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The mysterious discovery

The Woman Behind the Keyhole

It wasn't a normal room. It wasn't a normal settee she rested on, and it was anything but a normal circumstance that brought Lindsay to this strange and forbidden place. She'd been told to enter the room by the woman who had just given her a simple palm reading. "Madam Selena-Fortunes Told" the sign said in bright pink neon-"$10" it flashed in blue. She drove past Madam Selena's taunting sign every morning on her way to work, and every evening on her way back home for years, never once thinking about stopping and going in to find out what the future held for her. She didn't think about such things. No one had to tell her how her life was going. She had a wonderful marriage, two great kids, and a career she loved. But things can change in an instant and in the case of Lindsay's instant, she found herself lying on a strange couch in a strange room, not of her own free will, waiting for whatever it was to happen.

It was about four weeks ago that she had taken a new job closer to home, in the same business, real estate. She was an agent and was considered successful by her peers. Even in the downturn, she'd managed to make just enough sales to keep her in the top ten percent of her group. She prided herself on her honesty, not a helpful quality in the real estate game, but even so, that's what she believes kept her in the money for so long when others had simply given up. She figured, "if I tell them up front what might happen down the road, they may just bring me some more business for saving them a few repair dollars." This strategy worked real well for Lindsay. And she loved meeting new people. That was the best part of her job.

It was late on Tuesday, and Lindsay was just getting ready to pack it in and go home to her family, when a middle-aged man came through the door. "Good Evening, Madam," he said, "I'd like to speak to someone about finding a home to lease in this area. Do you do that sort of thing?" Lindsay smiled. It wasn't something she was fond of doing, but something told her to help this gentleman. She held out her hand to shake his. "Certainly, sir, I'd be glad to help." His name was Carmine, Richard Carmine, and he was new in town. Lindsay already figured that out. He didn't have a southern accent. In fact, she couldn't figure out exactly what kind of accent he had-almost Italian, continental perhaps. That would make sense with a first name like Carmine,

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