Criminal Mindreader

“Yes, yes, your next job promotion is coming up, but you have to show your boss you’re up to the challenge,” I say, trying not to let the impatience creep into my voice. “Show that you can take charge on a team project to make big decisions and present yourself with style and confidence.” 

And it wouldn’t hurt to show up on time too, I think to myself, holding back an eyeroll. Mousy, so-insecure-she-has-to-ask-a-carnival-fortuneteller about her career opportunities and she even shows up late to this appointment – not to be rude, but there’s no way she’s getting that promotion. 

Technically, I never lie. I never promise something that won’t happen – even to this lady, I said she should “show” what she could do…I never promised she could actually do it. There is a cruel difference, but people who search out a cheap psychic at a circus should already be wary of the accuracy of their predictions. Besides, I don’t predict anything either. Those are my two rules: don’t lie and don’t predict. I’m not psychic – obviously – but I am good at studying people and their behavior; the “I see a great love by the next blue moon” and all those mystical tricks with crystal balls and tarot cards I leave for my assistant to embellish. 

“Mariel, please tell me I’d done for the day,” I come out from my little booth and take off my glittery turquoise cape. 

“You’ve got two more, luv,” she says, gesturing behind the curtain, and I groan.

“Can you tell them to leave? Tell them I got a cosmic headache or something.”

“No can do, they already paid their fees.”

I pull my long, dark curls up from the sweltering summer humidity. “Ugh, then give them back.”

“But that would undermine the whole ‘no refunds during Mercury in retrograde’ thing we have going on. Oh come on, Sylvie, just two more.”

“Fiiine,” I concede. “Send the dad in first.”

“Which one is that?” Mariel glances between the two men in the waiting area.

“See the pink unicorn socks?” I point him out. “He seems like a clean-cut, serious type, likely needs to be very professional in the workplace, enough of a habit that he still wears shiny loafers and khaki slacks to a carnival on the weekend. Appearances are important to him, but there’s one thing more important: his kids. He wants to be a hero in their eyes and doesn’t ever want to let them down. Those socks: a gift from his daughter.”

Mariel shakes her head with a chuckle. “How do you do that?” 

I go back to my booth, pushing aside the crystal curtain hanging in the doorframe and sitting down in the ridiculously over-embroidered chair. This was supposed to be a one-summer job, between senior year of high school and college, like I had planned. It’s my eleventh summer. In some ways, I’m not surprised. Behavior, personality, environment. Three things “psychics” study to give readings, and my environment certainly swayed that one: I grew up at the carnival. Not like, “my parents would take me during the summer to a carnival.” I mean, my parents literally are in the carnival – they are the trapeze acrobats. The ringmaster, lion tamer, and clown making balloon animals that all turn out like a giraffe anyway are my family. When I was little, I worked all the odd jobs around here – painting signs, checking tickets, guiding tours because I was “oh-so-cute” with my tiger face paint. Our carnival was always missing a fortuneteller – the ones we hired even ducks could tell were quacks – but I’d always had a knack for reading people, so that one summer, they gave me the job. I’d wanted to study psychology in college but I quickly learned more about human nature giving readings than a degree could give me. Add Mariel for theatrics and I quickly became a hit and that one summer has turned into a career. 

It would have been nice to be something more though – I sometimes regret – than a vagabond, flashy, pop-up fortuneteller, always on the road with the crew with no real destination in mind. 

“Lady Luna will see you now,” Mariel tells the dad who comes into my booth, and I take the moment to study him. 

The first few moments of meeting someone are crucial. I’ve heard a statistic somewhere that you fall in love within the first three seconds; you can profile a lot about someone’s behavior in three seconds too. The dad sits down easily across from me with a grin on his face and places his hands on the edge of the table. He looks like the type that should feel out-of-place in a noisy, bustling carnival but in fact seems to enjoy it, like he’s used to it.

“You go to carnivals a lot with your daughter?” I ask, making the first move. I don’t always make the first move, depending on the type of client. More talkative ones will usually strike up conversation first, telling you everything you need to know for a reading. For the shier, quieter ones, I usually let them sit for a while before either of us chooses to break the ice, and that moment typically lets me study their habits, their posture, their ticks so I have a little more to go on. The dad-type now seems like a mix of both, just in here for fun. I still take him by surprise though.

“How do you know I have a daughter?” he raises his eyebrows. Good – he’s not one to actually believe in psychic predictions, but not a total skeptic resistant to having some fun with it.

