what he looked like. At times I thought I could see him in my mind, but when I focused on his face, he would morph into someone else. For a while there he’d looked like George Harrison.
Screw the article. Let one of the other stringers do this. I glanced around the table and saw four women with their eyes closed, no doubt searching their minds for visions or thoughts left by some spirit. Not one of them looked ready to stand up and say this was a sack of shit, and let’s not let this food go to waste.
Maybe they were all in on it. Maybe they were all pseudo psychics, and this was the kind of favor they did for each other. Maybe there was a way to find out.
I ripped my hand from Erika’s grip and slid the other out of Cynthia’s, then stood and wiped my hand on the seat of my jeans.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I won’t need any quotes.”
As I walked out of the room, I heard the squeak of a chair.
I’d almost reached the street entrance before Erika stopped me. “Robyn. Please.”
I turned and watched her cross the small room.
“What?”
“Your father tried to speak to you. And if you hadn’t been so intent on proving he was a fraud, you might have learned something.” She picked up her appointment book and flipped a couple of pages. “I will need a day or two to recover. But I can make room for you on Monday.”
I’d seen her appointment book. It looked like my social calendar. “I don’t think so.”
I put my hand on the doorknob, but she stopped me again with: “He will give you signs, Robyn. Watch for them. He is near. He has something to tell you, and his soul will not rest until he does.”
“He’s been dead for forty-four years. What the hell took him so long?”
She hesitated. “That is unusual.”
I waited.
“For a spirit to not have moved on after so many years.”
“Maybe he had nowhere to go,” I said, good agnostic that I am.
She shook her head, more out of pity than disgust. Then she said, “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” I said, and grabbed the doorknob again, then released it and let my hand flutter at my shoulder for a second. “Shit,” I muttered. “Forgot my purse.”
I retraced my steps to the séance room. When I opened the door, all three women looked up. Patricia’s mouth was open, but she snapped it shut when she saw me and gave me a narrow-eyed look of resentment. Cynthia had her wet little hand on Patricia’s shoulder in a feeble gesture of comfort. Laura was helping herself to the French fries.
“Forgot my purse,” I said, reaching behind the chair I’d vacated.
I hooked the strap over my shoulder, turned to Patricia and said, “Life is way too short, girl. Marry the guy.”
Bix met me at the door doing his terrier toe dance, but I urged him to give me a minute before he got his walk. I was suspicious of anything that went on in Erika’s little psychic den. And that included the three women there for the séance. So I dug out my recorder and reversed a short ways—just enough so I could hear what had been said right after I left. If I was expecting a psychic conspiracy, I was disappointed. Although, I was a little surprised to hear that kind of language coming out of Patricia’s mouth. Clearly, she didn’t have much use for people who upstaged her. I was okay with that but wished I hadn’t offered her a little sisterly advice there at the end.
By now Bix’s stiff little tail was experiencing tremors, so I grabbed his doggie pack and my keys, and we went for a walk. It was dark and rather cool as Bix and I headed down to the park just a block east of my apartment.
And while Bix marked every third tree along way, I mulled over the evening’s events. If Erika was a fraud at least I wasn’t the only mark—Patricia was too. But I’d been the target. Patricia had simply been wasting her time. And what I couldn’t figure out was why Erika would go to the trouble of conjuring up someone I’d never known. And if she
Screw the article. Let one of the other stringers do this. I glanced around the table and saw four women with their eyes closed, no doubt searching their minds for visions or thoughts left by some spirit. Not one of them looked ready to stand up and say this was a sack of shit, and let’s not let this food go to waste.
Maybe they were all in on it. Maybe they were all pseudo psychics, and this was the kind of favor they did for each other. Maybe there was a way to find out.
I ripped my hand from Erika’s grip and slid the other out of Cynthia’s, then stood and wiped my hand on the seat of my jeans.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I won’t need any quotes.”
As I walked out of the room, I heard the squeak of a chair.
I’d almost reached the street entrance before Erika stopped me. “Robyn. Please.”
I turned and watched her cross the small room.
“What?”
“Your father tried to speak to you. And if you hadn’t been so intent on proving he was a fraud, you might have learned something.” She picked up her appointment book and flipped a couple of pages. “I will need a day or two to recover. But I can make room for you on Monday.”
I’d seen her appointment book. It looked like my social calendar. “I don’t think so.”
I put my hand on the doorknob, but she stopped me again with: “He will give you signs, Robyn. Watch for them. He is near. He has something to tell you, and his soul will not rest until he does.”
“He’s been dead for forty-four years. What the hell took him so long?”
She hesitated. “That is unusual.”
I waited.
“For a spirit to not have moved on after so many years.”
“Maybe he had nowhere to go,” I said, good agnostic that I am.
She shook her head, more out of pity than disgust. Then she said, “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” I said, and grabbed the doorknob again, then released it and let my hand flutter at my shoulder for a second. “Shit,” I muttered. “Forgot my purse.”
I retraced my steps to the séance room. When I opened the door, all three women looked up. Patricia’s mouth was open, but she snapped it shut when she saw me and gave me a narrow-eyed look of resentment. Cynthia had her wet little hand on Patricia’s shoulder in a feeble gesture of comfort. Laura was helping herself to the French fries.
“Forgot my purse,” I said, reaching behind the chair I’d vacated.
I hooked the strap over my shoulder, turned to Patricia and said, “Life is way too short, girl. Marry the guy.”
Bix met me at the door doing his terrier toe dance, but I urged him to give me a minute before he got his walk. I was suspicious of anything that went on in Erika’s little psychic den. And that included the three women there for the séance. So I dug out my recorder and reversed a short ways—just enough so I could hear what had been said right after I left. If I was expecting a psychic conspiracy, I was disappointed. Although, I was a little surprised to hear that kind of language coming out of Patricia’s mouth. Clearly, she didn’t have much use for people who upstaged her. I was okay with that but wished I hadn’t offered her a little sisterly advice there at the end.
By now Bix’s stiff little tail was experiencing tremors, so I grabbed his doggie pack and my keys, and we went for a walk. It was dark and rather cool as Bix and I headed down to the park just a block east of my apartment.
And while Bix marked every third tree along way, I mulled over the evening’s events. If Erika was a fraud at least I wasn’t the only mark—Patricia was too. But I’d been the target. Patricia had simply been wasting her time. And what I couldn’t figure out was why Erika would go to the trouble of conjuring up someone I’d never known. And if she
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