Read The 7th Tarot Card for Free Online Page B

still some time to kill before meeting Julie, so I decided to check e-soulmate for any new bites on the line. While I waited for my computer to warm up, I re-taped my toe, made my bed, and slipped into a new blue and white floral sundress I’d been saving for the first sunny day of spring.
    Three new e-mail messages sat in my in-box and I quickly scanned their accompanying photos. No, no, and maybe. I opened the profile from the maybe guy and started reading. He had a nice face and used his real name, Jeremy Wolfe, not a pseudonym. At least I think that was his real name.
    Good news. Jeremy’s looking for a woman who likes to walk barefoot on the beach (yes, that’s so me); who likes to walk barefoot in the grass (occasionally, if there are no bees and the grass hasn’t been sprayed with insecticide); who likes to wear sexy sandals and red toenail polish.
    H mmm.
    It also said that he enjoys spoiling his women by giving them long, sensual foot rubs. I was beginning to sense a pattern here. At the end of his profile he requested that only women with cute feet should reply. Sorry Jeremy, but one nut at a time is all I can handle. I sent my “thanks but no thanks” responses to the guys and shut down my computer.
    Grabbing my purse and a light turquoise cardigan sweater, I headed for the front door. But, after unfastening the lock, I hesitated. Maybe I should carry a weapon with me. All I could think of was a knife, so I selected a firm steak knife from my kitchen drawer and did a few practice air stabs. I read somewhere that if you’re carrying a knife for self-defense, you should hold it in your hand with the blade pointing out between your thumb and index finger. It makes it harder for the attacker to grab your wrist and stop you. Or was it the other way around? Note to self: Add knife-fighting lessons to your Action Plan.
    Before opening the door, I peeked out through the tiny fisheye peephole. From my limited view, the coast looked clear, so I hung my sweater loosely over my arm to conceal my weapon, then ventured out onto the porch. The area appeared to be stalker-free, so I promptly locked my door, hustled to my garage, and climbed into my car. So far, so good. As I backed out and slowly drove through the parking lot, I searched the area for any cars that seemed unfamiliar or out of place. Nothing looked even the least bit suspicious, so I breathed a grateful sigh of relief and headed for the Beach Café.
    I arrived before Julie did, which made me smile. That didn’t happen very often. The restaurant was jam-packed, with a twenty minute wait for a table, so I put my name on the list and casually perused the room. The weather was unseasonably sunny and warm, and on rare spring days like this, people flocked to the Café to sit out on the deck, or just gaze through the windows at Lake Washington and the picturesque waterfront. Out along the docks, tethered boats bobbed up and down on sparkling water as the wake from a passing speedboat rippled through the marina.
    I decided to order an iced tea while waiting for Julie, and sat down in the bar on the only available stool. At a table behind me, I heard two men laughing loudly, obviously indulging in a few early cocktails.
    “ Hey, pretty lady,” one of them said. I turned around, responded with a polite, but reserved smile, then turned back to the face the bar. They gave the impression of guys with money, brash, confident, mid-to-late fifties, and wore brightly colored Hawaiian shirts. Both had ruddy complexions—a result of the sun or, more likely, too many beers.
    That was when Julie appeared, waving and smiling as she threaded her way through the noisy, congested bar. She was dressed for the balmy weather in white capris, low-heeled, red leather sandals, and a close-fitting, black tank top trimmed in white, that showed off her curvaceous figure. I stood up, greeted her with a welcoming hug and explained the twenty minute wait. Evidently the guys behind us were