“Well, I’m supposed to be psychic, aren’t I?” I say with a little eye roll so he can tell I’m not intentionally trying to fool him. He smiles curiously and I add, “It’s the unicorn socks.”

“Oh,” he blushes, pleased. “Yeah, they were a gift from my daughter.”

“My guess, four to seven is still the unicorn phase.”

“Six,” he confirms. “And a son who’s four.”

I nod, filing away the extra information. A lot of people tend to do this at psychic readings: give away more information than the psychic asks for, usually unintentionally. Fraud-minded psychics will often spin that information into a prediction and people will often believe it because, “it was so spot on” or “she knew so much about me” – well, of course, when you literally said it. 

But I don’t intend to defraud the dad, so I ask, “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t really know,” the dad shrugs. “I just stopped in for fun, maybe get a card reading or something, tell a fun story to my kids.”

I produce a deck of playing cards out of the pockets of my robe but warn, “I’m not that type of fortuneteller. But I can tell you more based on the cards you choose.” I spread the deck out on the table. “Pick five.”

I watch as he decisively chooses three cards immediately and takes a little longer for the last two. Queen of Diamonds, Queen of Spades, Jack of Hearts, Ace of Hearts, and Ten of Diamonds, respectively. 

“Your wife and kids,” I say certainty and he glances up curiously. “ One of the queens is your wife, one is your daughter. The jack is your son – it’s not meant to symbolize you because you chose a light card while your hair is black, which leads me to believe the jack stands in for your son. Also, because you didn’t chose a card resembling you, you put your family and their needs first. Ace of Hearts typically symbolizes the home or the nest egg, but most people aren’t that familiar with card interpretations. You were drawn, though, to one big heart, which again reinforces my theory that you care for your family as a top priority. Your wedding band is also nicked, and you keep your left hand closer to your chest, that tells me you are devoted to your wife. Diamonds are associated with wealth, both in cards and in jewelry, and you chose the highest number of diamonds, which makes me think two things: you are financially well off,” the signet ring on his right pinky finger sends the same signal, “and secondly, you want to spend that wealth on your children. Likely, you take yearly vacations to some place warm with palm trees, and weekend excursions like to a carnival are common; you also likely have a college fund already in place for both your kids and are saving up for your daughter’s wedding.”

The dad stares at me in awe as I conclude my observations. “You can tell all that based on the cards I chose? Huh, you must really be psychic,” he chuckles. “Well, thank you, Lady Luna, this has been the best reading I’ve ever had.”

I take out a watercolor photocard of a unicorn and sign Love, Lady Luna in permanent marker. “For your daughter. And on your way out, pick up a blue balloon for your son – on the house.”

“How did you know his favorite color is blue?”

“I didn’t,” I say honestly. “We just have disproportionally many blue balloons left today.”

The dad laughs and bids me well as he disappears through the crystal curtain. I lean back with a smile. Readings like that make it worthwhile to stay in this business. This has always been fun for me, like a game or puzzle figuring each client out, and I have a good time chatting with people, so I guess I’m not complaining. Even the feathery, glittery costume is fun to wear when it’s not too humid, to be honest. 

One more client to go today. I signal for Mariel to send him in as I peek around the curtain.

“Last one?” I verify with her.

She nods but bites her lip hesitantly. “Yeah, but hey, Sylvie: make this one good.” 

She gestures to the baseball cap he’s put on since I last saw him in the waiting area. A sheriff’s badge printed on the cap.

I mentally swear. We’re not doing anything wrong here, but the last thing I need is a fraud charge slapped to my name. Yes, we charge money for readings, but we also charge for carousel rides or the concession stand, so it’s not like I’m ripping people off. Still, I tell Mariel to quit the theatrics for this reading and try my best to put on my most professional face as I sit down with the sheriff.  

“Good afternoon, what do you want the stars to tell you today?”

“Where to find the serial killer we’ve been chasing in the area,” he says bluntly and I feel the chill down my spine. So not the answer I was expecting.

I realize my jaw’s dropped when I barely mutter out, “What?” then compose myself a little. “What did you say?”

“Sylvie Grey,” he addresses me by my real name. “Don’t worry: I’m not here to arrest you for fraud. Actually, I think you’re one of the better profilers I’ve seen, which is why I want to ask for your help.”

“In catching a serial killer?” I repeat incredulously. His posture and facial expressions are calm and neutral, seeming completely rational in asking a gaudy circus fortuneteller to assist a criminal investigation. 

“There have been documented cases of psychics helping to locate missing children or dead bodies.”

“Lovely,” I feel a little sick in my stomach. “That’s what you want me to do?”

