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moment.
    Helena drew the lovebirds into the dark séance parlor, a grotto humming with the green glow of the crystal ball. They sat across the mystical orb from Helena, her lined face on one side, Grant’s chiseled jaw and silver hair on the other.
    Mysterious violins whined from a hidden speaker as Helena stared at his ring. Well, she could see very plainly it had a cross on it, and that it was solid gold. From Grant’s clothing, manicure, teeth, and haircut, she knew he was wealthy. The gold ring was old. It was unlikely that a man would wear an old ring unless it was a family ring of some sort. It was not from Cartier or Tiffany.
    Helena took his hand. “This ring is very old, and it carries a spirit.”
    Dixie clutched Grant’s arm. “I knew there was something about that ring!”
    “Silence!” Helena hissed at Dixie but kept her eyes on Grant. “You were married, but she is gone now.” She read his face, the glint of extra wetness in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. “She is no longer with us, here on this earth. You loved her very much. I am sorry.”
    Again, any rich man of this age has likely been married if he is not gay, and just as likely he will be divorced at least once. Of course, it was easy to see that Dixie was not his wife—they were too playful.
    Grant was now doubly hooked, his eyes fixed on hers so she could detect how his pupils dilated when she guessed correctly.
    “It was very difficult … a long illness … the doctors did not prevail.” Helena knew the odds were in favor of illness over accidental death. That was an easy one—the more hits she could rack up, the more she could explore other areas and risk guessing wrong.
    She tightened her grip on his hand. “There is a child!”
    Helena could have guessed wrongly, even though the odds were that a rich man who was married had created heirs. If so, she would have seen a dulling in his eyes and could reverse herself : No, not a child, but someone you care for very much, and sometimes see as a child. Perhaps not a young person but an old person. What were the chances that someone like Grant had no children or any elderly relatives?
    Grant’s eyes tightened: There is a child.
    “You are very concerned about this child. It is a boy!” He blinked, and Helena covered her eyes. “No! The child is willful like a boy. A girl, blond, very pretty. She is troubled.”
    Show me a rich girl that is not willful, and a father who does not think his daughter is pretty.
    Based on Grant’s age, she knew the girl had to be at least a teenager, a tender age of unfortunate choices and equally unfortunate consequences. Blond? Grant’s hair still had a hint of light brown in it, so it was just a matter of guessing that his daughter had light brown hair also. By extension, Helena guessed that a rich man’s daughter would likely have her brown hair dyed blond, or streaked so that blond was not far off the mark.
    “Damn!” Grant was amazed.
    “You have argued. Bitterly.” What parent does not argue with his teenager? “You worry about this child, about what will become of her. She is of great worry to you. Sometimes to the exclusion of all else.”
    Grant suppressed a wince, remembering his impotence episode with Dixie.
    Helena figured she had banked enough hits with Grant to go out on a limb, so she held up his ring hand in the glow of the crystal ball. “There is much danger here. The ring!”
    Grant and Dixie were wide-eyed in the green glow of the orb.
    “This ring has spirits, ancient spirits from your family.” Oops. “From a very old and religious family, from far away. You are not religious, but bear the ring for a different purpose. It was given to you under important circumstances, and you wear it as a badge … you feel it brings you good fortune … but this ring does not belong to you, and the spirits in the ring will bring you misfortune. The ring has helped you this far only to make you fail at the worst possible moment. You