Tempest in the Tea Leaves

Table of Contents

 

 

“My tea leaves and my tarot cards agree—Kari Lee Townsend is riding a bullet train straight to the top. I predict this vivacious, talented author will soon join the ranks of the superstars.
Tempest in the Tea Leaves
is a stellar launch for the Fortune Teller Mysteries, and every one of them is destined to become a classic.”

—Maggie Shayne,
New York Times
bestselling
author of
Twilight Prophecy

 

“Kari Lee Townsend has a hit with her delightful new series about a fortune teller who finally leaves home to pursue her dreams and finds herself solving a murder. A little romance, a big white cat, and a Victorian house make for a fun read. The true meaning of what Sunny sees always reveals itself—and in this case, a killer.”

—Joyce Lavene, coauthor of
A Touch of Gold

 

“You don’t need a crystal ball to predict a bright future for Townsend’s Fortune Teller mystery series!”

—Dorothy Howell, author of
Clutches and Curses

 

“Smart, funny, and gutsy fortune teller Sunny Meadows is a delightful new star on the psychic horizon.”

—Cynthia Riggs, author of the
Martha’s Vineyard Mysteries

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

TEMPEST IN THE TEA LEAVES

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2011

Copyright © 2011 by Kari Townsend.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

ISBN : 978-1-101-51746-8

 

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First and foremost I want to thank my husband, Brian, for loving me unconditionally and supporting me every step of the way. I am grateful to have you in my life and know you are behind me in everything I do. I also want to thank my children: Brandon, Josh, Matt, and Emily. As always, you give me great inspiration and lots of laughs. I have to say I am one lucky lady!

Second, I want to thank my partner in crime and agent extraordinaire, Christine Witthohn of Book Cents Literary Agency. You never cease to amaze me with the lengths you will go to in making sure I am a success. Remember, you can never retire until I do, because I seriously can’t do any of this without you.

Next, I want to thank my fabulous editor, Faith Black, for taking a chance on me and believing in my work. You have a fantastic eye and an uncanny ability to bring out the best in a book. We make a great team. I love working with you and look forward to working on the rest of this series together.

I also want to thank my special peeps, the original BC Babes: Barbie Jo Mahoney, Danielle LaBue, and Liz Lipperman. You really do keep me going and make this whole process worthwhile. And last but never least, a special thanks to my extended family: the Townsends, the Russos, and the Harmons. The best support team anyone could ever ask for.

“Sylvia Eleanor Meadows, get back in this penthouse immediately!” my father, Donald Meadows—the almighty doctor and king of his domain—thundered as though I were still nine. He stood on the busy street in Manhattan and stabbed a finger toward the enormous building behind him, his , perfectly coiffed brown hair not moving an inch.

“It’s Sunny now, Dad, and has been for almost a decade.” I pulled my long sweater coat closed over my SAVE THE PLANET T-shirt in a useless attempt to hide the hole in the thigh of my jeans. My parents’ perusal of my person and the disapproval reflected in their eyes revealed they’d seen it all. I suddenly felt the same sense of failure and inadequacy I always felt whenever I was around them.

Just one of the many reasons I was leaving the city.

“You’ll always be Sylvia to me.” He squared his shoulders in his precisely tailored Armani suit, and I knew he’d never budge on that one. As my parents’ only child, they’d both been hurt when I’d changed my name, but I couldn’t help it. I hated the name Sylvia, and I was nothing like them. I sometimes wondered if I was adopted.

“I’m not going inside, Dad.” I threw my single tattered plaid suitcase that had once been my grandmother’s into my brand-new car: a used, slightly rusted but well-loved white VW bug. The orange, yellow, and pink flowers on the sides suited me perfectly. “I’ve told you dozens of times already that I’m moving. You need to accept it.” I added a large box filled with my fortune-telling supplies right next to the single suitcase in the backseat.

“Don’t be silly, darling. You can’t go anywhere in that, that . . . thing. Why, I don’t think it could even make it across town, especially in this weather.” My mother, Vivian Meadows—the ruthless lawyer and queen of high society—took me by the arm. She dusted the light snowflakes off her expensive suit and smoothed her golden blond, chicly styled hair. “Come inside, and let’s have brunch. It’s freezing out here. We’ll have Eduardo make us a nice espresso.”

“I hate coffee, Mom. Have my whole life.” I sighed. No matter what I said, they still weren’t hearing me, and that was half the problem. “My heater works fine in the car, and I took a course in auto engine repair, remember? I’ll be okay, and I plan to grab a hot chocolate at the D and D on my way out of town.” I reached in and turned the engine on to warm up my bug. She sputtered to life with a few groans and one loud backfire, which startled a few pedestrians and earned me several frowns.

Story of my life.

No one around here understood me, and I sure as heck didn’t fit in. Getting my hair cut at cosmetology schools instead of expensive salons and shopping for my clothes in thrift stores apparently wasn’t cool enough for these people. At twenty-nine, it was long past time I moved on and started living
my
life—not the one my parents had chosen for me.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I will cut you off if you go,” my father stated with no emotion.

“I don’t need your money. I have my trust fund,” I retorted, lifting my chin and meeting his eyes square on.

“Which won’t last forever, dear,” Mom added, her smile pleasant enough, but her eyes calculating as her brain undoubtedly searched for a way to stop me.

“That’s why I’m going to open my own business,” I pointed out in a serious, firm voice.

My father’s laughter boomed out of his broad chest, hanging in thick puffs of cold air between us. “You call that a business?”

“I’ll call you when I get there,” I said through my clenched teeth, refusing to let him bait me. I looked them each in the eye, one last time. “Good-bye, Mom and Dad. Take care of yourselves.” I slid into my car and pulled away from the curb without a backward glance, feeling free for the first time ever.