“No. Much as those cases have been documented, I don’t believe there’s such a thing as psychic powers – no offense. But you are a master profiler. I have a description to share with you. Can you help us?”

A cold sweat trickles down my back but I nod slowly. 

***

I scan over the group of clients waiting behind the curtain.

“You’ll be looking for a man in his mid-30s to 40s,” the sheriff’s profile repeats in my mind. Well, most of my clients today are women. 

“Age is the most variable thing to profile, but all of his victims have been blonde women around that age. We believe they are surrogates for the true object of his rage. He may be recently divorced, or at least, separated, and his victims likely represent his wife. He’s charming, sociable; he’ll strike up a conversation with anyone, but he’ll choose victims who are unguarded, gullible, and easily persuaded – no offense to your business, but the type of people who would seek out a fortuneteller’s advice to make big life decisions. So look out for women who are particularly down on their luck, looking for Prince Charming.”

Wow, should be easy – only 80% of the time, the first question anyone asks is about love or their current partner or when they will meet their soul mate.

“He’ll single her out. If she’s with friends, he won’t approach – he may flash them a dazzling smile, but that’s all. He’s searching for someone naïve, or at least someone without a more grounded friend watching out for her. Look for anyone taking particular interest in those types of clients.”

The only clients waiting right now are a group of teenage girls tightly huddled around a phone, taking a bunch of selfies with the crystal ball, and two women: one fidgety and anxious with slightly watery makeup that makes me think she’s trying to get over a breakup, but her friend looks like she could easily take any guy trying to get fresh with them. There’re two males too. One’s a teenager who is bored out of his mind waiting for his mom to get a reading, likely has a girlfriend as he pays no attention to the attractive selfie girls. The other fits the age but he just waits while doing a crossword puzzle – it doesn’t seem to be very filled in yet, but being bad at crosswords doesn’t really indicate homicidal tendencies. 

Figuring it’s a dead end right now, I do a couple of readings, profiling an ambitious student who needs to learn to channel her focus on growing from her mistake rather than dwelling on them, and the bored teen's mom with way too much on her plate with priority problems. 

“Don’t feel guilty taking some time for yourself, because you can help everyone much more when you feel at your best,” I give her some final advice as we conclude our session and come back out from behind the curtain.

“Thank you, Lady Luna,” she says. As she exits, she nearly collides with a man entering.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you,” the man apologizes politely and holds the door open for her. 

It’s a common enough gesture – one I wish some of my ex-boyfriends thought to do – but something makes me pause. He’s chivalrous, handsome, quite a catch – but having full view of his hand holding the door open, a tan line reveals a missing wedding ring.

“Hey Sylvie, the next client is waiting for you,” Mariel nudges me. “You gotta get going.”

“Hold on a second, you see that man?”

Mariel follows my gaze and grins. “Oh yeah, sure I do. Say, do you see a great love in his near future, possibly with a perky redhead?” she fluffs her hair. I don’t say that I see a call to the sheriff in his near future as he sidles up to the post-breakup blonde that’s been anxiously biting her nails since Mariel called her tough-girl friend in for a reading. 

“Shush!” I scold Mariel. “Go make yourself useful and give the client waiting a quick tarot reading.”

“Hey, no fair! You get all the good guys!” 

I want to argue that she should have seen my last ex – why can’t I profile myself up a nice guy for a change? No time to think of that now as I send her behind the curtain and observe the man a moment longer. The longer I watch, the more red flags from the profile pop up.

“If you call him out on it, he’ll first try to talk himself out of the situation or get incredibly defensive,” the sheriff told me.

“Excuse me,” I enter the waiting room dramatically, putting on a show of pretending to have a migraine as I walk up to the man. “Could you please keep your voice down? It really messes with the star alignment.”

“Oh.”

That’s enough for me to know. In the briefest of moments before he pleasantly smiles, I see the glint of irritation and fury of being interrupted, and it gives him away.

“Oh well, we can just go outside to continue our conversation there,” he starts to offer his hand to the blonde who looks entranced to take it.

“Actually, your aura is in its peak for a reading,” I quickly usher the girl through the curtain. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man fuming behind us, like I just swiped the last cookie from the cookie jar right when he had it in his grasp.

“Will I be in danger?” I asked the sheriff.

“You shouldn’t be. He doesn’t hurt anyone in public because he needs to keep up the charming façade. If you think you see him, call us.” 

“Stay here,” I tell the girl urgently as I call the police station from the safety of my booth. “Sheriff Wilkinson, please.”