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  “And you say I am a romantic,” Amy said as she put the book away. “Anyway, Zoë, what you said can’t be true. Lord Hawthorne died young. And he had no wife or children. The title died with him and his nephew got the estates and squandered them on cards in just two years. There’s nothing left of the family today.”

  “Did you read the whole book?” Faith asked.

  “Every word of it,” Amy said. “I curled up on a window seat with the sun streaming in and read the whole book.” She gave them a look that dared them to tell her it had been raining all day.

  “What’s more,” Amy said, “this was in the book.” She produced the business card with a flourish.

  Faith took it first, read it, then handed it to Zoë.

  “Cute,” Zoë said as she handed it back to Amy. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think we should leave now before it starts to rain again. There’s a grocery about a block away and we can—”

  “That’s it?” Amy said. “Neither of you are going to comment on this card?”

  Faith looked to Zoë for help. “Look,” Zoë said, her voice full of patience, “I know Jeanne told us to look for business cards, but I don’t think she meant she wanted us to see something about a psychic. Jeanne is a woman who studies.”

  “She’s a scientist, actually,” Faith said in the same extra patient voice.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Amy said. “Nobody’s a scientist when it comes to the human mind.”

  “Okay, so I agree with you about that,” Zoë said. “You know what I think she wanted us to look for in business cards?”

  “What?” Amy asked.

  “A Realtor.”

  “Why a Realtor?” Faith asked.

  “I thought about it yesterday and it makes sense. Faith, you and I have no homes. I’m sure it says in some psychology textbook that patients must have homes. So Jeanne conned you and me into coming to this cute little town, told us to look at business cards, knowing that Realtors have their cards everywhere, and voilà! the spirit hits us and we buy a house here. Or two houses, that is. I don’t think we should live together, do you?”

  Amy was so flabbergasted by this that she could say nothing.

  Faith blinked a few times before she replied. “If I were going to buy a house, it would be in Florida or southern California, not in Maine. It’s beautiful here, but their winters are not for me.” She leaned toward Zoë. “What I want to know is how you know that I don’t own a house.”

  “You told us,” Zoë said, the lie slipping quickly and easily off her tongue.

  “I think we should go,” Amy said. She wasn’t going to let them see her disappointment at their reactions to the card. Let them think that the therapist meant for them to buy a house here, but Amy thought otherwise. Between her dream and the bookstore and the book, she was beginning to think that this trip was part of her destiny.

  When she glanced up, the other two were looking at her. “What?”

  “You just said the word ‘destiny’ and we wondered why.”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just something I’ve thought about. Nothing important.”

  “I’d like to hear it,” Faith said, then glared at Zoë to keep her from making a sarcastic remark.

  “Yeah, me, too,” Zoë said, but there was a tone of facetiousness in her voice.

  “It’s nothing,” Amy said. “It’s just that years ago I read something that stuck in my mind. Everyone has heard about predestination, that before we’re born our lives are planned out for us.”

  “And whoever believes that please raise their hand,” Zoë said.

  Faith gave her another glare and Zoë closed her mouth.

  “Anyway,” Amy said, “I thought about it because when I was very young I knew that Stephen was my destiny. I don’t know how to explain it, but I knew that my destiny on earth was to marry him and have three children, two boys and a girl. When I miscarried the girl I was upset, true, but it was deeper than that. I was afraid that I had somehow accidently changed my destiny.”

  “If it’s predestined before you’re born, how can it change?” Zoë asked.

  “That’s what I always thought, that it couldn’t change, and I guess it wouldn’t if you were the only person on earth. Well, actually, that would change your destiny for sure, but, anyway, I read an article in some magazine that said that people and events can change your destiny. Like you, Zoë, that car accident could have changed your destiny.”

  “How do you know the accident wasn’t in my destiny?”

  “I don’t, but since you’re so angry about it, maybe your destiny was to do something else, but the accident sent you in another direction.”

  Zoë didn’t say anything, just looked at Amy.

  “And me,” Faith said. “Maybe my destiny was to marry Tyler.”

  It took all Amy could do not to look at Zoë. If they looked at each other, it would give too much away.

  “Murder must change a person’s destiny,” Zoë said.

  “Murder?” Faith asked. “What brought that up?”

  “Here!” Amy said quickly. “In this book. Lord Hawthorne was killed in his sleep. Someone plunged a knife in his heart.”

  “What a waste,” Zoë said. “Are you two finished? I think we should leave.” She looked at Amy. “Unless you have another fascinating word to whisper.”

  “No, destiny is my word for the day. I’m ready if you are.” She picked up her handbag and her book, then reached for the business card on the table, but Faith held on to it.

  “Interesting come-on this woman has,” she said. “To rewrite one’s past.”

  “And if you could, what would you do?” Zoë asked, standing and looking down at Faith.

  “Probably nothing,” she said as she stood up. “I think my destiny was decided for me by Tyler Parks. I think that if he’d climbed in my window a second time I would have run off with him.” She shrugged. “But he didn’t. He ran off, true, but it was probably with a blonde.”

  When Faith looked at the other two, they weren’t smiling. “It was just a joke. Don’t you two have a sense of humor?”

  “Sure,” Amy said. “Wait until tomorrow when I tell you about the dream I’m going to have tonight.”

  Amy and Zoë left the shop in front of Faith. “You have to tell her,” Amy said under her breath. “She needs to know.”

  “Why? So she can go back in time and change her destiny?”

  “You can laugh at me all you want, but I think she needs to know.”

  “Who needs to know what?” Faith asked, coming up behind them.

  “What she’s going to put in the salad she’s going to make tonight,” Amy said quickly.

  “Yes, of course,” Faith said, but they could tell she knew they’d been talking about her. “I’ll help you choose,” she said, then walked ahead of them.

  Amy glared at Zoë. Tell her! she mouthed. Tell her.

  Ten

  Again, Amy was dreaming.

  The man was getting on a horse. It was pouring down rain, she was standing in a mud puddle, and looking up at him. To her left was the tavern.

  “Someone is going to kill you,” she said as she tried to keep the water out of her eyes while she looked up at him.

  The man smiled down at her, rain dripping off his hat. “I thank you for the warning,” he said, amused. “It is most kind of you.”

  “No!” Amy said, moving closer to him. “You have to listen to me. Someone is going to kill you in your bed. They’re going to put a knife through your heart while you sleep.”

  The man frowned at that. “I do not like soothsayers,” he said. “They go against God. Beware who you tell your evil predictions to or someone may remove your head.” He reined his horse away, obviously wanting to get away from her.

  “Is she botherin’ you, my lord,” said a man from behind Amy. He was short and fat and wore a leather apron. Before the man on the horse could answer, the fat man gave Amy a backhand slap that sent her sprawling in the mud. �