In the last chapter:

(Emily returns to the small town of Skowalko after several days in hiding. No sign of her stalker -- a threatening goon from the Seattle mob -- nor of the streaming aura that trails in his wake.

Her friend Margret, impatiently waiting, decks her out in a gypsy costume.)

"Don't forget your crystal ball." Margret pointed to a basket holding a large snow globe. "Let's get going! Almost time for the carnival to begin."

They piled into Margret's car and set off for the fair grounds...

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Margret hustled Emily through the carnival grounds, swerving a path between booths. Folk already crowded the stubbly field. Kids darted in and out, some with balloons bobbing along at ribbon's end.

"Scones, hot scones!" boomed a voice from just ahead. "Nothin' like good ol' Southern baking!"

"Olivia!" Emily called. "I'll take one!"

"No time," Margret barked. "The fortune-teller booth's waiting. Look, they're lining up already! Move aside, please, let 'er through."

"But I've had nothing since breakfast!"

"I'll bring you one. Now get in there!"

Emily huffed but obeyed. "With strawberry jam!" she called back.

Netting festooned the booth's interior. She set the snow globe on a rickety little table draped in silk, sank onto a brocaded chair, and adjusted her headscarf. She waved at the face peering in through the arched entry. "You may enter!"

For an hour and a half she spoke of tall dark strangers, long-awaited letters, and hidden treasures coming to light. She advised folk to pursue their greatest desires, and warned not to loan money to family or friends.

As twilight fell, Margret broke off from square dancing to fetch one lone scone, with apricot preserves instead of strawberries.

Emily had just finished eating when two girls came in, wanting their fortunes read. "Does that crystal ball really work?" the smaller one asked.

"Don't be silly," her friend said, poking her in the ribs. "It's just a snow globe!" She plunked in the chair and turned a challenging gaze on Emily. "What does your magic ball say?" she demanded, thrusting out a carnival ticket.

Emily shook the globe and studied the swirling flecks. "Hearken," she intoned. "The crystal has a message for you, and it is thus. You will find--" (dramatic pause) "--what you look for."

"I haven't lost anything yet, Missus Katz, but if I do, I'll get you to find it for me."

"No, no, young lady. This is the message: If you seek for beauty, you will find beauty. If you seek for flaws, you will find flaws. Be careful what you seek for!" Emily turned to the other girl. "Would you like me to tell your fortune?"

The child shrugged. "I've spent all my tickets."

"Do you have anything to trade?"

The girl held out a curved wooden carving, the size of a silver dollar bent in half. "Won this in the fish pond. They said it's a shepherd's whistle, but I don't have any sheep!"

"That will do just fine," Emily told her, taking the trinket. From the swirl in the snow globe she concocted a foretelling: "Before the sun sets tomorrow you will hear three unusual things. One, loud and jangly. One, fluttery and soft. And one that sounds like purple."

"Wow! That's gonna be fun!"

The taller girl smirked. "You'll find what you look for, I guess."

Emily rose and stretched, watching the girls run out into the crowd. Her smile faded at sight of the mesh of gossamer strands weaving the grounds -- overlaid by one streak all murky and jagged -- the ill-omened kind of aura she'd seen marking the footsteps of burglars and ill-doers. She leaped to the booth opening and stared, tracing the windings of the streamer. One lone ugly ribbon.

It led to a man leaning on the Lost and Found table across the way. Not the big hulking mobster from earlier, but a short wiry sort. Emily's grip tightened on the doorpost, her knees locking tight.

Just then the lean fellow turned, following the pointing finger of the carnival worker, his gaze sweeping to the Fortune Teller's booth where Emily stood frozen.

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Two prompts: loan, letter