Then she whipped out a deck of tarot cards from her large purse and started shuffling. After a few fast rounds of mixing the cards, the woman set the deck down between them and tapped it. “Hold your hands on the deck and think of your question.”

Sucked in by the woman’s off-kilter but just-here-to-help vibe, Chelle did as she was told. She closed her eyes and pictured Uncle Buckley’s little rat face and concentrated on the question of how to save the foundation without damning herself to a life of wifely submission.

“Excellent,” the other woman said when Chelle opened her eyes again. “Cut the cards and let’s get started.”

With the strict and sheltered way she’d grown up, Chelle had limited experience with tarot readings, but this reading was unlike any other Chelle had seen in movies or in the banished books she’d devoured the minute she’d moved out of her parents’ house.

The charitable would have called the woman’s tarot technique unconventional.

The purists would have called it a horror show.

The woman’s gold bracelets, with a dozen charms hooked to each one, jingled and jangled as she laid out the cards. Instead of a simple three- or five-card spread, she made a circle out of seven cards but only read three she seemed to pick at random.

“Oh, fantastic,” the woman said as she turned over a card with the word Death scrawled across the bottom of it in hot pink ink. “It’s a time for new beginnings and”—she flipped over one labeled The Knight of Wands— “adventure and”—she revealed a card with Ace of Cups in block letters at the top—“relationship help is on the way.”

“In the form of a tall, dark stranger?” Chelle asked, as jumpy as if a whole hive of wasps was under the bench at the sight of the death card. New beginnings yes, but death all the same.

“No.” The woman swept up the cards and piled them onto the rest of the deck. “He’s blond, but my son Nash is perfect for this job. He always has the answers, or at least thinks he does. He’ll know just what to do.”

Okay, this encounter had definitely gone from quirky to possibly serial killer-y. Chelle briefly wondered what the woman’s son would think of his mother volunteering him to help a stranger. “That’s sweet, but I’m not sure that—”

“Oh, not to worry. Nash will be sure enough for forty people.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Celeste Beckett. I’m so glad the universe put me in your path today. We’re going to get along famously.”

“Chelle Finch.” She shook Celeste’s hand. “Nice to meet you, but I’m not sure your son can help.”

If none of the lawyers could, what was he going to be able to do?