap the truth out of him. Uncover the big secret about this killer. And, good God, she definitely wanted to jump him.
    Whoa! She had to get away from him before she said, or did, something idiotic. “Thanks for the coffee and the not so revealing tête-à-tête.” She pushed to her feet and leaned over the table. “I’ll see you later. Look for the blonde hooker in the red mini-skirt and mile-high heels.” She left the table and hurried out the door.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    Rita parked her Rover in the Old Century Square Mall parking lot. She strolled to the edge of the lot, leaned on the guardrail, and gazed at the wide Monongahela River far below. The trees that sloped down the valley glowed, their fall colors bathing in the last rays of the fading sunlight.
    This spot, this view, never failed to give her a sense of stability when her world wobbled out of its orbit, like today. The ritual killings. The strange orders--Matt. She didn’t know what to make of their connection, this magnetic attraction. It had been a long time since she felt the urge to get naked between the sheets. She had begun to think she was more suited for a nunnery. Now, all of a sudden, her hormones had shifted into overdrive after one meeting with a secretive agent. Okay, so a gorgeous hunk of a secretive agent.
    The autumn breeze carried a sweet, clean scent. She inhaled deeply and tried to relax her tense muscles. What she intended to ask Anna today would raise hell. But, damn it, this case, the crystal not working, the nagging sense of foreboding she couldn’t shake, well…she had to give it a try. Matt was right. They needed an edge.
    Rita walked through one of the arched passageway connecting the lot with the open-air plaza. The Gypsy Tearoom that her mother and uncle had opened when she started college was one of the forty themed tourist attractions set around the cobblestone square. It snuggled between “Ye Olde Antique Attic” and “The Reader’s Quarry.”
    Park benches lined the front of the shops. Fountains graced each corner. Hanging baskets of fall blooms added to the charm. Potted trees adorned with twinkle lights formed an idyllic ambience for shoppers. Wide-eyed tourists milled about, snapping their cameras and cell phones to capture the quaintness.
    Rita pushed open the wooden door of the Gypsy Tea Room. She glanced into the large room on her left. Customers clustered around most of the tables. Some sat in the booths that lined the front of the draped windows. Each table held a thin, fluted vase centerpiece filled with colored, cut glass, a Romany tradition to impart good luck. Women servers were dressed in long, flared skirts, the bangles sliding up and down on their wrists. The men wore loose-belted, colorful shirts.
    Anna sat near a maroon-clothed table, her face fixed in deep concentration, and reading the palm of a young, overweight woman. Dark, wavy hair hung to the middle of Anna’s back, giving her the stereotypical mystique of a gypsy seer. The way the woman was ooh-aahing meant her mother must have been telling her a bunch of “your fondest hopes will soon come true.” Rita grinned. Ma shied away from foretelling any seen frightening truths to customers. She worked the “partials,” as she called them.
    Ahead of her, Uncle Dragus waved from behind the counter. A gold loop swung from his left ear and glittered in the ambient lighting. He had knotted the bandana on his head below his right ear. Gray hair met the collar of his baggy shirt. He had a red sash tied around his thickening middle. His broad fingers began arranging a tray of fresh-baked brownies on the lower glass shelf as she headed toward the counter.
    Uncle bobbed his head up above the shelves. “About time you visit. Be too long.”
    Rita always thought of Uncle’s broken English as cute. He had come to America years after her mother and hadn’t