After an awkward moment, Daniel tapped the glass of the machine. “So, you’re in the market for a fortune, are you? Honestly, this guy kind of sucks and is bordering on offensive. Definitely an insult to actual religious gurus. If you want a penny fortune, the Elvis machine inside is way better. Come on. They’ll let us in before they close.”
He herded me inside the store before I could think of a good excuse to turn him down. The owner was behind the counter, counting bills inside his register till while the last remaining customers dawdled—a father and his young son, who couldn’t decide which silly gag to buy.
“We’ll only be a second,” Daniel called out to the owner as he jogged across the floor toward the Elvis fortune-teller machine. “I’ve got two quarters, but it takes three.”
“I thought you said it was a penny?”
“That’s just what they’re called, Birdie. Penny fortunes. Like a penny arcade—ever hear of that? Back in ancient times, they were a penny. Got another quarter?”
I wanted to protest, to tell him that I didn’t need him to be the old-fashioned, gallant knight who pays for all my stuff. But in the end I gave in—mainly because the indecisive kid behind us had finally settled on fake dog poop, and I didn’t want Daniel and me to be the last customers left in the store.
Daniel fed quarters into the coin slot, and Automaton Elvis came to life. He was dressed in white with a red scarf around his neck, and he sang a couple of lines about hound dogs; being built from the waist up, he had no gyrating hips, so you had to suspend your disbelief. After singing, the King informed us that he could see into the future, and I was trying to concentrate on that, and not on Daniel’s face—which I could see in the reflection of the glass—because he was watching my reaction. And then it was over, and Elvis was spitting out a preprinted fortune card.
Daniel grabbed the card and read it out loud while we looked at it. “ ‘I see that you will have a chance meeting with a dark stranger who will reveal great secrets to you.’ ” He waggled his brows and said, “I think Elvis means me.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, hoping I sounded more sarcastic than flustered.
“ ‘If you collaborate, a bold and dashing adventure will be in your future,’ ” he continued reading, flicking the card’s edge with his fingers. “It’s right here in black and white, Birdie. I told you. Good old GD fate. Can’t escape it.”
Was he making fun of me? I couldn’t tell. When he offered me the card, I took it from him and pointed at the text. “It also says, ‘But beware of perilous pitfalls that lead to ruin.’ ”
He read the last lines, “ ‘It takes a level head and determination to survive a run through the gauntlet. In great attempts, it is glorious even to fail, because in conflict you will find common ground together.’ See that? Together. Elvis is giving us his blessing to seek adventure.”
“Didn’t Elvis die on the toilet?”
“Touché, Birdie,” he said, amused.
Behind us at the counter, I spied the little boy standing on tiptoes to pay for his fake dog poop. “Guess they’re closing up, so I better take off,” I told Daniel. “I have to go . . .” Where? Think, think. But all I could say was, “Home.”
“Wait, don’t you live on Bainbridge? You have time to take the ferry and then come back before the meeting?”
“How did you know where I lived?”
“Melinda. I tried to catch up with you after work, to see if you needed a lift home or something.” He paused, squinting. “I mean, not that I was trying to lure you into my car again. And not that I lured you the first time. I’m not some kind of creepy car pervert. I’ve never done that before. That was—”
I glanced at the people in the store and whispered, “Let’s not discuss that now, please?”
“Sorry.”
I cleared my throat and said a little louder, “So, thanks for the, uh, not-a-penny fortune. See you at work.”
“Hey, wait! The night’s still young,” he said, walking backward in front of me as I headed toward the door. “Are you really going back on the ferry? We still have two hours before the staff meeting. Want to go grab dinner? What do you like? Mexican? Chinese? There’s an awesome French bistro a couple of blocks away with these amazing hot sandwiches with melted cheese and a poached egg on top—they’re super cheap.”
“I can’t,” I said, scrambling for an excuse. “I misspoke earlier. I meant to say that someone is meeting me outside the market, to, um, take me to dinner. You know, before the staff meeting.”
“Oh,” Daniel said, looking vaguely wounded.
“My aunt Mona,” I explained. “She’s not really my aunt. She’s just a friend of the family. Well, not that my family is big. It’s just me and my grandfather now.”
“You live with your grandfather?” Daniel shifted to my side and walked with me toward the upstairs ramp.
“He’s a retired Coast Guard detective. My mom died when I was ten. My grandmother died this past Christmas.”
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry.”
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “My grandma and I had a complicated relationship.”
“What about your dad?”
“No idea. Some punk kid she met on a high school field trip to the Pacific Science Center when she was seventeen. I don’t think he ever knew he’d knocked up my mom.”
“That’s something we sort of have in common,” he said as we hiked up the ramp. “My dad didn’t want to have anything to do with me, so he basically gave my mom a big hunk of cash for an abortion, washed his hands, and said adios. My mom used the money to buy a Subaru.”
My eyes flicked toward his.
“Yep, that Subaru. I inherited it when she got a new car a couple of years ago. Driving it is my private revenge. My father sucks. But whatever. His loss.”
We walked together in silence through the dwindling crowds in the main arcade until Daniel tapped my bag. “What did you get at the bookstore? Another mystery book?”
“At a mystery bookstore? Imagine that.”
“Who’s your favorite detective?” he asked before quickly adding, “I like Jessica Fletcher. I’ve streamed every episode of Murder, She Wrote. Angela Lansbury is the best. When I was a kid, I had a crush on her.”
“On Angela Lansbury?” I said, incredulous.
He struggled to hide a smile. “So hot.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m totally serious. I like old shows. Anyway, who’s your favorite detective?”
He seemed genuinely interested, so I answered. “From fiction, probably Miss Marple or Amelia Peabody. In movies, Nick and Nora Charles from The Thin Man.”
“The Thin Man? That sounds familiar.”
“It should. It’s just one of the best movies of all time.”
“Is that so?” Daniel chuckled, but not in a mean way, so I continued.
“And my favorite TV detective is Columbo,” I said. “Hands down.”
“The cop in the trench coat? What’s the actor’s name?”