Tempest in the Tea Leaves Read Online Free Page A

your left hand and swish three times in a counterclockwise motion. Then tip the cup upside down on the saucer, allowing the excess liquid to drain. Hand me the cup when you are finished.”
    The woman did as I requested. I held her cup carefully in my hands, with the handle pointing toward the librarian, and read the pattern of the tea leaves.
    Starting at the handle, I worked my way around the cup in a counterclockwise motion from the rim to the bottom. Leaves to the left of the handle represent the past and to the right of the handle represent the future. Leaves at the top of the cup near the rim represent the immediate future while those at the bottom represent the distant future.
    I puckered my brow. There were no leaves at the bottom of the cup, but a feeling in my gut told me it didn’t have anything to do with her tumors.
    “What’s wrong?” Ms. Robbins asked.
    “I’m not sure.” I felt that feeling of doom spread to my every cell. “Let me concentrate and keep looking.”
    “Sure,” she said, but from the corner of my eye I could see she was back to wringing her hands again.
    Tea leaves provide two sets of patterns. The images that appear in the white space are positive and good, while the images that appear in the tea leaves are negative and bad. I cleared my head, staying focused, and concentrated hard on the shapes before me, so my clairvoyant mind could interpret them correctly.
    A single large clump of tea leaves across from the handle indicated there was trouble ahead and someone else was causing it. There was a distinct long white stalk representing a white man. I took that to mean a man was the one causing the trouble.
    “What?” she fairly shrieked. “I can’t take it anymore, just tell me.”
    “You asked for it,” I muttered. “Brace yourself now. I see trouble ahead. Trouble involving a man.” I squinted harder. “And I see a deer, which means a dispute or quarrel, probably with this man. I also see a flag, which means danger from wounds inflicted by this enemy.”
    “Yes, he’s wounded me. He broke my heart, but I wouldn’t call him an enemy. He needs time to come around. He would never hurt me.”
    I took one more look into the cup and gasped. “Oh my God, a kettle.” I had never seen this image before in all my years of reading people’s futures.
    “A kettle? What on earth does that mean? That he’s going to make me tea, too?”
    My vision blurred into tunnel vision, and I stared into the future, looking out of someone else’s eyes. I could feel the anger, feel the hatred . . . feel the panic. Suddenly I was standing in a room full of books, staring down at a woman who was lying on her back, a broken cup on the carpet beside her and blood along the side of her head. I sucked in a sharp breath and jerked, snapping myself back to the present.
    “Good Lord, is it really that bad?”
    “It’s worse.” I met the librarian’s gaze dead-on. “He’s not going to make you tea.”
    “Then what’s he going to do?”
    “He’s going to kill you.”
     
     
    “Detective Stone, ma’am. Captain said you wanted to speak with me?” the big, dark, brooding hulk of a man said from my doorway at 7 P.M. He had a slightly crooked nose and a long, jagged scar along his square jawline.
    I stood there like an imbecile for a minute, trying to find my tongue. He was huge, and intimidating, and I should have been scared to death—but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t call him handsome, but there was something so captivating about him, so mesmerizing. And he smelled amazing. A hint of aftershave, a smidgen of starch, and a dollop of coffee. He had a vulnerability about him that he was trying too hard to hide, simmering just beneath the surface. Like with the librarian, I knew in my gut he needed me. I wasn’t quite sure how, but I was intrigued enough to want to find out.
    “Oh, right,” I finally said, and stepped back. “Please, come in.”
    His eyes flashed and he gave me a quick, but