Mom gave him a stern look, although her stern looks weren’t very stern, either. We look a lot alike, fair-skinned Scandinavian blondes, but unlike mine, Mom’s eyes are as blue as a cloudless sky, and they reflect her innately sunny disposition. “Symbolism is symbolism, and these cards have a rich historic tradition.”

“Also, she couldn’t afford a tarot deck back in the day,” I added. “So she made up her own system with these.”

“Which works very well,” Mom said.

“Okay,” Cody said in a mild tone. “No offense intended.”

All of us sat at the dinette, Mom and I facing each other. I picked up the familiar deck and fanned it to find my significator, El Diablito, the little devil, placing it faceup on the table. Then I shuffled the deck carefully, holding the image of Thad Vanderhei’s drowned face in my mind. When it felt right, I cut the deck three times and passed it back to my mom.

She turned over the first card, laying it in what would be the center of the spread: La Calavera, the skull.

“This is your victim.” Her gaze met mine. “I have a feeling this reading’s going to be pretty literal, sweetheart.”

I nodded. “Anything you can tell us might help.”

“The underlying influence.” Mom turned over the second card: La Botella, the bottle.

In his chair, Cody stirred. “Did you talk to her about the case?” he asked me.

“No!”

“Is there a bottle involved?” Mom asked.

Cody sighed. “I can’t comment on it.”

“La Botella could refer to any kind of substance abuse,” she said pragmatically. “Under the circumstances, I’d interpret it as referring to the victim, not the questioner. But if there’s an actual bottle, it means this reading is uncommonly literal, and you should pay close attention to the symbols themselves.”

He nodded. “Duly noted.”

She turned over a third card: La Araña, the spider. “The deeper cause. Your victim was drawn into someone’s web.”

I tried to recall whether there were any literal web spinners in the eldritch community. The myth of Ariadne came to mind, but wherever she lived, if she yet lived, it wasn’t anywhere near Pemkowet. I thought there might be some Native American myths about spiders, and made a mental note to visit the library or ask Mr. Leary about it. My old myth and lit teacher had retired a couple of years ago to dedicate himself to serious drinking, but he was still one of the best sources of arcane information I knew.

“The destination.” Mom turned over the fourth card: Las Jaras, the arrows. She frowned at it for a moment, then shook her head. “The arrows generally represent a goal, a target or ambition. It doesn’t tell us much in this context.”